Of good days and not, but still hanging in

3 March 2012, Kubur William Bridge

Themes for our celebration

I’m not really at the bridge; there isn’t even cell phone service there.  I’m back in Rumbek.  But it was such an awesome day that my heart and soul are still there.

About 1500 women, men and children marched to and met at this bridge for our “Join Me on the Bridge” event, an International Women’s Day celebration sponsored by Women for Women International all over the world.  Most country offices will celebrate on Thursday, women’s day, but holding our event on a Saturday was easier on our participants and staff and allows us to take part in the general women’s day celebration in Rumbek on Thursday.  This year WfWI organized JMOB events on every continent, even Antarctica.

At about 7:15 am Juliet, a couple of local staff, our “imported” photographer Brian and I boarded one of two UNMISS buses and headed for our training center in Abinajok to pick up women.  UNMISS is UN Mission in South Sudan.  Abinajok is more than a hour from Kubur William, so we needed to get these participants early.  Except there was not one single woman waiting for us.  Zero. Zip. Nada. Nic. Both Juliet and I put a happy face on and asked the drivers to take us back to Afex and to go to pick up the returnee women first.  Then they could go back for our women who would surely show up later.

At Afex we herded the cats I call staff into a Land Cruiser and headed for Kubur William, kicking up billowing clouds of red clay dust the entire trip.  The dry season is definitely in full fettle.  We arrived at the community where our event would take place, about half a kilometer from the bridge.  Our tents were erected ... the UNMISS ‘boozer’ (water tanker) had arrived ... and that was about it.  We all put on happy faces as we got organized.  We sent for more tents because we knew it would be hot and when they arrived, the panels and poles were dumped on the ground.  Without being asked, the community’s tribal chief organized local men who set about erecting the new tents.  About that time a bull was walked by into the area somewhere behind us.  Didn’t give it a thought until later when the photographer showed a few shots of fresh meat being cut.  They were leading the bull to the slaughter.  Well, I’m told he made a fine meal for all of our guests.

Around 9:30 a guest of honor arrived, the chair of the RRC (a coordinating organization for nongovernment organizations and UN agencies). Philip was the only requested speaker who actually responded positively and in advance.  All of the others remained silent invitees that we hoped would show or send someone.  Later I learned that they thought the area was too insecure and were afraid to come there.  Well, the continuing conflict between two communities on either side of the bridge was why we selected this spot for the event ... and the local chiefs promised us security, and boy, did they come through with police and others.  Nary an incident.

I thanked Philip for coming, chatted a bit and then went back to work lining up chairs under the tents and steadying stacks of chairs topped by men attaching the tent roof.  Here was Philip and there were no participants, just my staff and locals finalizing the set up.  It was a little harder to keep on the happy face but a necessity.  My mental mantra was ‘they will come, they will come.’

Then, at 10:30, magically trucks and buses and Land Cruisers full of women began to arrive from around the areas we serve.  I could feel the collective sigh of relief from Juliet and the other staff, one that matched my own. Groups started gathering, some singing and dancing, others were unfurling banners and putting on khangas (pieces of cloth tied diagonally across a women’s body.  I was wearing one, with assistance from a staff member who “dressed” me.  The small paper ‘flags’ that Juliet made were quickly scooped up by participants.

Eventually we called for the police band to play and started organizing all of the groups behind the band to march for the bridge.  Besides all of our participants, local women, men and children gathered behind the band and marched in the parade to the bridge.  It was the most awesome sight.  I had my camera and actually remembered to take photos.  I slid undecorously down a dry pebbly hillock to get a longer shot, helped to my feet by two nearby men, and I got several pictures.  When the groups met at the center of the bridge, speakers were recorded by the local radio station, including me.  I could hardly talk because I was trying not to cry.  I really was overwhelmed by the whole thing, and eventually did cry.

