Rick and Sherry in Africa

Lots of things are changing! One of those is that I will from now on update only one place: Therefore, if you follow this blog, please re-mark your browsers to point to

http://rickandsherryinafrica.org/

It is from this site that both Sherry and I will post all new updates!

Thank you!!

Relevant . . . or Irrelevant?

I ended my last post with the confession that I was “scared to death.” There is such nuance buried in those three little words. Today we’re on the threshold of a move that has been about 7 years in the making. Here's a bit of the back story . . .

Sherry and I began this journey decades ago, committing our lives to the One greater than us—thinking then that we had fully abandoned ourselves to His care and cause.

I threw around words easily and quickly. I sang worship songs proclaiming my love, loyalty and allegiance to a God I then carefully allowed only into protected areas of my life. Over the course of many years, and in the midst of a busy life and career, I lost sight of what it meant to be truly abandoned to Jesus. My “relationship” with Him informed only some of my emotions, choices, decisions and actions. And yet, most people who knew me would have likely said I was a “good Christian.” The horrific reality was that I meandered into—without realizing it—the worship of a god and faith, essentially of my own making; a god whose job I saw as blessing me, protecting me, taking away my hurts, and insuring my place in heaven. In fact, nearly all of my faith was about . . . me.

I had slowly, unwittingly, yet willingly offered myself as prey to the seductive, paralyzing scourge of loving this world. From the outside, I looked just like so many others around me, men who were good, honest and “god-fearing.” Some called upon the same faith as mine while others made no such declaration. Some were in the church and some not; yet there was virtually no difference between us. I was stunned to realize that the faith I claimed to follow did little to set me apart from those who claimed no faith at all.

It wasn’t surprising then, to look in the mirror and see someone affluent (especially compared to 2/3 of the rest of the world), comfortable, arrogant, and to those outside my own orbit, irrelevant. If I represented what a good Christian looked like, it's no wonder our young people are leaving the church in droves! Tragically, with good Christians like me as a model, I fully understand why they are abandoning a Christianity that to them is irrelevant.

Fast forward 7 years; last night we bought our tickets—one-way tickets—for Uganda. We’re now officially committed, leaving January 4th at 10 am, headed to Entebbe, unsure when we’ll be coming back. Not that I’m counting or anything, but that’s only 55 days away, or about 7 ½ weeks. Time is now screaming by, leaving a trail of myriad tiny details clamoring for resolution, and conspiring to keep us from people we’d like to see and things we’d like to finish before we leave. Please pray with us for consistency between what we say and how we live our lives!

Uganda, Here We Come!

It’s finally here. We’ve been praying, planning, training, waiting, talking, learning and wondering. Now we’re finally heading out. Our departure date looks to be the first week of January, 2011.You’ll recall (or see from my previous few posts) that I was in Bolivia for two months this past summer, learning the nuances of – and getting experience in – hand-drilling water wells. Water For All, International (WFA), the folks with whom I was in Bolivia, have invited us to become their point people in an effort to begin a new well-drilling movement in northern Uganda! Because a well-drilling movement isn’t something that occurs in a short-term trip (or trips), Sherry and I are planning a 6-month (or so) first trip, and then an ongoing focus on the people, language and culture in the place from which we believe the movement can grow. Let me explain . . .

We’ll begin in a town named Soroti, in partnership with a local non-profit called Global Care. Global Care currently operates out of several locations in Uganda, sponsoring children, working in schools, focusing on school drop-outs with micro-businesses and vocational skills, and hopes to expand into working with handicapped and other poor and marginalized children in Soroti. They have asked WFA for help in securing wells that will bring regular clean water to kids and families within their local sphere of influence. My first job will be to help them with 8 new wells.

Now, when it comes to creating a “well-drilling movement,” it becomes paramount that our (well) trials are successful – meaning that the locations in which we drill have a high potential for success. By success, I mean that at least 9 times out of 10 we get good wells that produce somewhere around 20-25 liters/minute of clean water. This is obviously the “textbook version,” and reality (or Terry Waller, Exec. Director of WFA) may dictate some adjustments, but that’s the goal at which we’re aiming, both for WFA and for the wells on which we’re partnering with Global Care!

Because of the long-term focus of initiating a well-drilling movement, we can’t say for certain – until we’re there and on the ground for some time – that Soroti is the best place from which that movement can begin. Thus it is difficult to know whether Soroti will be the location from which this work will build in Uganda.

Now, having given you all the “data” about what’s happening, let me tell you how I really feel about it . . . it kind of scares me to death. I believe without a shadow of doubt that this is something we’re called to do; but that doesn’t make it any easier. I’m convinced that WFA is the perfect organization through which I can utilize both my gifts and the education and training I’ve accumulated over the past 7 years; but there isn’t a “career path” or retirement plan. In fact, we’re “volunteers,” investing in eternity – and utterly dependent upon the One Who controls our account in the Bank of Heaven. Thanks for being interested enough to read this far!

Water For All, International Well Clubs

It’s been an interesting couple of weeks. I’ve spent most of this week at Terry’s house, resting my back, which I tweaked again, but thankfully is almost back to normal now. As I’m writing this post, we have 4 well clubs working, with another ready to begin drilling next Tuesday or Wednesday. Speaking of well clubs, here’s the basic structure on how Water For All (WFA) well clubs operate:

1. Someone in a community says they want a well.

2. WFA encourages them to get 9 more people in their community who also want a well, which then forms a "well club." They elect a president, a treasurer and a "driller," who becomes the club's resident expert on this type of well drilling - and who will be the one to actually drill and supervise the last 8 wells to be completed. Actually, everyone in the club gets trained, but the driller becomes the leader of the work. They also determine among themselves the order in which the 10 wells for the club will be drilled. The final thing they do is an actual written request for the wells, signed by each of the club members, essentially co-guaranteeing participation (because it truly requires 10 workers to do the wells) and authorized by a recognized community leader.

3. Each of the 10 families raises $100, unless they're so desperately poor they can't - in which case WFA may allow them to raise less and subsidize the balance of the cost. It’s critical though, that they participate in the cost.

4. Once the families in the club have raised all the money, someone from WFA goes to the market with them, never handling their money, instructing them on all the supplies needed for ALL 10 of the wells.

5. The supplies get delivered to the club President's location and we set up for the first well.

6. Someone from WFA goes to the first well site and begins the process of instructing the club on how THEY will drill their own wells. Then, we show them the entire process for the first and second wells only, working alongside them (which is what I'll be doing in Africa), teaching and mentoring the technology officer on how to drill in their specific location.

7. We turn them loose to finish ON THEIR OWN, the last 8 wells.

8. We start the process all over again with another new well club!

How amazing is this???

Santos' New Well

This is Santos, washing his hands with water pumped for the first time (at over 5 gallons/min!) from HIS OWN new well, which Water For All (WFA) taught HIM to drill; today we helped him complete the pump installation, and he will now be the pump installation “expert” for his water club (of 4 more wells). See if you can imagine with me just a couple ways in which life might look different for Santos and his family, now that they have essentially unlimited access to safe, clean, cool water from their 146 foot (45 meters) deep well.

They have unlimited, safe, clean, cool water for drinking and cooking. Until now, they drank from and cooked with contaminated pond water or from jerry cans carried back and forth from the community well, ½ mile away. The community well water is probably clean, but there’s been no way for them to keep the containers clean. Imagine the health implications.

They can bathe. Until now, they climbed into bed every night, unwashed, wearing the same clothes to bed they’d worked in for days if not weeks or even months. When was the last time you climbed into bed, in dirty clothes, without bathing – simply because there wasn’t water to do so?

His wife can wash their clothes at home whenever they are dirty. Until now, she had to carry them the ½ mile to the community well, waiting in line for access to the pump along with all the other villagers, washing by hand in one bucket, rinsing in another; then she had to wait for them to dry on the fences or bushes around the well, and finally, after at least 2-4 hours, carry them the ½ mile back home. No wonder clothes got washed infrequently.

Santos paid $100 for this well. It is scandalous that people still live this way when clean, safe water is so available. Sherry and I will be heading to Africa somewhere around the first of next year to begin the process of finding more folks like Santos and his family, who have been marginalized, forgotten and with no hope or dream they could ever have unlimited access to safe water. Thanks for coming along with us on the journey!

