Bone

Disclaimer:

The next few blogs I will write will all be describing the past four days we spent out in a rural area. I am splitting up each day into its own blog because if I tried to cram everything I saw, heard, smelled and tasted into one entry, you would think I was attempting to rewrite War and Peace and would never read this blog again. Even so, it's important for me to record the experience as I saw and felt it – for me to process and to remember. When (or maybe I should say if) you read the next few blogs I write, please keep in mind that my eyes are the only ones you get to see this world through, and therefore are only one (limited) perspective. Remember also, especially those of you that love me and tend to worry when you hear these strange stories, that I am happy and safe. We are so honored to be in this place in this time. I promise.

Wednesday June 30, 2010:
On Wednesday of last week Bryan and I packed up our tent and water filter and headed back out of town again. The community we are working with was holding what we had heard described as a "tribal gathering" and we had been invited to witness this celebration of culture and learn more about the people, language and history of this group. We were excited about what we would find and deeply curious because we knew very little of what we should expect. Our travelling companion (and host of sorts) was our guard Abdul. He was born and raised in this village and his two wives and youngest children still lived there.

We were blessed with dry weather on the way out. We took a back route to avoid the last river that nearly trapped us, but as a result had to cross several smaller ones along the way, many of which were only muddy. Thankfully, we only got stuck in one for a little while, and other than a flat tire, had no more problems. At about four o'clock in the afternoon we arrived, dirty and a bit hungry, but none the worse for wear. Abdul lives in a small village on the outskirts of "town" at the base of a small rocky mountain, (maybe better describes as a big rocky hill). The cluster of mud huts scattered around the hill seemed surprisingly deserted, but Abdul explained that most people had still not moved back from their dry season homes closer to the river. We were welcomed warmly by Abdul's family. After a round of strong freshly roasted coffee served in tiny glass cups, we were told that Garin would not actually begin until Friday evening. However, there was a similar celebration in connection to the "main event" at a nearby mountain (hill) that night which Abdul suggested we should see. He wanted us to wait until closer to sunset and then begin walking.

We set out around 6:45, just as dusk was settling in. We walked through several homesteads on the way out, greeting old men and throngs of mostly naked children. All we know of the vernacular language so far is very basic greetings but even these were received with much happy laughter and good natured correction. But it didn't take long for the huts to thin out and soon the trail was winding only between green grass and acacia trees. Just as the sun was setting Abdul pointed out the mountain we were heading towards and I was careful to disguise my surprise. It was much further away than I had anticipated. Even though Abdul walks with a heavy limp, he moves unbelievably fast and I was grateful to be in the back of the line so that my occasional trots to keep up were unseen.

We walked for an hour and a half.

Other than our headlamps, it quickly became absolutely and completely dark. As we walked Abdul was provoked by passing landmarks to narrate stories of the war. "You see that field over there?" he would ask. "That is where they shot all our cattle. All of them." Or more sobering, "This place right here…this is where forty-three men and seven women were shot. Over by that tree two more men were killed." We asked Abdul questions about the things he said, morbidly curious but cautious too. He had been there when these things had happened. He knew those people's names. He spoke freely though, even when he pointed out the place where his father had been shot, grabbing his upper arm to show where the bullet had entered. We continued walking in silence until, almost as an after-thought, Bryan asked if Abdul's father were still alive. Abdul seemed surprised at the question. "No. He died right back there were I showed you. There were no doctors or medicine. The bullet killed him." Almost to confirm the things Abdul was saying to us but that I had such difficulty comprehending, a dark shadow rose off to the side of the path ahead of us. As we walked up I could make out bent metal, twisted seats and burned out windows. I didn't know what it was and had to quietly ask Bryan. It was the rusted carcass of a gunship, lying on its side, the barrels of it tank guns pointing awkwardly into the starry sky. A broken chunk of modern warfare lying dead in a field between dried up stalks of sorghum looked to me like it must have fallen out of the sky. But people like Abdul know all too well that it didn't.

We reached the neighboring mountain around 8:30. The path was growing increasingly hard to follow in the four feet of light our headlamps provided and Abdul kept stopping to listen for sounds to guide us, voices carrying across the night, darks barking, drums beating. We eventually moved towards the small island of light given off by the soft glow of a fire, and I was surprised to see that gathered around it were not people, but bright-eyed goats. The people were nearby and welcomed us to join them in their dark circle, talking quietly and waiting for a signal that the celebration had started. We sat on woven mats and listened. All I could see were the brittle silhouettes of trees catching bright stars in their net-like branches. We sat so long I was starting to get sleepy but eventually the darkness was pierced with shrill cries faintly under laid with drums from somewhere very close. The people around us rose and started walking towards a near home, so we joined them.