Women marching to the bridge

The only downer of the whole day was the sound system we had ordered for the main event.  The idiots who brought the equipment didn’t check their batteries, and the microphone battery was dead.  Of course, they told us this AFTER we returned from the parade, just as we were ready to start the ceremony; they wanted us to return to town and buy a battery, which would arrive in about three hours time.  So, our speakers had to shout as best the could to be heard.  Late in the program the mike seemed to work, at least sporadically.  Philip, as the highest ranking official, spoke last as our most important speaker.  He droned on about the good works of my predecessor, then about me and I smiled through it all.  In closing he gave me a new Dinka name, “Piath,” which means “goodness.”  So now I am Mary Vallance (Suzi) (Piath) Kanyr Hagen.  Hey, I have enough names to qualify as a Dinka (they have at least three or four).

When the ceremony ended and I had thanked Philip, I sat long enough to polish off my 50th bottle of water, then found one of our vehicles in the shade and hopped in. Not having eaten all day, I had a splitting headache.  I’d brought a peanut butter sandwich from breakfast to eat but could not bring myself to eat in front of the scores of small children watching us all day.  Also it had to be at least 100F in the shade.  I left the event at 3 pm with a small group needing to return to town.

Now I’m happily exhausted.  Juliet has returned, telling me all went well to the end.  The boiled bull was tasty, and guests appreciated the way it was served (with bread and on a paper plate and napkin for less spillage).  Everyone had gone on their way home in waves, as they had arrived.   A couple of male staff were still at the site waiting for the chair company to pick up the chairs.  But nicest of all was Juliet’s recounting of a conversation she had at the end of the day.  Early on, Juliet and I had decided this event should be organized and implemented by local staff.  We selected Margaret as the chair. Juliet mentored them and watched the budget.  I wrote and signed letters to the dozens of individuals and organizations they approached for assistance.  

From day one, Margaret took the lead seriously.  She met with government officials, other NGOs, UN agencies, the police.  And in each case, she had no compunction against telling them they should support our event.  For example, she came to my office one afternoon and said, “I think the Red Cross should give us two first aid workers,” an excellent idea that I hadn’t thought to ask about.  Since she wanted me to write a letter of request, I asked her to get me a name.  Ten minutes later, I had it!  

Margaret gathered other staff as her steering committee, and even more helped in implementation. And the gist of Juliet’s conversation with the core group was how much they valued what they’d done and that they’d been allowed to do it.  One woman frankly told Juliet that if they hadn’t been allowed to take part in planning and organizing, they would not have shown up at the event.  But they had and they were proud of their accomplishment and were happy with the real sense of teamwork we have as a staff.  That made my day.

Staff members who organized Join Me on the Bridge

10 March 

I just learned that one of my son’s friends died yesterday; the obit said of a heart attack at age 39.  Peter met him when we lived in St. Louis Park, and they were part of a wonderful cadre of teenaged boys who snowboarded all winter and mountain biked when the half pipe melted away.  They all hung out at my townhouse for Sunday dinners often, and I loved having them.

Nick was a tall, skinny kid with a kind heart, lots of energy and a great sense of humor.  Last time I saw him was at Peter’s wake and I didn’t recognize him.  He’d “filled out” and it had been a lot of years since Peter, Nick and Peter’s first girlfriend shared an apartment.  I remember telling them at the time that their generation and mine were world’s apart on cohabitation.  We did not invite roommates to join us when we finally decided to shack up.  They all just wanted cheaper rent.

Times like this are when I miss being at home most.  I would go to Nick’s funeral today, perhaps see some of the ‘boys’ from Peter’s high school days. The kind of every day things one does.

12 March

Thunder claps, loud thunder claps.  That’s what I just heard.  And even in my office, long after the concrete floor has dried from its morning wash, I can smell rain.  And it’s no wonder.  I just turned around and can see rain falling, steadily and heavily.  Hmm, how am I going to get back to my tent?

13 March

Rained again early this morning.  I know because some bozos alarm went off and woke me up.  Not sure if it was a car alarm, home alarm, just know it was long and loud.  

It was my night for rude awakenings.  Someone named “Jesse/Jessie from Juba” called three times between 11:30 and midnight.  Have no idea who it was, got no more info than a name and city, hung up all three times. Finally I fell asleep. Then at 3 am the phone rang.  I could hear indeterminate background noise, got no response to my “hello,” and hung up.  Went to the bathroom, then back to sleep.