Sidelined in Bolivia . . . for a couple of days

Wednesday morning. Woke up today feeling like someone stabbed me during the night, over and over in one spot just to the side of my spine at about L5-S1. Over the years, I’ve dealt with back pain like many people my age (which is none of your business), but have been really fortunate not to have experienced it for a good long time. I think shoveling mud and sand yesterday with awkward tools from awkward positions (trying to stay out of as much mud as possible) was the final blow in a series of tiny “tweaks” to which I’ve subjected my body lately. Its funny; I thought I’d get sick from the water in the bush, or the bacteria on the hands of the gracious peasant women (who haven’t had sufficient water to bathe, and you can only imagine where those hands have been) preparing meals at the well sites, or drinking “refrescos” made with questionable water, or eating from bowls and utensils that have been shared by countless others and have been “washed” by a quick rinse in unboiled, cold water, already dirty from previous dishes.

Nope; not a moment of being sick since I arrived. Instead, I’m grounded with back pain. I’m hoping and praying that a day or two with no lifting or pounding will get me back to the drill sites again. Until then, paperwork and a writing project to focus on . . . though it's a challenge to type lying down with a laptop on your chest. Just kidding. I can at least sit and type as long as I don’t move too quickly ☺

Ronald & Melba's well

It’s Sunday morning and I’m pretty well recovered from 3 straight days of digging. The amount of work required to dig a hole to a depth of 165 feet or so is amazing. We dug through about 130 feet of hard clay and rock, along with another 35 feet or so of hard-packed sand. The hole is only about 3” wide at the bottom and maybe 6” - 8” at the top. The 1” diameter drill stem, filled with mud and water gets really heavy, especially once you get to a depth of over 100 feet. Now, to get a bit of a picture of how this works, you can see from the WFA website (http://waterforallinternational.org/default.aspx) that the drill stem is lifted by either a group of 4 “rowers” or occasionally by a motor driven rig; then the person holding the drill literally drives it into the hole so the drill bit can cut a bit more. The water displacement process brings the cuttings up through the drill stem and out the “cachucha” pipe at the top.

We’re drilling now where Melba and Ronald live as caretakers for the property owner, and will finish their well this coming Monday or Tuesday. They have 6 children and live in a “house” (about 10 ‘ x 20’) with a dirt floor, no doors on the 2 door openings, one bed and one platform on which all the kids sleep. The entire house is constructed of a single course of 1” x 8” boards, with pretty large gaps. A blue tarp covers the openings at night and when it gets really cold. The corrugated roof is full of holes, so I can’t imagine they don’t get wet when it rains.
All the cooking is done outside over an open fire, but let me tell you . . . Melba can cook! Other than at Terry’s house, I had the best food yet from Melba’s “kitchen!” We had meals of wild tapir (like a wild pig), which one of their dogs killed the previous night; another meal of fresh “tattoo,” which is very much like a Texas armadillo. I drank my first tamarind “refresco,” made from the tamarind tree in their yard.

The best part of the whole deal though, is making life-giving water available to Melba and Ronald (some of the poorest of the poor) in Jesus’ Name, so they don’t have “wheelbarrow-in” their water in jerry cans from another nearby property. Possibly for the first time in their lives, they will have sufficient water available to bathe regularly, for drinking and cooking - and to irrigate a family garden. This well will transform the way Ronald and Melba and their kids live! And I got to be a part of it!

By the way, these are photos of Hugo and Katarina's completed well, and my new friend, Enrique!

Bolivia Well Clubs

I arrived in Bolivia on the 6th of July, with Sherry remaining at home in Huntington Beach. I'll be here until the end of August and then she and I will be back together, hopefully never traveling solo again, at least not for these long periods. I’m working with an organization called Water For All (WFA), which is completely focused on getting safe water to the poorest of the poor. They operate on the basis of “well clubs,” where a group of 10 (or so) families each raise about $100, which is the complete cost for a well. This is an astonishingly low cost for a well, which can dramatically change the entire future of a family!

The wells are hand-dug and you can find quite a bit of information on the technology from the WFA website.

Here's a snippet of how crazy the last couple of days has been as I joined a team starting a well club, where we'll be digging 12 wells:

We got to the site early Wednesday morning and waited for the water tank to arrive so we could start digging. It finally arrived and as we started to use the water, I noticed this horrific odor! Turns out the tank had previously been used to spray a wicked insecticide to kill a worm that attacks corn or sorghum! But it was the only water available, so we started digging; all afternoon I did most of the actual drilling and got sprayed over and over with water and mud and insecticide! I was covered in it. There was no other way to get the mud off us, so we had to use the water to rinse. Nice, eh?

Since I wasn't sure how clean the food would be, we had stopped at a market on the way so I could have some protein and at least a couple cans of clean food. However, the lady of the house (Katarina) had made me a bowl of lunch and set it out for me. Wondering what I should do, I remembered those verses where Jesus sent out the 70 two by two, telling them to take nothing for their journey, and to eat whatever was set before them. So I did. It was some kind of concoction with potatoes and macaroni, peas, carrots and a few morsels of meat, served over white rice. After lunch, we worked till almost dark and got the well dug to about 13.5 m (about 40 feet) deep. Dinner was exactly the same as lunch.

We (Sergio, one of the WFA guys and me) set up tents behind the hut, where we slept, each of us in our own tent. The wind blew all day and night - and then it started to rain in the evening. The temperature dropped pretty dramatically and my tent leaked – at first only a little, then dramatically. I had only a thin flannel "sleeping sac" and two thin blankets, all of which got wet. I can't remember being so cold in my whole life! Almost everything I had got wet, including most of my clothes. All day Thursday, we huddled around a fire we made behind the hut, in a hole in the ground, trying to stay as much out of the wind as we could. It rained all day, far too cold and wet to work, so none of the club members arrived to work! We were stuck there, with no means of communication (no cell coverage) and the road too slimy and completely impassable without 4-wheel drive (the 4 wheel drive in WFA’s vehicle is broken). Breakfast was two pieces of stale bread and 2 small cups of coffee with too much sugar! Lunch was again the same thing as we ate the day before. Dinner, however, was different. Hugo, the husband of the couple we were staying with, killed an armadillo during the night and we had it for dinner! It was great, deep fried, a bit grisly, but tasted good :--)

One of the guys in the well club sort of took me under his wing. Finding that all my stuff was wet, he decided to help me move to a local adobe hut that was abandoned. It was about a 5-minute walk away from the place we are doing the wells. We carried my tent and all my wet clothes, set up the tent inside the abandoned adobe, then arranged poles attached to wires hanging from the ceiling, over which I was going to hang my wet clothes and blankets. When I got back to the hut where we were digging the well, Katarina and Sergio said I shouldn't stay at the adobe. First, there is a house next door to the adobe, full of people who are gypsy-like, begging and stealing instead of working (they're from a people-group called Cambas). They told me that within just an hour or two of having my stuff unguarded, they'd steal anything of value. Second, it is in the adobe walls where beetles live that cause Chaga's Disease and bites from these bugs are common. I went back and got all my stuff. . .

Hugo and Katarina offered for us to sleep in their hut, which we did. The hut is about 10 feet wide by maybe 20 feet long, built out of scrap wood. The hut has a dirt floor, 2 “windows” and a wooden door that closed with a piece of twine. Inside were three twin beds, a few bags of grain and beans, all their clothing and a collection of what looked like junk from trash piles. It’s tragic; the two windows have partial screens, with about 1/3 of each of the windows wide open; the walls have boards missing and big gaps and holes everywhere else. The wind blew through it almost as though the walls weren’t even there! Hugo, Katarina and their baby (Edison) slept in one of the beds, Sergio slept in one and I slept in the other. Even with all my clothes on and several blankets over me, I was still cold - probably because everything was still a bit wet! Its interesting, they climb into bed with all the same clothes they wear all day, every day. As a side note, I ended up going from Tuesday until Friday with no bath and working hard, sweating, etc . . . Phewwww!

Its amazing the difference that water makes. You can just look at the way people live and know that their lives are unbelievably difficult. Katarina has to walk about a mile each way to a local school for water for their animas and for cooking; they never bathe! They have some pigs, sheep, chickens and cattle, but the cattle are out to pasture on a neighbor's land (a local Mennonite community) because they can't supply enough water for them. Once they get their well, they'll be able to bring all their animals back and keep them healthy because they'll be able to give them water. Water will also allow them to grow the food they need - both for themselves and for their animals. I'm astonished at how much of a life-changer a small well like this can be. Hugo told me, "without water, there is no life!"