When we walked up we were gently hustled over to a woven rope bed. The moon still hadn't risen so everything you couldn't see and imagine was dark. The only memories of light were the occasional artificial beams of a cheap flashlight, fractions of firelight between dozens of closely shuffling feet or the eerie glow of a cigarette end as someone nearby inhaled deeply. In the absence of light our ears and nose and fingers had to add texture and shape to the darkness. Through them I could see this: Somewhere very close was the sound of loud singing, mostly female, and many bare feet hitting the hard ground over and over again. Of the many smells drifting by intermittently, the few I could recognize were smoke, sweat, urine and cinnamon. Many people moved closely by on every side, occasionally brushing skin against skin. At one point what seemed to be a very old woman stumbled into me and giggled, "Come and play with us!" somewhere near my ear. I didn't know whether her choice of words, (in English no less), was amusing or deeply disturbing but she passed on before I had to decide in order to respond. We sat in the dark and listened to the beautiful rhythms and unfamiliar cadences and to the sound of many people dancing for a long time. To my ears everything sounded very old, like echoes off the mountain from a very long time ago. It was one of the most fascinating things I've never seen.

Eventually, Abdul suggested we start the long walk home and we said our goodbyes for the time being. On our way back I thought I saw a fire on a near hill, but later realized it was actually the moon rising out of a bank of clouds. We were quieter on the way back than we had been walking in and I had to concentrate hard to keep moving quickly while keeping an eye open for anything on the path that would make me regret accidently stepping on it. One of the only times we stopped was for Abdul to point out something starkly white lying several feet off of the path. We shined our lights on it vaguely. "It's human bone…" he said, "from during the war." I couldn't make out what part of a person it used to be, but didn't try too hard, and Abdul moved quickly on.

When we go back to Abdul's home his wife and children were asleep on mats outside their hut. Bryan and I quietly brushed our teeth in the dark and then crawled into our tent. I slept so deeply that night, more tired from walking so far than I wanted to admit. But I fell asleep thinking about dancing in the dark and Abdul's father. I couldn't help but wonder what memories played through Abdul's mind on our walk that night, memories my imagination can hardly touch.

In the absence of Petsmart and bridges...

Just as I sat down to write a quick blog, Asad ran into the house with a huge goat horn hanging out of the side of his mouth. It looks ridiculous. I'm not quite sure how he aquired such a treasure, (I'm a little scared to find out) but lately it has proven to be his new favorite toy and I find it lying around everywhere. In fact, the only way we can get him to play fetch is to throw the goat horn across the yard. Goat horns. Who knew? He couldn't be happier though.

Anyway, I don't have anything terribly interesting to write about today and certainly don't want to digress into describing everything my dog attempts to drag into the house. Bryan and I are heading out of town tomorrow to (hopefully) attend a traditional ceremony in a nearby community so I wanted to write before we left. I'm not sure how long we will be gone as details on the occasion are proving hard to come by, but hopefully I will have more interesting things to describe when we get home.

It's been an incedibly pleasant week. You wouldn't believe how cool and wet it has been lately with the rains coming more and more frequently. If you popped in for a visit right now you would think I was the biggest liar in the world for complaining about the heat of a few months ago. On the mornings I have to put my fleece on while eating breakfast I almost doubt my memory too. The hill behind our house is so green now it looks like something in an exotic golf course. The other day we drove out of town and passed through a small village by a stream meandering through rolling hills. I swear it looked like an image from an alternate reality - like a Scottish countryside colonized by Africa years ago. It's downright bizarre - and so beautiful.

As welcome as the rain has been, we did run into our first complication because of it a few days ago. We had made a trip out to a village about 50 kilometers away to visit a friend who and moved there recently, and ended up spending the night in his home. When we got ready to leave the next day however, we found the river we had easily crossed in the ATV the day before was now swollen and rushing with brown water after a night full of rain. We spent about an hour on the banks of the river calculating depth, velocity, inclines and power, and weighing how much we wanted to get home before dark against how stupid we would feel if submerged our vehicle in a seasonal river for six months. After discussion and critical analysis with a handful of curious soldiers, herdsmen and a few women passing by to get water, we finally decided that there was a good chance that the river was at its lowest point until the dry season begins again, and if we wanted to get this thing home before Thanksgiving, this was our shot. With the help of amused onlookers, Bryan dug out a new path down the river bank to a shallower point of entry into the water. My job was to stand out of the way and video the whole thing, while praying to high heaven the whole time that it would work. I wish so badly our internet connection would allow me to upload the video here because it really is amazing. Needless to say, we all made it home, a little damp, but pretty impressed with our little beast of a machine. She may not be a Land Cruiser, but she can hold her own.
However, it has rained hard every day since we have been back so I can only imagine what the river is like now. When we go back tomorrow we are planning on just leaving the ATV on this side of the river, and crossing on foot. She may be a beast but there is no reason to press our luck!

