I looked out the window just in time to see the yellow-vested man give two thumbs up to the pilot, the plane’s rubber stops at his feet. “I am really going to Sudan,” I thought to myself.
We soared past small collections of round and rectangular rooves. Green trees dotted fields of long tan grass. Shortly after flying over the Nile River, we landed. Our faces were greeted by hot, thick air as we walked down the aircraft’s metal stairs. Planes marked with the bold, capital letters “WFP” and “UN,” and helicopters were the only other carriers on the steaming tarmac slab. We entered a small building labeled “Juba International Airport” in both English and Arabic script.
Before leaving Kenya, I was told that every 3rd man in Sudan carries a gun, so I was not surprised that a wooden table covered with guns and ammunition stood next to me as I waited in the immigration line. (I have not found the 3rd person rule to hold true). The airport was buzzing with tall, thin soldiers in tan, green and blue camou uniforms. I took my luggage to one such man to be searched. He moved a few items around and then pointed to a zip-lock bag of tampax tampons, and asked in a low, serious voice, “what is this?” My mind raced, searching for an appropriate explanation, holding back a smile and trying to sound serious, “They are for women,” I said. Without another response, he marked my bag in chalk with an unfamiliar sign, which denoted clearance.
Outside the airport, we found the sun again waiting to meet us. I put on my sunglasses and started sweating. Every second car in the parking lot was a large SUV with a metal cargo rack on top. We hoisted our luggage and ourselves into the Land Cruiser marked “ACROSS and UNHCR,” and headed for YEI.
The 100 mile journey would take 5 hours. From a large radio antenna on the front of the car flew a white ACROSS flag with the printed words: “Transforming Lives and Communities.” The flag flapped in the wind, leading the car like a ship as we sailed on the rocky red roads. In Sudan, unlike in Kenya and Uganda, cars should remain on the right side of the road. In reality, however, drivers crisscross from left to right aiming for the smoothest ride possible, trying to avoid holes. Of the people with bundles on their bicycles or on their heads, some wore traditional East African patterned materials, others more “western” looking attire. All the women wore skirts.
Every few kilometers we passed collections of traditional homes called tukuls. These mud-walled houses displayed beautiful straw rooves, which glistened like gold in the strong sun’s glare. Between the bunches of tukuls stretched fields often charred from an agricultural method of burning the reeds and grass. 
After two hours we stopped to buy sodas and water in a small town called Lanya. I noticed a blue kiosk with the phrase “Poverty is not a sin” painted in white letters above the window. I wondered why the owner made the statement. The painted words countered the message that poverty is simply an outcome of a person’s sin. Although newly in the country, I knew enough to know that many complex factors are at play in the economic situation in war-torn Southern Sudan.
Because our car is labeled as an NGO, we passed through the police stops freely. If not associated with an NGO, a fine must be paid to cross. About half way through our trip, however, we encountered a road block that we were not allowed to pass. The hanging rope displayed a sign announcing “de-mining” was in process; no one could travel for 45 minutes. A crowd was gathered under the nearest tree: sitting, standing, waiting.
The unfortunate reality is that mines still lay sleeping in the fields, waiting to be awakened by an unsuspecting person or child. My Sudanese co-passengers mentioned that hospitals continue to treat people who have lost limbs to these hidden explosives. During the Civil War, “both the Northern government and the SPLA (Sudanese People’s Liberation Army) placed mines around the areas they controlled,” a colleague explained. 
A few miles further we found Yei town bustling with people. Stores, kiosks, motorbikes, people walking, people sitting, people running on a large, dirt soccer field. We pulled into the office compound, and Mary, a Kenyan colleague who also made the trip from Nairobi, introduced me to those remaining in the office after hours. “James, Agnes, Boniface, Suzan, ….” many names and smiling faces; I longed for the day when I would truly known them. “This is the office where our program works,” she said, opening the door to a room 3 x 3.5 meters; with my arrival, five of us would share the space. Thomas and Ben greeted me in the small PAP office and then joined us for the rest of the tour.
Thomas, Ben, Me, Mary and Nelson in Yei office
The compound is filled with small homes with tin roofs. “That is where devotions are held, over there the lunch meals are cooked, next to it meals are eaten, and this is where you will stay…..”
As I crossed the threshold of my new residence, a feeling of being overwhelmed rose inside of me. The four of us stood together in the entrance of the cement house for a moment. Then Ben and Thomas, who live in the surrounding community, asked if they could offer a prayer. They seemed happy I was there to work alongside them. The two remained late in the office to greet me, and now they prayed that amidst all of the differences in a new environment, I would remain healthy. The feeling of overwhelmedness resided, pushed out by a sense of peace. I appreciated the reminder that no matter where I am, God is always present and God’s Spirit moving. It is only for me to join in.
Posted on March 2nd, 2010 by Nancy
Filed under: Uncategorized