I feel incredibly privileged to be able to participate in a process that dramatically changes the lives of folks like Hugo and Katarina. I’ll start another well club early next week – possibly tomorrow if the weather changes and warms up a bit!

Bolivia!

So the adventure continues. In grad school, part of my work in International
Development focused on what is called Appropriate Technology. My research led me to a process of hand-dug water wells that could be delivered for around $100. I wanted to know more about this amazing process and tracked down Terry Waller, the inventor of the technology and now the Director of Water For All, International. Terry has been a missionary in Bolivia for over 20 years, where he has dug over 2,000 of these wells and continues to hone the process. This past March, I went to San Angelo, TX (Terry's US home) for a week-long training on these wells and was invited by Terry to join him in Bolivia where the technology actually started.

I leave early Monday July 5th and will return home at the end of August! If you want to check out where I'll be, click on this link. We fly into Santa Cruz de la Sierra, then drive about 250 km NW to the village of San Julian, from which we’ll travel to rural villages, drilling wells. This location is between the Amazon Basin rainforest and the Andean highlands, working primarily with the Quechua people. I’m told we will have only dial-up access to the Internet while in San Julian, so I don’t know how often I’ll be able to update.

After my return to the States, Sherry and I will be considering, praying and wondering if perhaps the Lord would have us take this technology with us back to Africa. There is a Ugandan wells project developing now within Water For All, which would complement their existing Ethiopian work. The Ugandan project would be based in an area called Karamoja, in the northeast of Uganda, likely emanating from a city named Soroti. We’d love your thoughts and prayers!

Next Steps . . .

Do you ever marvel at the turns your life takes? I’m sitting in the Kanga coffee shop in Davao City, Philippines, looking at the woman I fell in love with 40 years ago. To me she is even more beautiful today than that day I noticed – really NOTICED her (might it have been that tight green sweater and sparkling green eyes?). I’d known her for several years already, but never dreamed she might “like” me. Then a couple years later as we stood at the altar, no wait, the judges desk (in Walla Walla, WA where we ran away to be married), I couldn’t believe she was truly mine!

We’ve been on a wild journey since that day (Feb 17^th, 1972). We abandoned ourselves to follow a Jesus we barely knew and have over the years continued to revel in the power of His work in our lives. We have 3 children who’ve grown into amazing individuals – each of whom married equally remarkable people. In three weeks or so, our 5^th grandchild will be born.

And we’re at another crossroads. We have spent the last 7 or 8 years preparing for this next step of the journey. Sherry has been here in the Philippines for almost 3 months, completing an internship as a midwife; after our return to CA, I’ll be leaving for 2 months in Bolivia, hand-digging water wells among the Quechuas with an organization called Water For All. After that, who knows? We’re looking for some direct and clear guidance as to what the future might look like. All we know is that we have committed the rest of our lives to living out (as best we can) God’s word through Isaiah . . ." to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke . . . to share [our] food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter – when [we] see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from [our] own flesh and blood? . . . and if [we] spend [ourselves] in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then [our] light will rise in the darkness, and [our] night will become like the noonday. The LORD will guide [us] always; he will satisfy [our] needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen [our] frames. [We] will be like well-watered gardens, like springs whose waters never fail. . . (Isa 58:6-11).

I invite you into the journey with us!

Hand-dug wells in Bolivia!

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted to my blog . . . We’ve been back in the States now since the first of July last year and I’ve been focused on working and getting ready for our next trip. Sherry has been in Davao City, Philippines since February, completing an internship in midwifery. I’ll meet her there at the end of her stay and we’ll return together. After nearly 40 years together, it’s been a real challenge for me to be living alone for these past 7 weeks! Having run away and gotten married at 18, neither of us has ever lived alone – and the longest we’ve been apart is about 10 days or so! I confess, I’m hopelessly codependent with her :-)

This past March 15^th – 20^th, I spent with Water For All in San Angelo, Texas, learning about hand-dug wells. The training was interesting, especially since everything that might go wrong . . . DID go wrong. But how better to gain an understanding of what might occur overseas than having to deal with it in the training? I especially enjoyed getting to know Terry Waller and Kim Edlund, the two guys running the Water For All organization. They invited me along for a drilling trip to Bolivia during the months of July and August this year. Never been to South America, but I’m planning to go!

Discouraged . . . ? Maybe not

Well, we’ve been back from Africa just over 60 days now. I’m trying to examine my perceptions and understand why I feel discouraged. It was a great trip. We spent over 2 months in the Sudan, working alongside amazing people. We saw incredible things take place and marveled as God protected us in the midst of extraordinary insecurity – with armed rebel warriors inside our compound multiple times. Temperatures soaring to between 120 and 130 degrees f became common and ceased to be noteworthy. We truly participated in ministry, humanitarian acts of kindness and tasted the bread of everydayness with Sudanese friends. We shared life with passionate and caring folks from all over the world – from Sudan, Michigan, Canada, Georgia, Maryland, Kenya and California.

Wait . . . maybe I’m not so discouraged after all.

Nairobi, Sudan and Mambas

I’m not gonna lie to you. I think I’d rather be in Sudan. In Bor its hot (I think we averaged in the 120’s the whole time), muddy, full of bugs, snakes and scorpions – and oh yeah, people shooting at each other. But Nairobi? Posters in the guesthouse where we’re staying warn that you can basically expect to be mugged, especially if you look like a tourist, so they request you NOT leave the premises after 6:30 pm. And there isn’t a lot I can do to hide the fact that I’m not from these parts ☺ There are millions of people in this city, and I think every one of them has a vehicle that belches 6 pounds of carbon with every lurch forward (of maybe a foot at a time) in the unbelievable traffic. The diesel exhaust lays like a blanket over the entire city.

It is oases like the Mayfield guest house and the people who come here that make visiting this city wonderful. Just tonight we met a young lady who is a nurse, working for the past 2 years at a clinic north of Werkok, in Nuerland, just east of Malakal, near the Sudanese border with Ethiopia. Sherry learned a new treatment for snakebite . . . Tazer! Yes, they treat snakebites with a stun gun! Even the deadly green and black mamba bites are rendered powerless with a few hundred thousand volts! I wonder if they found this out by accident . . .

More later . . .

Not like a Lost Boy . . . but still a long walk

I should have known something bad was going to happen when we had to be pulled out of the mud within the 1st 5 minutes of our drive to town. I had arranged to ride to Bor with Paul Anyang, one of the local guys who takes people to and from Bor for 10 Sudanese pounds each way. I had to make good on my promise to pay the first installment on our tractor and none of our vehicles could make the drive . . .

Riding with Paul is an experience. He has an Isuzu SUV (not sure the model) that is a 4WD vehicle – but only 2WD now because some parts are broken. It had rained several times and the roads were pretty muddy. After getting pulled out BY OUR NEW TRACTOR, we hit some places where the water was as much as 3 feet deep, but the ground was solid underneath so we passed right through. It did look pretty scary, but turned out to be no problem. As we left, I’ve never seen a 5-passenger vehicle so loaded. There were 5 people squeezed into the back seat; 2 ladies piled on top of bags of “stuff” in the back and a 9-year-old girl on my lap. Because I have white hair, I’m automatically assigned the front seat ☺

Once we were in town, Paul dropped us all off about a half mile from the Governor’s office and I walked in. The Director-General of the Ministry of Agriculture was out sick with malaria and he was the one who was going to walk me through the process of making my payment. He did send his driver who picked me up and took me to the Ag Ministry offices. There I met Solomon, a very gracious official who took about an hour to get a 3-line letter written and copied. The letter was my “authorization to make an installment” on the tractor. Once we got to the Ministry of Finance, we went into an office that had 4 desks with 1 man at each. I kid you not, each person in the office had to write something on the authorization letter and hand it to the next guy. From there, I got escorted to another office where I found one guard and next to him a cage, completely enclosed with bars, where the “cashier” sat. I was summoned into the cage and the cashier said, “Give me the money!” Overall, it took almost 4 hours to make the silly payment!

Then the ride back. Like the ride into town, we were packed to the gills. We stopped several times while Paul negotiated fares or whatever. We were constantly hounded and people who wanted a ride to Werkok yelled him at repeatedly. By the time we got started it was about 5:00pm. At 5:25 – about 1/3 of the way, we got a flat. I thought, “no problem, we’ll just change the tire and be on our way.” Not so much. Paul had a flat a couple of days before and it wasn’t yet repaired. We had no spare and we were about 13 miles away and it would be dark in about an hour and a half. Paul just stood there staring into space – I had no idea what he was thinking, until he stopped a truck coming towards us heading back to Bor, never said a word to us and got in! He left us there on the road and headed back into town!