This picture was taken on the way in - before all the rain.

20 questions with three little boys at the borehole:

Boys: Are you here to get water?

Me: Yes.

Boys: Why?

Me: Because we don't have any water at our house right now.

Boys: Where is your house?

Me: Near the small mountain over there. Where is your house?

Boys: Just over there. Does it ever rain at your house?

Me: Sometimes.

Boys: Is that your husband?

Me: Yes.

Boys: What is his name?

Me: Bryan.

Boys: Ibrahim?

Me: Uh, yes. Ibrahim.

Boys: What's your name?

Me: Libby.

Boys: Lee-lee?

Me: Lee-bee.

Boys: Where are your children, Lee-dee?

Me: I don't have any children.

Boys: You don't have any children?

Me: Not yet.

Boys: Why?

Me: God hasn't given me any.

Boys: Do you have one in your stomach? (patting my belly)

Me: Uh, no. Not that I know of.

Boys: Do you want babies?

Me: Yes, I would love to have babies.

Boys: Do you want red ones?

Me: Excuse me?

Boys: Do you want red ones? (Rubbing my arms) Like you?

Me: Yes, red ones would be very nice.

Boys: What about black ones? (Rubbing their own arms) Do you want black ones?

Me: If God gives me black ones I will be very happy too.

Boys: Do you have beds at your house?

Me: Yes, we have a bed at our house.

Boys: Do you sleep in the bed?

Me: Yes, I sleep in the bed.

Boys: Does your husband sleep in that little car?

Me: No, he sleeps in the bed too.

Boys: You both sleep in the bed?

Me: Uh...yes.

Boys: (Giggling hysterically) Why?

Me: Um, isn't that your sister calling you to come eat?

Boys: Yeah, but we don't want to go right now.

Me: You don't want breakfast?

Boys: What do you cook at your house?

Me: Sometimes I cook rice-

Boys: We don't eat rice.

Me: Okay, we also eat lentils and bread. Sometimes potatoes...

Boys: We LOVE potatoes!

Me: Really?

Boys: Potatoes are delicious!

Me: Okay. Good to know.

Boys: Do you have a dog at your house?

Me: Actually I do.

Boys: What is his name?

Me: Asad.

Boys: Is he a red dog?

Me: No he is brown and white.

Boys: Really?

Me: Yup.

Boys: Are you sure he isn't red too, Lee-dee?

Me: Quite sure.

World Cup

I am convinced that if all the energy and love and passion that will be poured into the World Cup over the next four weeks could be channeled into international politics, we would have centuries of a utopian existence ahead of us. The hopes and fears of the entire world are focused in one place and one time and revolve around the crazy love of one game. Of course, in reality this probably means that if all that emotion really could be channeled to a bigger arena we would end up with eons of the most destructive wars known to mankind instead of world peace, but I can dream.

On Saturday night the USA was due to kick off the tournament in their opening match against England, a game we were determined not to miss. (I think every American in the world watching the World Cup feels it is their patriotic duty to support our team in their underdog status.) The problem was finding a place that we could actually see the match. Sports bars or even restaurants with satellite TV are unheard of here, and we were deeply grieved to discover that the one organization in town that we knew did have a satellite feed was also mourning the broken state of their television. We had heard of a place that was trying to stream games live from the internet and suspected one of the local government offices would let us peek over shoulders to see their mini-screen. But we figured our best bet would be showing up under the floodlights and sandbagged walls of the UN fortress with a plate of cookies and a big smile to see if we could charm our way into their international-airport-lounge world. We were not above the bribing.

But as we drove down the road at ten o'clock on Saturday night, making our humble way to the orange glow on the horizon, we had to make a routine stop at a military checkpoint. In the moments it took for the soldier to greet us and lower the guardrail (really just a piece of rope strung across the road) I glimpsed a dull pulse of light in the shadows just ahead of us. I squinted into the darkness as we rolled down the road and realized what I was seeing was a small TV set up outside with a group of about twenty men gathered around it. We slowed the ATV down and peered into the shadows, trying to make out what was showing on the screen. When we felt pretty sure the blue specks on a green background were people, we eased the ATV off the road and parked next to the huge trucks and bulldozers circling the road construction camp. As we stepped out of our vehicle and moved hesitantly towards the island of flickering light, I grew increasingly sure that what I was hearing was "The Star Spangled Banner" under the drone of a diesel generator. Hope springs eternal.

