Dear
Bethany,
Of all
things to be doing on our last day here, blogging seems like one of the least
productive ways to spend my time. But the ETA for the plane keeps getting
pushed back, and the last time Bryan called on the sat phone (cell network is
down again) they said the plane is still on the ground in the deep South doing
immigration so we still have an hour or so to kill before we head to the
airstrip. Amazingly, our bags are packed, breakfast dishes are washed, trash is
burned, the house is more-or-less rat-proofed, and the slew of guests popping
in to say goodbye over the past couple of days has tapered off as everyone heard
we were leaving early this morning. So, somehow I find myself in the highly unfamiliar
position of feeling packed and ready with time to kill before we go catch a
plane. It’s a Christmas miracle!
Leaving this
time is so much more bitter-sweet than I anticipated, which is in and of itself
a gift. To be honest, I was expecting to feel completed fried at this point
after weeks of guests and blowing through projects and goals full-steam ahead
knowing we had only a short window of time before heading out to have a baby.
But I am actually quite sad to be leaving for another period of time measured
in months, not days or weeks, thinking not so much of hot showers and fresh
vegetables and ice-cream, but of time away from the house and people that have
come to feel like home. The girls are even a bit weepy about the goodbyes,
which amazes me considering how much they have missed having your boys around
this last week. I thought for sure they would be ready to get out of dodge and
back to Kampala where there are Christmas trees and other little cultural peers
to play with in English. But even though the thought of Christmas and a new baby
sister is exciting to them, Mikat keeps asking why we always have to go places.
Any of these places is fine, why can’t we just pick one and stay put? But
what a gift it is to be already so eager to come back, to realize how much of our
hearts are embedded in the soil and walls and flesh of this place. I often fear
the alternative. So I am thankful to be sad today.
The weather
this week has been bizarrely cold. Even colder than when you left. This morning
we must have woken up in the 50s. It is so odd to put the girls to bed at night
in fleece pants and to tuck their curtain into the rebar frames of their
windows to keep out the chill. And it is so dry. My skin feels brittle,
like I’ll shatter if I move too suddenly. The girls and I have taken to rubbing
pure shea butter into our skin after baths at night, leaving us as shiny as our
North African neighbors who have been oiling themselves down too as protection
from the air. And my feet! Mercy, they are disgusting. It has gotten to the
point they actually snag on the mosquito net at night. Forget the Pediegg that
promised miracles. I need some industrial grade sandpaper. I can’t wait to get
a pedicure in Kampala! I sometimes think about the Kenyan beautician who
responded to my apology for the state of my feet with, “Oh this is nothing. You
should see the feet of the humantitarian workers who come in from Somalia.” But
I fear that these days workers from The Horn may be rising in the
ranks all thanks to the input of my soles…
You haven’t
missed out on too much this week. On Friday we had our closing ceremony for the
literacy teachers, which went well. The rebels across the border are still
doing heavy “recruitment” throughout the camps so some of the community leaders
were unable to attend as they dealt with that, but we had a good group and the
top students showed off their new skills by reading stories out loud for
everyone. I am admittedly a little nervous about leaving all of this hanging
while we take off to have a baby. Abraham is still so new to mother tongue
literacy to be taking on following up with new groups and leading his own
teacher training out in K camp. But maybe exactly what needs to happen is to
get Bryan and I out the way for a little while and see how things go. I am
excited to get back and see for myself.
Earlier in
the week we had just sat down to dinner as a family when a distant roar of
cheering and crying went up in the camps. It was too late for a soccer match,
too disorganized and widespread for any kind of political rally, too happy for
a funeral, too un-musical for a wedding. It went on for quite a while before we
realized that it was the first night after the new moon and the thinnest crescent
had just appeared in the sky. Have you heard people talk about this? Apparently
if the first crescent moon of the month is rocked open-mouthed towards the
North, the rebels back across the border will have a great victory. If it is
rocked towards the South then the Northern government will have victory. As we
enter dry-season it seems that everyone is gearing up for fighting again so the
night sky seemed more significant than usual. The moon followed in the wake of
the sunset so quickly that I didn’t see it the night we heard the outcry, but
the following night I saw it and thought it seemed perfectly balanced in the
web of stars. I was pretty sure someone said that meant that neither side would
have victory and everyone should prepare for long bloody months ahead. But I am
new to reading signs in the sky so who knows.
Along those
lines, security has still been good, though a few anemic rumors have bubbled to
the surface this week. In fact, several people have told us that around 4am a
few nights ago an Antanov flew over the camp and the surrounding areas slowly
and with a light shining down as though it was looking for someone or something.
Sultan himself is supposedly back in the in the area so I am sure the plane was
just gathering intel, but still. The thought of Antanov poking around in the
middle of the night gives me the creeps and has revived old curiosities I haven’t
visited in a while, like what a bomb up close really sounds like up close. But
otherwise, all has been quiet, the only man-made sounds in the night and early
morning those of local churches celebrating the approach of Christmas.
Speaking of
security issues, we are praying for you as you travel to Burundi for your holidays
with loved ones! I pray that you will be able to relax in the lush countryside
far away from the chaos of big cities. I don’t know whether the never-ending
uncertainty of contexts like the ones where you and I are raising our kids make
us more adept at relaxing in political crises or more in need of good ol’ boring,
but I pray that whatever it is you need, you will find in abundance this
Christmas.
You looked
so pretty in those whatsapp pictures you sent me from Nairobi! It makes me
realize how I never see you with your hair down. Mine is permanently braided or
wadded on top of my head here, especially now that I can’t bend over to soak it
in a bucket of water to get it wet for washing. I just end up feeling guilty
for using so much water simply dumping it over my head three times for a
soaking and two rinses of shampoo and conditioner, instead of recycling it. I
actually had Bryan help me wash my hair the other night, since bucket baths in
general are getting less convenient at this point in my pregnancy. It wasn’t
exactly the scene from “Out of Africa”, but there is something romantic about a
man who is willing to soak, lather and rinse a woman’s hair with a bucket and a
cup, even if she is 32 weeks pregnant, and swatting at mosquitoes while
complaining about heartburn. He is a good man.
The VHF
radio is crackling to life on the table as the voices of pilots flying the
planes I can hear landing just beyond the bush behind our house announce their
descent. I have only heard European and East African accents so far, none of
the North American voices that usually announce the planes that carry us in and
out, but still, they will probably be here soon so I should close.
Give all
your boys our love. Annabelle has a running list of all the things she needs to
tell Josh when she seems him again so I hope he is duly prepared. I can hardly believe
I believe I will have joined your ranks as a mother of three the next time I
see you! Forgive me if I am a blubbering, sleep deprived mess.
Merry, merry
Christmas to you and yours, dear friend. May this be a season of peace for us
all.
Love,
Libby
My traveling gooses...
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