I know.  You want to know why I don’t just turn the phone  off when I go to bed. Well, it’s my only form of communication, other than shouting loudly, if something happens in the night ... like I see a snake.

Been an interesting day all around.  Signed a contract for a back hoe that will dig a big trench at the farm to mitigate floods during the coming rains.  Had my hair color done at the salon Juliet introduced me to.  It’s a compact place unlike any other -- filled with suitcases stacked and brimming with teeshirts and other apparel, shelves stocked with drug store sundries like shampoo and toothpaste, awkward piles of shoes (one only from a pair) ... and yes, the occasional package of hair color or other beauty salon products.  Monika does a nice job with my hair color though today she didn’t rinse it all out so I’ll have to do a wash in the morning.  Her colleague trimmed my split ends.  So I am presentable again.

Back at the office I enlisted staff who weren’t too busy to help cut and fold khangas.  A khanga is a large square or rectangle of fabric that is tied diagonally across a woman or man, draping over other clothes or tied at the waist like a wrap skirt.  We had them printed with “Join Me on the Bridge” messages but they didn’t arrive in time to be distributed then.  Long story about small airplanes with limited cargo capacity and Customs duties.  Each piece can actually be cut into two khangas, making our supply go farther.  Which is a necessity since all of our participants want one.  So for more than an hour this afternoon, I had four of the young men on the staff helping me cut and fold.  Wish I’d had my camera and could take a photo.

Cutting khangas -- even the guys helped, a South Sudan event

16 March

You know, a goat hide really makes a great infant carrier.  The legs can be sewn together to make perfect carrying handles, the inner skin is soft and cozy for the little one, and the beautifully patterned fur outside is a pretty accompaniment to any outfit.  

Today I was in Atiaba, one of our training centers, and several of the women with infants had these environmentally friendly baby carriers.  Two of them hung their carriers, with child, from tree branches while they went to get their direct aid or to sing and dance.

I had come to Atiaba to apologize to the women for not being able to transport them to our “Join Me on the Bridge” event on 3 March or to International Women’s Day on 8 March ... and to bring them khangas as reparations.  They were just too far (almost three hours one way) to take to the Bridge site and at the last minute, the government changed the day for celebrating IWD from Friday the 9th to Thursday, leaving us no time to reorganize anything.  They were very understanding, and brought me gifts related to traditional women’s work -- gathering and cooking food.  It was embarrassing to have each gift delivered by a woman on her knees in the dust, the local custom, but I thanked each one.  When they all got up to dance, I joined in until my knees said ‘stop.’  Dancing here employs a lot of jumping up like a kangaroo.

Later two of the women’s cooperatives joined forces to sell their wares together.  The ceremony was the most unique I’ve seen.  The women lined up across from each other, and their leaders moved to the center and each addressed the other about the joint venture.  Then the two women went into a wrestler’s crouch, grabbed each other around the shoulders, circled a little, then stood up, hugged, grabbed each other by the side of the head and kissed each other vigorously.  They repeated this a couple of times, then all of the women joined in, mimicking the same ceremony.  

In the evening Wayne, the manager of our complex, had a St. Patrick’s Day party.  He’s South African so maybe it’s celebrated on the 16th there; I didn’t have the heart to ask.  He made some kind of slightly-sour lime-flavored and -colored alcoholic cocktail that everyone tried.  I had one since it broke all of my mother’s booze rules. Then I had my Friday evening hotdog, straight from the grill, loaded with mustard, onions, slaw and tomatoes and as delicious as ever.

18 March

Awoke yesterday morning with a headache and learned later that the alcohol Wayne had put in his St. Pat’s Day concoction was tequila.  I don’t like tequila, don’t even drink margaritas.  Bad experience in college. The limeade sure covered any tequila taste.