The road construction workers seemed a bit surprised to see us walking in somewhat sheepishly but welcomed us like we had been filling potholes all day right alongside them. They scrounged up a couple more chairs and happily insisted that even though they were all rooting for England, we were more than welcome to support our country with them. This was said with a friendly smile that suggested the USA needed all the help they could get, which made me laugh. The plate of snickerdoodles we offered seemed to seal the deal and we settled in under the swarm of flying termites alongside two dozen men in white jallabias to watch the game on Al Jazeera Sports and listen to a running commentary in Arabic of which I could only catch fragments. (Although I did learn that the Arabic word for "sweet" is used at sporting events just like you might hear it used in English.) The icing on the cake was when a British guy from the demining camp down the road and an Irish girl from another organization showed up to add to the occasion. He made his loyalties good-naturedly clear. She said she couldn't decide which was the worst of two evils. ( :

Cheering for the red, white and blue isn't something I have done very much of in my life, for reasons that start with simple opportunity and meander on from there. But I have to say that I really enjoyed doing it on Saturday night. I enjoyed it because we were the underdogs that no one expected much from. I enjoyed it because it was just a game with implications I wouldn't be ashamed of. I enjoyed it because we were in the company of people who seemed to enjoy our presence as much as we did theirs. I enjoyed it because our team had names on their jerseys like "Onyewu" and "Gomez". And I enjoyed it because it put me in the company of the rest of the world - desperately hoping for the best, fearfully agonizing over the worst, cheering for a country that sometimes frustrates me but that at the end of the day I really, really love.

The game ended with a tie, which seemed to please everyone, even our demining friend. The night ended and people from at least four different countries shook hands good night and made their way home to sleep of the late-night revelry and get ready for another busy day of building roads, finding land-mines, learning a language or managing a business.

So I'll admit, the World Cup may not ever usher in an era of world peace. But it does make for some mighty fine cookies at midnight with friends.

Garden

The weather has changed as dramatically as if someone somewhere pushed the big red "RAINY SEASON" button in the sky. Thick blankets of clouds have rolled over the horizon bringing long wet days and deliciously cool nights. Animals we haven't seen in months have suddenly crawled, hopped, squirmed and fluttered out of nowhere leaving us wondering where they have been for six months and how they all got back at the same time. Frogs wallow in the wet sand just off our porch and create a riotous symphony of croaks all night. Flocks of ibis fleck the dark skies with white wings in the evening and bright red velvet mites are scattered across the yard in the mornings like misplaced Christmas confetti. If we stay up too late after dinner, moths swarm our little kitchen island of light leaving us feeling like we are sitting in a lifesized zoo terranium. Last night was one of those nights where there were literally hundreds of moths swirling around us. I seriously almost expected to look out the kitchen window and see a group of fourth garders on a field trip peeking in. ("On your right children you will see the moth exhibit. Please note how interested they are in the fruit on the plates of the people who are trying to eat their dinner...")

There are so many things to love about the rainy season (mosquitos not being one of them). We are sleeping so comfortably in sheets unsoured by sweat and the hill behind our house is so intensely green it almost looks blue. But one of our favorite things about the rain has been starting a garden. Bryan and I know just next to nothing about gardening but have had fun rooting around in the damp earthiness with shovels and seeds and bugs. We have planted some local things - seasame, corn, hot peppers and potatoes, as well as some seeds we brought with us - lettuce, spinach, carrots, bell peppers and cilantro. And we are so excited to already see a few enthusiastic sprouts poking their heads out through the clods.

It is beautiful to see new life unfurling all around us. Especially beautiful is seeing is shake off the dust it is pushing through and growing out of. Along with all the weeds, the most common thing we have had to dig up and toss out of our garden is bullet casings.

Zanzibar

We’re back! Although some of you may think that we are suffering silently on the far side of the world, those of you with any skills of observation will quickly realize we are living lives of the spoiled rotten! Although this includes many day to day joys and blessings, one of the biggest reasons we are so lucky is that our lives and jobs allow us to travel to some of the most amazing places in the world. This month Bryan and I are celebrating four years of marriage and in honor of the occasion we decided to take a bit of a vacation on the island of Zanzibar off the coast of Tanzania. (Yeah, look it up. You will never feel sorry for us again.) Oh, my friends...