We started walking through the mud and potholes filed with water . . . and two and a half hours later (yes, in 2 and a half hours I “walked” over 12 miles; the Sudanese walk so fast I could barely keep from running) I stumbled onto the compound, with some massive blisters on my feet and drenched in sweat. But I was home, and home safe. No problem. Welcome to Africa.

Governors and Tractors

One of my last blog entries talked about “waiting . . .” and feeling a bit melancholic about my time here at Werkok, after having such wild success meeting with the Governor early on about our Ag project. I think now I know what I was waiting for! When Sherry and I returned from Uganda several years ago, we wondered at what training we might seek, to make us more useful in Africa. Sherry received her graduate degree in Nursing School and I got a degree in Animal Science, followed by a graduate degree in International Development. My thought was that I could use the animal husbandry as a part of development to have some type of significant impact in the lives of even a few people. I dreamed of farms and animal projects, but wondered how they fit with the hospital. Almost immediately after arriving in Werkok, Sherry was immersed in the life of the hospital and in the lives of the hospital staff and patients who have grown to love her (no surprise there). I was here . . . still just sort of . . . waiting, for our AgSudan project to take off, and trying to busy myself in whatever construction projects Dave (Mueller) needed help with.

A few days ago, here in Werkok, we received a visitor from an organization called World Gospel Mission (WGM). Reuben is a specialist in Community Development, with particular expertise in agriculture. When I described my “dreams of farms and animal projects,” he got all excited and said that when he was here last October, he prayed for exactly the same kinds of things – and that I was the answer to his prayers! We started brainstorming last night about how we might provide some hope and empowerment for a group of “women-at-risk,” and talked more this morning about whether we might have enough time before the rains really start, to cultivate several acres for planting either sorghum or maize. If it was to happen, we needed to get our hands on a tractor – TODAY! We’ve had over a week of no rain, following several days of rather heavy rains, so everyone is madly tilling the softened soil to get ready for immediate planting. About 3 weeks ago, Governor Kuol Manyang promised us a tractor, which was to be delivered by the Commissioner of Bor – but we still haven’t seen it, so Reuben and I decided to head to Bor to “collect the tractor promised by the Governor.”

Getting with a Governor isn’t an easy thing. We arrived at about 12:30pm and found him there, but in meetings that had started early in the morning and still continued. His secretary, Jacob, suggested we get lunch and come back at 3:00pm. After a wonderful meal of ugali, 2 goat dishes, cow pea greens and pinto beans, washed down with 2 ice-cold Cokes (at the Freedom Hotel), we headed back to the Governor’s office. He had left directions for us to meet with the Minister of Agriculture. Reuben, Jacob, another aide named Bol, and I piled into the Land Cruiser and tracked down the Minister, and caught him napping. He roused himself (he’s rather elderly), met with us and told us we could certainly have a tractor, after we paid an installment of 10,000 Sudanese pounds. This caught me completely off guard. When the Governor told me we could have a tractor – twice – there were no conditions. I had heard some buzz that there was some sort of price that might be charged, but I had no idea that it was the equivalent of nearly $5,000! I only had $1,500!!

As the Minister of Agriculture explained the new deal, and sent us on a wild goose chase to another government official, I wondered if we shouldn’t again try to get some clarification from the Governor. We went back to his office and found him gone. Jacob said he had meetings all afternoon with UNHCR folks and other Ministers . . . but if we wanted to wait, we might try again at around 5:00pm when he might return for a few minutes. We headed back to the Freedom for another round of cold drinks and at about 4:15 trudged back to the Governor’s office. He was there. Jacob said he’d been waiting for us and he would take us in to see the Governor momentarily. The Governor looked tired after an entire day of meetings, dealing with inter-tribal warfare and insecurity, UN folks wanting info about Darfur and we were talking about a tractor. He remembered our AgSudan plan, remembered Mamer, and remembered our meeting with him last March. When I told him I was confused about the Minister of Agriculture demanding 10,000 Sudanese pounds (as a down payment) for the tractor, he shook his head, called his secretary and asked her to call Dr. Biar. About 15 minutes later, in strolled the elderly Minister of Agriculture we had caught napping and who had sent us to another official. Governor Kuol told him basically that he was to find a way to give us a tractor – today and for the $1,500 I had with me! He reiterated that the money wasn’t the issue; what mattered is that we had committed to invest in the lives of the people.

The poor Minister of Agriculture was a bit frustrated. He was told to give us a tractor for the $1,500, but the Finance folks were already gone, the technicians assembling the tractor components were gone, but I was still standing with him, smiling and telling him I had this window of dry weather and needed the tractor now . . . and how could we work this out? He made some phone calls, the Director General came (I have no idea who this guy is or what he does, but he was the keeper of the tractor keys) and said that with the Minister’s and Governor’s signatures, I can pick up the tractor tomorrow morning at 8:30am. “Don’t worry about the money; you can bring it sometime on Monday,” was the Ministers comment as he left. Really? They’re letting us take the tractor before we’ve paid them? Were my ears deceiving me? I could almost hear the Lord laughing with us as He moved the hearts and hands of Sudanese government officials!

Werkok Memorial Hospital - Hope for the Hopeless!

Well, its been a wild ride for these past several weeks! I looked over my past messages and see that they're a little on the dark side. I'm not gonna lie to you, this has been one of the hardest things I think we've ever done. However, coming out of a bit of a funk, I have to admit that I completely see God's hand in our lives and in this place (Memorial Christian Hospital, Werkok). It is the one beacon of hope for the people anywhere within at least a 2-hour driving radius. Twice now, we've had some folks (3 white guys from Nashville) working on a mission school in Jaleh bring some of their injured to us. The first one was a young man who'd had his finger crushed by a 50-gallon drum full of fuel. When they arrived, the end of the finger was hanging by a thread. Dr. Ajak and Sherry put it back together and when we saw the same guys again two days ago, they said he now has feeling in the finger and is able to move it!

When they came this time, they brought a young girl who'd been attacked by a crocodile! I'll leave details of the story to tell you in person! So many other things . . . malaria, scorpion stings, new babies being delivered. Two of the ladies who've recently delivered babies here are widows from the recent fighting and without this hospital would have had no support.

Everyone in the vicinity says this is the best hospital - even better than the one in Bor, which is the nearest city. The Governor of the State even chose to bring his wife and mother here instead of the hospital in Bor! It is an amazing privilege to share a part of being Jesus' hands and feet to the people of Southern Sudan!

April 21st – Long day

Last night was a good night of sleep. It didn’t start out hot and didn’t get too cold. I even had to cover up with a top sheet ☺ (JP, you’ll be delighted to know that for awhile once we return, even I will be freezing anytime the temp goes below 75 degrees. Amazing how cold 75 feels when the daytime temps hit over 120!).

I was feeling a bit melancholy this morning, meditating on the verses in Luke 8, but especially verse 1, where it says, “After this, Jesus traveled about from one town and village to another, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God.” (NIV) I was trying to imagine what it would be like to do that here in southern Sudan. Everything about life here in Sudan is hard – even for the Sudanese. Late this morning, I had a conversation with John Kuol (compound manager), who commented on how hard life is here in Werkok. Today, we don’t have a working vehicle except two motorcycles, one of which is less than reliable, meaning that we’ll likely have to walk the 25 km to the airport. We don’t have consistent communication except for a satellite phone, which is expensive and gets prepaid minutes added from Grand Rapids, Michigan (though telephone and internet through the VSAT is supposed to be up and working any time now). We’ve been virtually without outside communication since our arrival here on March 21st, a month ago today.

The day after a hard rain, you can’t imagine the bugs. You lift the “toilet” seat and hold your breath so you don’t breathe in one of the hundreds of newly hatched flies that rush you, celebrating their new metamorphosis from maggot to bomber. As I sit typing, I have to constantly be shooing these little black beetles off my screen. I’m being dive-bombed by crickets and flies and flying ants. I’ve picked at least 30 beetles or ants out of my hair and another 15 or 20 from the back of my neck or inside my shirt – all within the past hour or two. All afternoon, we fight horseflies, which bite. I mean BITE! To the point that they actually draw blood; and snakes, and scorpions and 2-inch-long cockroaches . . . During rainy season, you can’t sit outside past dusk because of the clouds of mosquitoes – and if you’re in a tukul, you climb into your mosquito net early, trying to at least postpone the inevitable malaria.