Remember when I said I wanted one day without problems?  Still haven’t found it.  We rented a back hoe last week to start digging flood control trenches at the farm.  An hour and 15 minutes into the first day work day a hydraulic hose broke and work stopped until it could be replaced.  Yesterday the consultant came in to see me because the plow needs three new housings ... something we need to buy in Juba.  Now thankfully our logistics guy and two drivers are there, picking up three new motorbikes we just bought.  They were to return today but will stay to do this additional purchase and bring the housings back with them on Tuesday.  In the meantime, we have to get money to them to pay for the housings, and our cash is running low.  We have used all of the check blanks that M&E Manager Alfred pre-signed (and as you’ll recall, Juliet and Lucy are in Turkey).  But we need the housings, so we’ll send some money to Juba.  And because we will only have on vehicle tomorrow (the other is in Juba), transport to the field will be a nightmare, increased because tomorrow is the first day of our nurse clinic at the farm.  The nurse and her supplies need to be taken there.  Tom promised to help find some extra vehicles and drivers to help out.

Just another day in paradise.

21 March

The end is in sight!  The candidate for country director has accepted and will start working on 1 May.  I’ll accompany her to DC for orientation at HQ for her and debriefing for me, then go on to Poland and Scotland for four to six weeks.

And good news always seems to be accompanied by bad news.  Got emails that two high school classmates had died.  Not close friends and we haven’t kept up since the 25th reunion, but still a sense of loss.  They are too young to die.  My Uncle Frank, on the other hand, may have been ‘old enough.’  His heart finally gave up in the small hours of yesterday at age 91.  He was fond of saying that if he’d known he was going to live so long (he expected to die at 65), he’d’ve taken better care of himself.  That comment has helped me remember to take care of myself as I get older.  

My mom would be astounded to hear me say that I’ll miss Uncle Frank.  As I’m sure she would’ve been if she’d known that post Poland, I voluntarily visited him and Aunt Betty at least annually.  He is the last of that generation of our family -- our parents, their siblings, their cousins are all gone now.  Aunt Betty hangs on at 92 but remains in poor health after a stroke last year.  When I was growing up, especially in college, Uncle Frank was the bane of my existence.  He’d come home for every holiday that I came home for ... and despite several siblings in the area, he stayed at our house.  And since it was the ‘50s and early ‘60s, when he’d bring his latest girlfriend, we three kids shared the sofabed in the living room of our three bedroom house.  Uncle Frank often talked about how much less expensive groceries were in Michigan, and once Granny (mom’s mother) finally chided him, “If they’re so cheap, why didn’t you bloody well bring an order with you?”  He was dumbfounded  and silent.  My ex used to do a wonderfully accurate imitation of Uncle Frank’s habit of jingling the coins in his pockets, then laughing his weird “heh-heh-heh-heh-heh” staccato laugh.  I’ll miss that laugh.

25 March

As many of you know, I’m not a big fan of all the social networking sites.  I prefer my social networking face to face, over a glass of wine or cup of coffee.  But so many of my friends these days use them that I am on Facebook and LinkedIn.  And I have found them useful in finding folks I’ve lost track of over the years.  Today is no exception.

My sister and I have been looking for our cousin Marsha for a long time.  And when Uncle Frank died, we thought we should try harder.  Barbara recalled an old Facebook entry that I apparently had found a while back ... and after a few stabs, I found that site and our cousin.  Now we are re-connected via email.  Marsha supplied hers in a FB response to my initial query, and I emailed her, cc’ing my brother and sister.  When I’m back in the US, I’ll figure a way to visit her in Vermont.  Or maybe we can all go to Reno, where Dan lives, to celebrate his and her 65th birthdays on the 4th of July.

BTW, it’s going to be 104F (43C) here today and was at least that yesterday.  Glad I’m going swimming this afternoon.  After five months, I finally found the expat community here.  Two guys from the Obakki Foundation told me about the “pool party” every Sunday at another complex, Safari Style.  So Helen, our HQ visitor Alawy, our logistics guy Tom and I are going.  

Expat water volleyball game

26 March

I know I promised that this blog would not be political ... and it isn’t.  But I cannot resist a  snide comment after reading over the weekend that former vice president Dick Cheney had a heart transplant.  I didn’t know he had one to replace (which I’m sure by now, Letterman, Leno, Kimmel et al. have already said).  End of political commentary.