It. was. Wonderful.

We spent the first couple of days exploring the historic city of Stone Town. The town (at least the “historic” part of it) is a maze of old forts, museums, churches and mosques sectioned off by spider-web like - alleys full of antique stores, curio shops, fruit vendors and fish markets. We had a lot of fun just walking around looking at old things and eating copious amounts of sea-food in the open air market at night. The next five days we bummed out at a beach resort on the far North-Eastern part of the Island. It’s really good that Bryan and I are together in this because he keeps me from being a complete vegetable with a book by the pool, and I keep him from being fried at the end of the week from playing too hard. So together we swam, read, kayaked, played cards, scuba dove (dived?), napped, sailed, ate (and ate and ate), body surfed and slept. All week long. We were lucky with the weather because even though it was rainy season (which meant better prices and fewer people) we had mostly sunny days. In fact the only day it rained was the day we had decided to go scuba diving. And then it really ended up being something more akin to a tropical monsoon. I think we got wetter at the surface than we did under it. But we really did have a couple great dives and see some beautiful things (despite a decompression stop at five meters in which I threw up under water – that was a new one for me!).

Another blessing was a quick stop in at my parent’s house on the mainland on our way back home to say goodbye to my baby sister who is heading off to college in a few weeks. As sad as we are to be that much further away from her very soon, we are so excited for her and can’t wait to see her again at Christmas.

Bryan and I got home yesterday and are so happy to be here. The rains have started up so the world around us is in the early flushes of green and we actually slept with a sheet over us last night! We were so happy to see our teammates as well as Asad and Nimir, who I still think must be the most spoiled animals in this country. So now, it’s back to the daily grind, but we are back feeling a bit revived. It is good to be home – bucket baths and all.

Pretty

This week I did something that I have been wanting to do for a while but have been a little scared to try. Most women here wear tobes, long pieces of sheer colorful cloth that drape gracefully around their heads and bodies. They are appropriately modest in this conservative culture but also incredibly feminine and, in my opinion, very beautiful. For someone who grew up playing "dress up" in all manner of outfits and who has a secret (though often unexpressed) penchant for both the dramatic and girly, it's a wonder I haven't been wearing tobes every day here already. But I have been shy. I have suspected that a khawajia wearing a tobe into town would create happy chaos and I am still insecure enough in my Arabic to explain why I wanted to wear one in the first place. I just haven't been ready to take that step (though I have owned a tobe for months now!)
But this weekend we were invited out to the soccer field along with the rest of the town to celebrate the governor's reelection. I decided it was opportunity I had been waiting for - a party is a logical place to dress up a bit and a large distracted crowd meant I was more likely to go unnoticed. I had Zainab teach me how to tie the tobe at my waist and drape it over my head and shoulders. She had me walk around the yard a bit to practice too (which turned out to be a very good idea). In the end, the overall effect couldn't have been better. Over a thousand people were out at the field that afternoon, singing, dancing and cheering. During the three hours we spent baking out there with them most people hardly noticed me, and the glances of those who did seemed to say, “Hey look, she looks like every second person out here.” Those who actually spoke to me about the new outfit were very affirming. They told me how beautiful I looked and a few even took my picture on their cell phones.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about beauty here. I promise you, in the past ten months I have been sweatier, dirtier and stinkier (my computer tells me this is not a word…) on a regular basis than I have ever been before. My toe nails, head hair and leg hair hit the “disgusting” level several times a week. I do not have a full length mirror so sometimes I ask Bryan to take a picture of me to see if I like my outfit or not. The little round market mirror in the bathroom is fading slowly away and I glance in it maybe twice a day (and that is on a good day). In an effort to retain some dignity I have continued to wear a trace of makeup, but it is much less than I ever wore in the States. People here tend to be so tall and slender that when I buy skirts in the market I have to buy much bigger sizes than I used to and still get them hemmed six inches! That’s not good for a girl. But here’s the crazy thing – in spite of all of this, I have never felt more beautiful in my life. Isn’t that bizarre? Granted, day to day living here has insured that all my clothes fit a little more pleasantly than they used to and the sun has coaxed a little bronze and blond out of me. But I don’t think that’s what is going on. I think living somewhere far away from a thousand mirrors and magazines and TV screens is flattering. In a place where beauty is health and strength and happiness, I feel gorgeous.

Of course, like everywhere else in the world where women exist, on some level beauty is more than just being healthy. But that’s what I've got the tobe for.