And Luke talks about Jesus “traveling about from one town and village to another, proclaiming the good news . . .” The times I’ve read these verses from my home in southern California, I never realized how differently they’d look, when reading them through the lens of East Africa. I have a new appreciation and deep respect for missionaries here, because “traveling from one village to another” is unbelievably hard and uncomfortable work! God Bless you Dave and Joy, Ian, Forrest and Cameron!

April 20th – Rainy Season

We rose at around 7:00 am this morning to sunshine, with a few clouds off to the North and East. By 8:15, the sky had begun to darken and by 8:30 am it was almost as dark as evening, just before African darkness begins to swallow you up. By 8:45, the wind erupted into a maelstrom, clubbing us and scattering the stackable (Costco) chairs, along with anything that wasn't tied down or wedged against an immovable wall; it ripped the shade cloth on the porch to shreds and we had to lever shoes under the door to keep it closed. Horizontal rain rushed under the ridge cap on our roof, inciting a whole team of intruding streams into the room. Lightning and thunder so close and powerful that the ground and walls trembled against its might.

It rained off and on for about 6 hours, often with rain that looked like almost like solid sheets. John (the local Sudanese compound manager) and Josh and Aaron had gone to town to take Junko (the visiting Pediatrician from CHOC who lives only about 10 miles from us!) to catch her plane to Nairobi. They returned at about 7pm - all of them covered in mud, with stories about how difficult the trip had been. It took them over 3 hours to travel less than 20 miles. At one point, they went for over 100 meters never seeing the road because of the entire thing being under at least a foot of water. They got stuck in the mud several times, had to push the car out and once had to be towed out of the mess. All this even with John, one of the best drivers I've seen. Imagine the massive potholes and furrows created by huge, overloaded trucks trying to get to Bor or even all the way to Juba . . . then imagine the same road being traveled by drivers who have never had driver's training and don't really know how to drive, let alone attempting some of the worst conditions I've ever encountered!

John said that if it rains even once again, the road will be completely impassable. No wonder the ex-pats (foreigners) try to get out before the rains really start! According to everyone we’ve spoken to . . . the rains have actually started a month early this year. Now, I'm sure you're wondering, just like we were, how WE will get out if it rains again? The reality is that our best bet will be to strip down our belongings to what we can carry in our backpacks . . . and walk the 25 km or so to get to the airport! Good thing my orthotics didn't disappear with my black shoes :-)

APRIL 17th

It started out like a normal evening; we'd had a good day of work around the compound. Josh and Aaron had made good progress on the VSAT. It was set on the pole, trenches dug for the coaxial cables and the lines laid. Just waiting to try and point the dish, capture the satellite signal and set up the software for the modem. Visitors were coming, too. In fact, 7 representatives from Samaritan's Purse, Canada had arrived about 15 minutes earlier and gone off to visit a small clinic about 20 minutes away. I'd set up 3 tents and got all their mattresses and linens ready; Sherry had been busy cooking and cleaning all day.

I think it was Sherry who first noticed that all the villagers were running. The people here NEVER run – unless something (usually bad) has happened. In fact, when you run for exercise, you’ll generally get chided and often yelled at, because when people see anyone running, they think there is a problem and they want you to stop immediately! It turns out there was indeed a problem. We caught bits and pieces as packs of men ran by, all carrying their guns. In the little village less than a mile away from us, 2 children had been abducted from the side of the road by a small group of Murle (neighboring tribe) and the entire village was running to try and find them. Then, a pickup truck came barreling down the road and turned into the hospital compound to deliver one of the young moms who'd been shot in the leg above her knee, shattering her femur. She was in incredible pain and we were praying she wouldn't lose her baby as she is 7 months pregnant

After a preliminary surgery to attempt removal of the bone fragments and any visible bullet remnants, Dr Ajak took the injured lady to Bor Hospital, where there was x-ray equipment to make a complete diagnosis. . [As of 25th April, the lady is doing well and Dr. Ajak saved her life!)The crazy thing was that we, along with all of our visitors had been in Sudan long enough now – that none of us were terribly surprised or shocked about the evening’s events. Once the immediate excitement died down, we all just sort of went back to our regular conversations! Imagine. After only 5 weeks here, we’ve begun to grow accustomed to the violence. I hate that.

Tragedy in Werkok

I awoke to gunfire again today. It is Good Friday and I’m sitting in the HIV/AIDS office of the Minister of Health, waiting for the Secretary to finish sending her work so I can use the Internet. This is an amazing place. On the way here, I got some more updated information on the death count from the fighting over the past few days (about 20 miles south of us in a place called Anyidi); from the tiny village of Werkok, there were 21 young men killed – all of them under 24 years old. Besides the ones killed from Werkok, there were a total of over 50 Dinka killed and at least as many Murle deaths. The Murle had actually set a circular ambush and got the Dinka in a crossfire, mowing them down from the front and rear. Apparently these guys are such bad shots that the Dinka, despite being caught in the crossfire firefight, killed more Murle than the Murle killed Dinka. The tragedy is beyond comprehension. More than 100 young men dead.

Contemplating the death and resurrection of Jesus, our hearts grieve with the families and know that peace can only come as a result of the resurrection power of transformed lives. Apart from that, it seems there is no hope. Most of the Dinka here have no confidence that peace can ever be achieved; because of the systemic syphilis and resultant barrenness of their women, the Murle are forced to raid and kidnap children just to insure their very survival. Add to that the reality that the Government of Sudan is arming and supporting them in order to foment further insecurity and the picture continues to get even more bleak.

I am overcome with sadness at the wretchedness of the lives of these dear people. Not only does the climate conspire against them (this weather is the harshest I’ve ever seen), but the insecurity and fear and revenge and abject poverty overwhelm and consume the lives of the people. Is this really the 21st century? Can people really be so brutal and value life so little? Clearly we cannot change all of Sudan, but now having become aware of this specific problem in this specific place, with people whose names we know and whose families we have visited, how can we just stand by and watch? Will you please join Sherry and me in asking God for wisdom in how to approach this horror? Will you please join us in asking God for safety for the children and young men who feel bound to protect and avenge them? Will you please join us in beseeching God for changed hearts that will allow for peace to break through the tribal hatred and for those who claim to know Jesus to begin walking with Him, in deed and in truth? It is a task far too big for us – and facing it is almost unbearable. Thank you for joining with us, at whatever level you can. God Bless you!

Greetings from Werkok!

Greetings from Werkok, Southern Sudan

April 1, 2009
I’m writing from the HIV/AIDS office of the Minister of Health of Southern Sudan. This is the first opportunity I’ve had for an extended period of internet access. Following is a relatively brief summary of our adventures since my last post. I’m waiting for nearly 350 emails to download . . . so I have a bit of time . . . :-)

We arrived in Juba on Wednesday March 18th. Its really odd landing in a new place, not knowing the language and not sure anyone is going to be at the airport to meet you. we were actually met by Muki Lita, a friend of Mamer’s, who was to arrange transport for us. Muki (whom we’d never met) yhen handed us over to a taxi driver, who took us to the Government of Southern Sudan (GOSS) conference center. When we arrived, we found Mamer across the street at the radio station, in the middle of a press conference. We met a lady from the State Department, some other dignitaries and the Lost Boys delegation. After the press conference, we went to the “hotel,” dropped off our bags and got shuttled off to another meeting. This was a meeting of the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement (SPLM), which got capped by a closing speech by Dr. Luk Abion (sp?), Minister of Presidential Affairs. We got ushered to front-row seats, which would have been great if Sherry wasn’t so sleepy that she kept nodding off as the afternoon wore on . . . ;-)

After the meeting we went back to the Oasis Camp Hotel, which was a metal Chinese container with an air conditioner hung on one wall. There was running water (cold), a flush toilet sitting on a completely broken-down pressboard floor. There was also a mosquito net over the one bed, which was shorter than my frame. For this slice of paradise, we had the privilege of paying $240 per night! The room price did include all our meals, which we ate just a few feet from the Nile. Astonishingly beautiful!

Thursday (March 19th) we drove to Bor, after waiting hours for the “Jonglei Coordinator” to find a vehicle that would take us. The drive from Juba to Bor was 3 ½ hours of bone-jarring, white-knuckle, nail-biting action. We were traveling in a convoy with the Minister of Finance for the State of Jonglei – along with his machine-gun-toting entourage. Picture the worst unpaved road you’ve ever traveled with giant potholes, rocks on a sometimes hardpan/sometimes sand substrate. Then try to imagine flying over it at 100 – 120 kph. I don’t know exactly how fast that is in mph, but from my front seat perspective, it was REALLY FAST. At one point, we hit some sand and started sliding toward a ditch on the side, but the driver barely slowed down, got the vehicle (a Toyota Land Cruiser) under control and quickly ramped back up to speed.