Swimming yesterday was great.  A water volleyball game was in progress when we arrived, so I dangled my legs into the water to cool off, then when they took a break, swam a few laps.  Wow, did that feel good.  Glad I’ve found this in time to introduce my replacement.  Apparently expats gather in various compounds most of the week. Most of them are 20-somethings, so that makes sense. I see a lot of expats come here for pizza on Fridays but hadn’t realized it was an semi-organized thing. 

I’m all set for travel on several fronts.  Going to Kampala in early April to update my yellow fever shot and renew my South Sudan visa.  Regina, the new CD, starts on 1 May and we’ll travel together to DC on 11 May.  I’m seriously thinking of a quick trip to Minneapolis since I only need to be in DC two work days.  But then off to Poland for the board meeting and Scotland to meet my niece and cousins.  I’ll go back to the US for a few weeks, then back here on 9 July for two weeks.  Whew!  Even I am tired reading that.

Went to the farm today to check out the flood mitigation project.  A quick trip since Helen and I are the only managers. Alfred went to Juba to get a national ID and passport so he can attend the WfWI Global M&E Conference in April.  Juliet and Lucy are still at their global conference in Istanbul.

Me dancing with the women at the farm

28 March

Hurray!!! Juliet and Lucy are back.  Of course, I had to whinge at them about all of the work, problems, etc. that we had to endure while they were gone for almost three weeks at the combined WfWI Global Life Skills & Sponsorship and Income Generation Conference in Istanbul.  They are both great and understand that I need to vent a little and am not really upset with them.  They have both been a big part of all the progress we’ve made here and of keeping me sane.  I did tell them that I had found that we can have a bit of a social life here.  I invited them to go to the pool with Helen, Alex and me on Sunday.  Alex is a Save the Children consultant that I met because he was working on a MacAir and I just had to comment.  He’s from Kampala but lives in Nairobi, very nice fellow who appreciated our company.

31 March

Yesterday and today are near the top of my list of “most stressful days.” Yesterday we said ‘good bye’ and ‘thank you’ to 14 employees whose contracts were non-renewed due to economics.  We gave all of them a terminal benefit even though many weren’t entitled to that under the law.  And we had a luncheon to honor them and give them their certificates of service.  This morning I had to meet with the rest of the staff and introduce a new contract.  We are adding a new benefit -- social insurance -- which mandates contributions from us and the employee.  Their deduction is new and lowers their take-home pay, so it was a sell.  We contribute 17%, they 8% -- all of which they are given when their employment with us concludes.  Not a bad deal at all.  I told them that in the US they’d have to wait to age 62 and wouldn’t be guaranteed anything regarding what they get vs what they paid.  They had good questions, and all in all it was a good meeting.

Margaret (center) and graduates model khangas

S is for snake

11 February, Rumbek, South Sudan

Okay.  I’m freaked.  It’s a hot Saturday and I’m sitting in my office checking email and posting my latest blog when I see a dining hall receptionist, James, run by my window, hitting something on the ground with a very long thin stick, and I wonder what he’s beating so furiously.  Soon I see a few others from the staff of the compound outside our offices, so I get up to see what’s going on.  They are all gathered around but at a safe distance from a three-foot long, maybe one-inch wide writhing snake that my friend from the dining hall has severely injured.  I return for my camera and snap a few pictures.  (I had just downloaded photos or the camera would’ve been in my tent.)  Wayne, manager of the compound, declares it a small Egyptian cobra.  Then kneeling down, he proceeds to say you can tell if a snake is poisonous by the shape of its head -- if it’s shaped like a coffin, it’s poisonous because you’re dead.  I think he’s joking and clap his shoulder, which startles him mightily.  Up he jumps and we all laugh.  The snake is disposed of by someone who of course has to swing it a bit to frighten everyone.  And as we’re all departing, I ask where it had been found.  Response ... laying outside my door.  If the door hadn’t been closed, I'm told, it might’ve entered.  Pulling my leg?  Who cares ... even if the a/c weren't on, the door will remain closed at all times!

My first, and I hope last, snake.  And by the way, the head shape isn’t a joke.  If the snake’s head is shaped like a coffin, it’s poisonous.

My hero, James, and the snake outside my office (at right)

Between this incident, one of our driver’s finding a snake coiled on his bed and my colleague Juliet’s snake and scorpion stories, I have been vigilant in my anti-snake campaign.  I check under the bed, look in strategic hiding spots in the bathroom, make sure nothing is hiding under my bed sheets, carefully tuck in and use my mosquito net every night.  I even stand behind my office door as I open it.  Get the picture -- I don’t like snakes!  I’m the first-grade kid who was led eyes-closed through the snake house at the zoo during my first field trip.

On a lighter note, my boss Karen sent this, perfect for Luddites like myself.

19 February, Rumbek

So far, no new snakes but ever vigilant.  On Juliet’s recommendation, I use Doom or Raid mosquito spray in the corners of the room when I leave in the morning as well as before dinner.  They won’t like the smell.  Or so she says.  Continues to be hotter than hell, night and day.  So I’m not willing to leave the air conditioning off during the day.  

This is my first non-working Sunday in quite some time.  Internet was down this morning for maintenance, but I came in this afternoon to download new episodes and emails.  And to enjoy a comfortable seat while I read or watch “Good Morning, Vietnam” on a spare laptop.  

This has not been a good week for electronics.  After re-charging my Kindle, it developed a permanent symbols’ block that covered a third of every page.  A Skype Out call to the Kindle Help Line and a patient fellow walked me through a ‘hard re-boot’ that solved the problem.  Then Mac starting delivering a “start up disk is nearly full” message.  I went through all my saved folders -- documents, spreadsheets, music, photos and television -- transferring some to DVDs and thumb drives and others to trash.  Also used the disk utility (like a defrag on a PC).  So far, so good.  The glitch came when I tried to empty the trash ... 18 hours later it was still emptying.  Finally this morning I gave in and executed a ‘force quit.’ Thankfully Mac re-booted successfully (after my experience in Poland, I am paranoid about that).  I emptied trash with one click, so I have room for more episodes, which are what’s taking up so much space.  When I get home, I’m going to get a new MacAir, lighter to lug around and more versatile than an iPad since I do a lot of composition.  

25 February

This short month is almost over and this may be my shortest blog ever.  I’ve been way too busy to write what with updating plans and reducing budgets, continuing the drama at the labor ministry, and looking out for snakes.  And I haven’t been a very good Minnesotan either.  I haven’t given you a weather report in weeks, months even.

I thought about that this morning when I arose to the first overcast, off white not gray, sky that I’ve seen here since early November.  You get used to eternal sunshiny mornings and forget the joy of slightly less glare and heat.  Several people have commented that the rains are going to start early, and not wait until April.  I sure hope not.  The gawdawful dust notwithstanding, we have a flood mitigation project that needs to be done at the farm before the rains start.

A couple of Fridays ago my colleague Juliet checked the temp on line because it was so unbelievably hot.  It was 43C ... about 104F.  The following Friday it was a bit cooler, in the high 30s (90s).  Yesterday it almost smelled like rain, and I saw a few clouds (all white wispy cotton) when I stepped out from my tent.  But by the time I got to my office, I was already sweating.  

BTW, you can google ‘Weather Rumbek South Sudan’ and see the temps here.  I checked AccuWeather, my favorite weather site.  It’s 39C (98F) at the moment ... and gasp, the forecast says a thunderstorm or rain is coming in the next few days.  I am so glad I found those Army surplus Wellies in Amsterdam.  Looks like I may need them sooner as well as later.