On Friday March 20th, we finally met with the Governor. Wait. Not just the Governor, but with the Ministers of Finance, Education, Infrastructure, Land, IT and the Commissioner of Bor County. H.E. (His Excellency) Governor Kuol Manyang Juuk was incredibly gracious to us, praising Mamer’s achievement in completing his education. As Mamer explained the AgSudan project, the Governor listened attentively, then basically said he agreed with the whole concept, and then committed to personally invest in the project – as well as take responsibility to help raise the $$ required for startup. He also committed the use of some tractors he has in his compound. Overall, we were completely taken off guard by the positive response we received!

March 23rd. Mamer and I visited the village, and got confirmation that they did indeed want to grant us the 10km X 10km piece of land to start farming.

March 24th. It was 127 degrees today. Over 100 degrees throughout the evening in our tent . . . until about 3 am when the wind and rain started. The good news is that the wind blew so hard that the tent sort of caved in and wrapped against my naked body, with the cold rain touching me – but through the silk of the ten so I didn’t get wet. It was the best part of the night!

I rode a Suzuki 650 (nice machine!) into town to meet with the Governor again, but he pushed us off to the Commissioner of Bor County. What a wild ride this has been (not talking about the moto; I never went above about 35 mph because of the crappy roads).

On Wednesday, March 25th, I visited the village where we will have our farm project. I was the only white guy and the only one who spoke English. My “translator” spoke an English I rarely understood. When I arrived at the village, all the elders and chiefs were waiting for me, excited about getting our project underway. Right after arriving, a young man showed up, who was recently returned from Phoenix. He was very antagonistic about our project and didn’t want the elders to give us the land. So I was standing in the middle of 25 men – all screaming at one another – most of them carrying AK-47s. finally they dealt with the complainer and we were ready to leave; but the one guy who spoke a bit of English said there was a problem with the vehicles. I had agreed to pay 200 Sudanese pounds total for 2 days transport for me to and from the village; (I had also come the previous Monday with Mamer to get approval from the elders for the land). Now this guy was demanding that I was liable for an additional 200 pounds each for two more vehicles so all the village leaders and soldier escort could come with us to view the land. I told him I had only requested to see the land, and didn’t request either an escort – or a parade! I told them (the elders) they were welcome to come with us, but I wasn’t going to pay. After they yelled at me for a bit, and I stood smiling and refusing to pay for more vehicles, they realized they didn’t want to pay either . . . so we left in one vehicle. It was a Nissan Frontier pickup; I sat in the front seat with the driver (and his AK-47). 7 soldiers, one with a belt-fed machine gun, and 7 elders from the village piled into the bed of the truck, and we were off.

Leaving the village, we entered the bush. At one point, we scared a gazelle and 2 soldiers and one elder jumped out of the truck and started firing! It took about 12 shots – all from the AK’s – but they finally took down the gazelle. Not bad from about 50 yards with a short-barrel gun. The land was pure forest, lots of very prickly trees and bushes. I asked about the animal population on our land and was told it is home to lions, zebras, leopards, gazelles, many other kinds of deer, baboons, monkeys and various snakes. Can’t wait to set up a tent and hang out. Want to come join us?

Since then, Sherry and I have been hanging out at the hospital at Werkok. I’ve been working mostly with Dave Mueller, painting, dry walling, taping the walls, putting on roofs, etc. There is a giant dedication this coming Sunday, at which we expect several hundred to attend. Sherry is busy working at the hospital, assisting in surgeries, handling patients and organizing the pharmacy. She has already done wonders in helping there!

So this is the latest. We might get a VSAT set up at the Werkok compound, which would allow us email and internet access. If not, I’ll try to keep this updated every few days by coming to town and accessing via the Ministry of Health or another NGO that is friendly to us.

Thanks for your prayers. We miss you!

Nairobi: Monday - Long Monday

This was a loooonnngggg day. Shouldn’t have been, but it sure was. Maybe because it started at 3:30 am? Anyway, Mamer’s cousin, Ajak came to escort us through the day and we would have really been in trouble without him. We first went to the Government of Southern Sudan’s (GOSS) special permits (visas) office, arriving there at about 11 am. The official who had been contacted by the government in Juba was a bit reluctant – I suspect because there are so many visa requests they do daily – and he was being pressured to get ours done quickly. Apparently it usually takes at least 24 hours to process a single visa and we were expecting two in less than 4 hours! Grumbling, he asked us to come back at 3 pm to collect the visas.

We left the GOSS office, heading into the center of Nairobi to Barclays Bank to withdraw cash for the tickets – and then to the airport to purchase our flights to Juba. We ran into a small hitch at the bank; we have a $1,000 daily limit for drawing cash, so I figured we’d have no problem with the $305 (each) fares. In an enclosed atm, at which there were no less than 2 armed guards, I started the transaction to withdraw 40,000 Kenyan schillings (about $500). The atm sounded like it had processed the transaction, started counting the bills . . . and then the screen went blank, froze up and reset itself. No money and no receipt. But the machine had processed the withdrawal! After about an hour waiting and dealing with a very gracious banker, we now have a signed receipt proving the money never changed hands. However, once I withdrew the 40,000 schillings from another atm inside the branch, we had “exceeded our daily limit,” and couldn't get any more cash. Fortunately, East African Airlines takes credit cards ☺

At about 4:00 pm we actually picked up our visas, and exhausted, headed for the hotel. Not used to either the heat or humidity, it took another 2-1/2 hours before we finally finished all the errands (walking I might add). So we leave for Juba, Sudan on a 10 am flight tomorrow morning to meet with Mamer, who says, "The land won't be a problem!" In fact, it should be confirmed at our meeting Wednesday morning with the Minister of Agriculture!

Ahh . . . like Sherry says, “We ain’t in Kansas any more!”

Nairobi: 3:30 am

I’m trying to think of lots of clever things to say, but all I can get out is . . . “why the heck couldn’t I sleep!!???” I intentionally stayed awake over the duration of both our flights – starting at 9 pm in California (9 hour 46 minutes flight to Heathrow) until we arrived in Nairobi at 7 am (8 hours from Heathrow to Jomo Kenyatta) Sunday morning. The best I can figure is that “Saturday” for us only lasted 4 hours while we were in London. At Jomo, smiling, giant white-teeth John, the hotel’s driver, greeted us. Walking to the van, we were accosted by several men trying to wrench luggage out of our hands to “help us.” They were greatly disappointed at (1) Sherry’s vise-grip on her carry-on bag, (2) I carried my own luggage and (3) when one finally grabbed my large backpack and threw it into the van during the millisecond I set it down, I only gave him $1. John just laughed.

Arriving at the Heron Hotel, Sherry showered and went straight to bed. The staff here are wonderful. The desk clerk arranged for a new cell phone, which we’ll use whenever we’re in Africa – he assured me it would even work in the US. If you need to reach us for the next couple of months, the number is (254) 071 706 0345. I finally gave in to the need for a nap, and so slept from about noon to five. We wandered around the hotel for a bit, sat on the terrace enjoying the cool breeze and trying not to be grouchy at each other because we were so tired. By about 8 pm I could barely keep my eyes open.

I was sure that a tall Tusker (African beer) and 2 melatonins would do the trick and I’d wake up cheerful, rested and ready for the day . . . at about 7 am. So at around 9 pm, I climbed into our very comfortable queen-size. No dice. Awake every two hours or so and at 3:30 am I was wide-awake, listening to a mosquito dive-bombing my ear; I finally caved at 4:30 . . . and so here I am. Thanks for being interested enough to read this far!

The Lost Boys of Sudan

Since many have indicated a desire for a bit more information about the "Lost Boys" of Sudan, I thought I'd do a quick primer . . . I also have to insert a bit of editorial disclaimer here; these are no longer boys - and not very lost. Those I've met are incredibly intelligent, articulate, gracious, generous, passionate men, willingly leaving comfort and relative prosperity in the US to return to Sudan. They plan to invest their own resources, indeed their very lives in an effort to see a decimated country flourish once again.

In what has been called the second civil war in Sudan, north fought south from 1983 until the Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) was signed in 2005. During this war, nearly 2 million southern Sudanese were killed and more than 4 million driven from their homes.