29 February

The longest day in the shortest month is over.  And I am less wiped out than I expected to be.  Today we had to tell 14 employees that we won’t renew their contracts on 31 March.  We’ve been preparing them for months, but you know how it is when reality strikes.  We had agreed with HQ to provide one month of base pay for every year worked (the law only requires us to do that for those with three or more years of service).  And we plan to do job search and CV training as well as circulate their names and skills to other agencies in the state.  For our last staff meeting of the month we’ll have a luncheon and hand out their certificates of service.  And all of that helped ... along with, I’m sure, the Ministry of Labor official who insisted on being present.  That last worked better than we had thought.  And he was impressed with how many staff thanked us for the training they’d gotten and skills they’d acquired.  It was nice to hear.

From sweating to freezing and back in under two weeks

16 January 2012, Martin Luther King Day in the US, but not in Rumbek, South Sudan

Another new year in a new country, literally.  South Sudan only gained its independence from the Khartoum government on 9 July 2011, after 25 or so years of civil war.  So the Republic of South Sudan, or ROSS as it’s abbreviated here, is barely six months old.  I was in Kosovo for the first anniversary of its independence and don’t recall any violence on anniversary day.  I hope that is the case here because the conflicts that were supposed to stop haven’t.  The Khartoum government has caused problems on that border, but more disturbing for their violence, are the internal conflicts between feuding clans. One recently nearly annihilated another on purpose.  While that was geographically far from Rumbek, we do get the occasional flare up of tribal or familial feuding here.  But rest assured, dear family and friends, that the safety and security of myself and my staff are Job One.

The start of a new year is always tough on me since it falls so close to some significant negative anniversaries -- my mother’s death, my ex Bob’s death and both of my son Peter’s diagnoses.  My colleague Lucy, the few staff not on holiday, and I were so busy during the year end/year beginning that I forgot to prepare myself.  So when I learned of another death, though far less close to me, it all hit at once.  

Jennifer at 5 was the flower girl in my wedding; her father Dick was the minister who performed the service; her mother Joy had helped me get a great job in the Connecticut State Training School for Girls when I was in college.  I saw little of any of them after that: I was in Southern Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, overseas, and they left for other churches.  Until she died, Mom was my Facebook, keeping me connected with people from my growing-up years in particular.  That’s how I learned of Joy’s death to cancer. I used the Internet to reconnect with Dick after finding a photo of him, Joy and their son at my parents’ 40th wedding anniversary, and we’ve stayed connected with the electronic Facebook.  

Dick emailed me about Jennifer’s death to cancer on New Year’s Day.  The family requested bottles of wine in lieu of flowers.  They will toast Jennifer’s memory over the years.  A colleague from my work in Macedonia, John, sent two bottles of wine from his winery for me.  (I blogged about Sierra Ridge Winery in Sutter Creek CA after visiting there with friend Jean.)  I specifically requested a bottle of vranac, made from grapes whose vines originated from cuttings that John bootlegged back from Macedonia.  I thought it was fitting to send my former minister Macedonian wine since when I moved to that country, the best way I could identify it for people was to remind them of Paul’s letters to the Macedonians in the New Testament of the Bible.

Wish my staff could read this and hear me extol the virtues of the Internet. Mostly they hear me curse the vagaries of how it operates here ... and frequently.  We were required to use the Internet service of our landlord, rather than install the VSAT that we have.  But they promised we’d have dedicated bandwidth of the same size we had and give everyone after hours access in their accommodations to the compound’s system at no cost.  The Internet service is separate from the compound, so they charge for its use.  The problems are multiple, beginning with the fact that we weren’t told in advance that they were not capable of providing the dedicated bandwidth until they upgraded their equipment and system.  If I’d known that, I would never have recommended signing the lease.  So in December we had virtually no connectivity, and I refused to pay for the service.  Problems in January have been fewer but still mean frequent unexplained and unannounced outages.  So my dulcet tones are often heard in the compound.  Cables are arriving tomorrow and supposedly will mean no more outages ... we’ll see.