Nicknamed “the Lost Boys” by several aid organizations operating in Sudan, most of the boys were orphaned or separated from their families when government troops (from the North) systematically attacked villages throughout southern Sudan killing many of the inhabitants, most of whom were civilians. When villages were attacked, girls were raped, killed, taken as slaves to the north, or became servants or adopted children for other Sudanese families. Consequently, relatively few girls made it to the refugee camps. The younger boys survived in large numbers because they were away tending herds or able to escape into the nearby jungles. Orphaned and with no support, they made epic journeys of hundreds of miles (some over 1,000 miles!) and lasting years across Sudan’s borders to international relief camps in Ethiopia and Kenya. It was a miracle they survived thirst, starvation, wild animals, insects, disease, and one of the bloodiest wars of the 20th century. Experts say they are the most badly war-traumatized children ever examined.

In 2001, about 3,800 of the Lost Boys arrived in the United States. Since then, many have received university education and in some cases, gone on to pursue graduate degrees. It has become Sherry’s and my privilege to be invited into the lives of a handful of these now grown young men who are passionate about returning to Sudan and investing in the lives of their people and country.

You can find many resources, but I've read or watched these and know they're good:

- Dave Eggers, What Is the What: The Autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng. A novel based on the story of Valentino Achak Deng, now living in the US

- John Bul Dau and Michael Sweeney, God Grew Tired of Us: A Memoir. The life story of John Dau, who was also chronicled in the 2006 documentary God Grew Tired of Us. ISBN 978-1426201141

- Judy A. Bernstein (ed.), They Poured Fire on Us From the Sky. The true story in their own words of the 14-year journey of Benson Deng, Alephonsion Deng and Benjamin Ajak, now living in the US.

6 days to Africa

That's right. We leave in 6 days. So today, the itinerary looks like this (but this is Africa and things are always subject to change):

*March 13: Depart LAX and arrive in Nairobi on March 15th
*March 16 or 17: Fly to Juba to meet Mamer Ajak, then travel to Bor and present the Ag plan to the governor of Jonglei State.
*First week in April: Attend the dedication of the Werkok Hospital (site where Sherry will volunteer)
*April 6th or 13th:(depends on transportation availability, since there will be lots of visitors needing transport from Werkok at one time), travel to Nairobi
*May 20th: (depending on schedules) meet up with Jerry & Kathy Moser and Daniel Akech Thiong, another of the Lost Boys from Sudan. We will be visiting Sudanese students who have been sponsored by Daniel, Jerry & Kathy and others.
*June 15th: to Europe for debriefing (okay—maybe for a little fun too!)
*June 30th: HOME from London

More updates to come . . .

Hunting Jesus

"Have you been asking God what He is going to do? He will never tell you. God does not tell you what He is going to do; He reveals to you Who He is." - Oswald Chambers

Too often I'm concerned about what I want God to do, either in my own life or in the lives of others within my sphere of influence. Chambers nailed it; it isn't about what he's going to do, its about who he is. Sherry and I are preparing to head off again to Africa and I'm constantly praying, asking what he wants me to do and how he wants me to do it. I'm always wondering what it should look like? The "it" in this case is whatever task or job might be lining up for me. Chambers hi-jacked me with his statement; it dawned on me that what I do or don't do is secondary to apprehending just who this Jesus is I've sworn to follow. The doing must always follow and be informed by the apprehending! Seeing and recognizing him becomes the platform from which I can see what the doing must be.

Speaking of doing . . . Here's a good video on the plight of the pygmies in SW Uganda. It underscores some of the difficulties they face as they attempt the transition from hunter-gatherers to agriculturalists. It also highlights the challenges we face as we seek to encourage them towards animal husbandry with goats as a potential pathway towards sustainability.

Wells, Pygmies and Goats

This has been a wild year! Gotta confess that we've been bad . . . real bad at staying in touch. We truly hope to do a better job communicating in the year to come.

This year saw both Sherry and me complete our Master's degrees - Sherry in Nursing and me in International Development. For both of us, it was the culmination of many years of full-time school. Now is when it starts to get really interesting . . .

I'm leaving for San Angelo, Texas on the 13th of March to train with a man who invented a technology for digging wells, each of which costs around US $100. After the training week in Texas, Sherry and I, along with a young man named Mark Ukleja, will head off to Burkina Faso (in West Africa, near Ivory Coast) with the hope of initiating a project team we can train to dig these wells throughout the country.

After 2 weeks in Burkina, Sherry and I will head down to Uganda, to the same hospital ministering to the Batwa pygmies, where we spent the summer of 2005. When we returned after our first trip, I wrote a grant, asking for funds that would bring clean water, sanitation and some goats to the pygmies. The grant was approved and funded this past summer by Rotary International, to the tune of just under $300,000. Sol Henson, a hydrologist from UC Davis is currently in Uganda administering the water and sanitation components of the project. A Rotarian from Reno had committed to spend a year administering the goat segment of the project, but it appears he won't be able to do so. I received a call about a month ago, asking if I might be able to come and give some leadership to that portion of the work . . . so here we go! I actually have no idea what it might look like for us to be involved again with the Bwindi Community Health Centre , but we're sure going to find out. Here is another link with more information about the work in the Bwindi Impenetrable National Park, begun by Scott and Carol Kellermann, and where it looks like Sherry and I might be spending some significant time over the next few years. One of the things Sherry is hoping for is the opportunity to work closely with the maternity wing at the hospital and become proficient as a midwife.

There are still lots of questions left unanswered for us: like . . . when will we be coming back? We just aren't sure right now. Though I'm getting a week's worth of hands-on training in Texas, they say it takes quite a while to really grasp the nuances of effectively digging and starting these types of wells. Apparently, you can't capture the "art" to these wells without actually doing them - lots of them. So, one of the options we're considering is having me spend an additional 3 months or so, traveling throughout the Ethiopian bush, going from village to village, digging these wells. If we pursue this option, I'd very much like to bring someone from both Burkina Faso and Uganda to train alongside. Sherry would stay at the hospital in Bwindi while I undertake this adventure.

Thanks for taking the time to wade through this. For those of you who pray, please keep us on your list!

Have a wonderful New Year and we'll be in touch again soon.

What is the What?

This is the story of Achak (Valentino) Deng. But it is also the story of countless other Lost Boys from Sudan. It is a compelling, tragic, victorious story of survival. To try and imagine some of the events and circumstances and experiences these boys have endured is beyond the typical American's comprehension. Walking for hundreds of miles with not enough food or water; watching as one of your friends was carried away by a lion and listening as his bones were crunched and he was eaten by that lion. Sitting at the base of a tree, after walking for weeks together, burying your best friend so the vultures wouldn't eat him until you had walked far enough away not to see or hear.

I'm experiencing What is the What as an audio book. It is so compelling I can hardly stop listening and periodically I find myself weeping at the harshness of the lives these boys were forced to endure.

God grant me the courage and resolve to make a difference!

Size does matter

Over the past couple of weeks, I've watched my mom, someone I thought was pretty healthy, become transformed into a broken physical shell. It started with her being short of breath and asking the doc to do a stress test. When the test results came back "abnormal," he scheduled an angioplasty with the intention of installing a stent. The angio day brought some bad news; Mom needed open heart surgery, which turned out to be a quadruple bypass! After the Thursday surgery, she seemed to be doing well and making an excellent recovery. Until Sunday night. During a breathing exercise with the hospital Respiratory Therapist, she suffered what the doc called a massive stroke, with significant damage and extensive swelling on the right side of her brain - leaving her entire left body paralyzed.

A subsequent conversation I had with the doc left me reeling. Essentially he said that he didn't have a great deal of hope for significant recovery "because of mom's age and her size." Now, since then, mom has proved him completely wrong and has made remarkable progress in her physical therapy (as of 9/11/08) - to the extent that she has even walked inside the parallel bars for about 15 feet! I'm so proud of her tenacity and drive to get to the place where she can realistically begin to care for herself again.

Some months ago I wrote about being "waisted." While I am excited for the progress and direction of Mom's recovery, what the doc said was a dramatic wake-up call for me. It reminded me I have all the genes that predispose me to diabetes, atherosclorosis, high blood pressure and a host of other complications arising from simply carrying too much weight. I actually hate this. I hate having to write about it because it calls me to accountability.

It is also a reminder that we're preparing and planning to spend time in Africa, investing in the lives of those who are on the margins. It feels like an affront for a fat man to attempt to engage people who may be starving. So, realizing that size does matter, I'm looking forward to changing mine. Maybe I can appropriate John the Baptist's statement that "He must increase and I must decrease" (Jn 3:30). What do you think?

MONDAY (3/10/08) IN OUAGA

We started the day like most others, except I had a bit less sleep. I was up till after midnight, and then up again at about 4:30 am preparing a message for the pastor’s conference at which we were the featured speakers. Josh and I each spoke for about an hour and a half (including questions at the end of each segment).

The conference was held at a church in the bush about 45 km outside the city, and attended by 60 – 70 pastors. These men are so gracious. They were clearly of a different economic status than most of the other pastors we’ve seen who are largely from the city – or directors of bible schools. These men each pastor one or more churches in bush villages, and farm for their living needs. Several of the men attending this one-day conference are now out of food for themselves and their families. When I say, “out of food,” it doesn’t mean they’re getting low. It means they have nothing left. Nothing. They are now facing the rest of March, April, May, June, July, August and September before the October harvest, when they will again have food . . . if they live to see it.

I am reminded again that we need to participate with them in some way. It costs $26 for a family of 5 to eat for a month – one meal a day – but they can at least survive the famine. I’m asking God how and if we (Sherry and I) should participate in what He is doing here in Burkina Faso. One of the ideas I’ve had is exploring further some well-digging technology, where hand-dug wells costing only around $100 can be made available to the people. Local workers can be trained to dig the wells and given (by means of micro-finance loans?) the tools necessary to create a well-digging (transformational development) business. Additional training in water catchment technologies could be made available for capturing the 40mm – 100mm of rainwater which comes each year during the rainy season. Regular and consistent water availability would solve the majority of the problems faced by these subsistence farmers.

Sunday (3/9/08) in Ouaga

Sunday was a great day. We spent the morning at Eliel Church, where Josh spoke on Psalm 73. Clearly, God has given him the gift of teaching and his word to the church was well-received.

After lunch we went to an open-air market where the vendors were incredibly aggressive. This market faced a concrete waterway that was dry (like everything else here this time of year), and once we got past the first few shops, we had a feeling of being pretty “caught” by them. They were grabbing our arms and doing everything in their power to get us into their “shops,” which were cubbyholes about 5 feet wide by 8 or 9 feet deep. They had no concept of “personal space.” In-your-face hawking of their wares, yelling “Excuse me, Excuse me!” grabbing our arms and actually trying to push us into their shops. Daniel told us later that it was in the very same place that he had been cheated by the vendors. I think we got lucky! They actually had some pretty nice stuff. As far as souvenirs go, that is. I think the prices we got from them were at least fair, if not good.

Sunday night was great. It was over an hour of pure singing. There’s nothing like a whole building full of singing and dancing Africans. Part way through the meeting, they asked Julie and Josh and me to sing, which we did – and then Julie did a solo. Wow! What a voice! I had no idea she could sing. But what really surprised me was how she could dance! At the end of the service, Elienai (Daniel’s youngest daughter – about 20 yrs old) called her out to the floor in front of the podium and she danced with about 12 of the ladies and a handful of men. She got game!

I can’t imagine much more encouraging than a church full of Africans dancing and singing praise to the Lord for what He’s done . . . except the arrival of my first granddaughter! VIOLET GRACE PRINCE made her appearance at 8:16am, March 7th. She weighed 8lbs, 6ozs and was 21.5 inches long. Mom and baby are doing GREAT.

Ouagadougou

This is the first day I've had internet access since Thursday evening . . .

FRIDAY IN OUAGA (3/7/08)

Today has been a wonderful day. The night cold (70+ degrees) was really comfortable at 4:45 am when I rolled off (not out-of because I was on-top-of) my bed. Nothing better than a cup of instant Nescafe on the patio! Pastor Daniel collected us at 7 am and chauffeured us an hour and a half west of Ouagadougou to the Bethel Bible School, in the town of Koudougou. Jeremy is the director of the school and a wonderful host. This is one of the places our church has bought roofs for some of the outdoor “kitchens” used by the wives of the students. These kitchens are each approximately 6’ x 4’ built of stone, exposed to the wind and dust – of which there is no shortage of either! There are two small holes built into the nearly flat top of a small stone cavern in which the coals are placed from the front, like a front-loading stone oven. During the rainy season (about 3 – 4 months a year), they can’t cook and have to eat the food raw or share one of the kitchens that does have a roof. And saying they have a roof doesn’t tell the complete story. These kitchens are built in a sort of pod, 6 in a row on one side, with the back wall serving as a common wall for 6 more mirroring them on the opposite side. A galvanized roof, sloping only one direction covers only the tops – with the sides still open to the air, wind and dust. All the cooking for each family is handled at one of these kitchens.

I spoke at the chapel service today on imitating Christ (from Ephesians, Philippians and I Corinthians) and attempting to use illustrations of how God has sustained Sherry and me over the past 35 years walking with Him. At the end, Jeremy asked me to pray for some of the students who are already out of food and supposedly the famine won’t be until later this summer! Clearly for these students, the famine has begun. Josh spoke well again at the 2 morning class sessions.

Lunch today was far more suitable to our wimpy American palates. We had more noodles, cooked with entire chickens in it – including heads and feet! Along with the noodles was another dish of “pental,” or roasted guinea fowl. It was delicious, far better than chicken. Veggies and bread rounded out the meal, along with Fanta (orange) and Coke. Here’s what is so tough. I had just heard that some of the students had no food – and we were treated to a complete feast. Moore culture requires that even if they have nothing, they must immediately go and borrow to provide exceptional hospitality to a visitor and then repay what was borrowed some time in the future! And it would be an affront not to accept. And it broke my heart to accept.

SATURDAY IN OUAGA (3/8/08)

Saturday was a day for visiting . . . first stop was Pierre’s church in Koubri, where we were treated to Nescafe from plastic bowls because Pierre had no cups. But Pierre DID have a Renault “Rapid,” a sweet little french version of a minivan, which he drove and we followed – to show us the barrage or dam that feeds a government-constructed system of irrigated plots where about 70 families grow various small crops. This was no small sacrifice for the man who had no cups, as gasoline costs over $6 per gallon! They were growing rice, cabbage, corn, onions, and an herb that didn’t translate to English. When other foods become scarce, they use this herb as an extender for any meat or other vegetables or boiled to make a soup. Because the land here is irrigated, the people generally have enough money and food all year round. The key to their subsistence is water. Previously they used pesticides every two weeks for pest control, but now they are experimenting with a spray concocted from crushed leaves of the NFme (pronounced “neem”) tree. It seems to work well to prevent pests from consuming the plants and is completely safe for human consumption. These 70 families are well-provisioned on about 25 hectares of land.

I wondered about the security of the produce. Why, for example, wouldn’t it get stolen at night? Pastor Daniel said it is very common practice for animists to place curses on the plots so that anyone attempting to steal would be prevented from leaving until the owner arrived in the morning. I thought he was joking . . . but he was dead serious. He said this isn’t done so much any more in the cities because it would cause the deaths of too many children who have grown up on the streets not knowing right from wrong and would get caught in the curses! In the bush, it is still common practice! People apparently do die from the curses!

Before dinner, Daniel escorted us to the home of Abdul and Husga, one of his married daughters and her husband. Daniel had asked us to come pray for their oldest son Ismail (11years old), who is facing the possibility of death due to a kidney disease, which I believe they called glomerial nephritis (it was a tough translation of French, Moore and English). What I understood clearly is there isn’t a single pediatric nephrologist in all of W. Africa. Abdul and Husga have petitioned the government for financial support, which would allow them to take Ismail to France for treatment. Without the government approval, and unless God intervenes, Ismail will not live.

Daniel and Elizabeth Delma treated to us to a meal at their home, which was by far the finest meal we’ve had in Ouaga. African couscous, rice, noodles (what’s with the curly Italian noodles? We’ve had them at every meal!), chicken and guinea hen, an incredible salad of shredded carrots with cucumbers and cabbage covered with a home-made vinaigrette. Six of the Delma children were there along with spouses of the married ones. It was wonderful evening with grandchildren running everywhere

However, the crown of the entire evening was hearing Sherry’s voice . . . and her handing the phone to Carrie, who announced the grand entrance yesterday of Violet Grace Prince, my third grandchild and first granddaughter! While I’m sad I missed it, I thank God for little Violet’s safe arrival!