Speaking of the Internet, in organizing some downloads of favorite TV programs over the holidays, I learned that my web-based backup MobileMe is being replaced by iCloud in June.  Because my MacBook is three years old (but still tickin’), I needed to buy some inexpensive upgrade to make the switch.  Went online and bought it, started to download and, you guessed it, the Internet went down.  Being busy, I decided to wait to deal with restarting but at one point had to reboot the laptop ... and there went my download icon.  Maybe not a big loss to you computer geeks, but to a Luddite like me, a major crisis. How to get it back without buying the software again. I surfed the Apple sites and finally found the right support spot, reported the problem, surfed again to find the phone numbers, Skyped to the UK number on my office laptop in case I needed to reboot. Not an ideal connection plus a thick accent, but the nice Brit told me what to do. The next day, I did all that and the download started.  It will take one day and 17 hours.  I paused the download ... will try again when I’m in Kosovo at the end of the month.  Perhaps I can get the time down to a few hours.  (BTW, it takes a minimum of four hours to download one episode of NCIS or Bones, both of which are under 50 minutes of programming.

I’m not normally one for making New Year’s Resolutions because I usually break them a nanosecond into the new year.  Lose weight, exercise regularly, eat better, talk more softly, pay more attention to my spending, cook more, eat out less -- all made and broken.  But I did make one this year.  I resolved to have one hassle-free, smooth running week when I don’t have to deal with my predecessor’s crappy legacy, just one. I thought I was going experience that last week, then came Friday.  

After a week of not sleeping well, I slept all night and awoke feeling refreshed at 7 am last Friday.  No critters on the sink, lots of hot water in the shower, a new African dress to wear.  I put the dress on, tied the scarf on my head as instructed by Veronica, the trainer who shortened the dress and made the scarf from the overage.  Looked in the mirror and saw a happy, not bad looking, woman of a certain indefinable age.  A few hours later I gave up on my resolution.  

We have many employees who are becoming redundant since we aren’t enrolling new participants here and are moving to a new state in a few months.  The service contracts of our temporary trainers were not renewed.  We’ve begun to identify how we’ll roll off permanent staff as their contracts expire and add back those we need on short-term contracts.  We will be finished in Rumbek by year end.

This week I was trying to lay off two regular security guards made unnecessary because our obligation at the old compound was over and our new landlord provides armed security.  In lieu of the two weeks notice in their contracts, I agreed to pay a month, per the law, plus for the days they worked this month.  I had met with them on Wednesday, explained this in detail through an interpreter, and asked them to come on Friday to get their final pay, service certificates and a ‘thank you’ from everyone.  Sounds simple, right?  Well, not when you’re dealing with folks whose jobs were as muddled by my predecessor as many here were.  Forget that they are also illiterate, probably never saw a contract until asked to sign one last year, and believe their family obligations are your responsibility.  The more vocal of the two said he’d worked for us for five years (we have only one contract for the past year), he guarded the stores at the other compound in 2010 (we didn’t rent that place until January 2011) and he was always paid by our accountant (who was also the accountant for my predecessor’s personal NGO).  He wanted his job and his “pension” (not included as a benefit in his contract).  He has a pregnant wife and children who return to school shortly (I really do sympathize; I’m not totally unfeeling.  But they aren’t my responsibility.)  I finally offered a compromise when they said if they could have jobs, they’d forget the “pensions.”  Lucy agreed to put them to work -- one at our bakery and the other at the farm.  We told each of them their responsibilities would be whatever was assigned to them.  I told one that he would be chasing cattle from the gardens, which will be a far cry from napping most of the day in a chair by our front gate as he did as a guard.

This is a classic conundrum here. While I totally understand their naivete and sympathize with their plight, I have absolutely no way of getting them to understand any of this.  They have absolutely no frame of reference around jobs, contracts, payroll, benefits, labor law, and what little experience they got was distorted by how my predecessor’s regime operated.  In their minds they were paid by our accountant, therefore they were our employees, and no one would have told them differently.  

19 January 2012, Juba, capital of South Sudan

Another hot day.  I haven’t seen a thermometer but my guess is that the temp is in he 90sF (mid 30sC).  By 10 am my shirt was soaked.

I flew here on Tuesday morning to try to finalize our registration.  The state commission responsible for that had requested additional information, which I brought, and an interview with me.  Our lawyer had taken care of the first step, a general registration, and I now have that certificate.  Step two is a certificate that allows us to operate.  

The director wasn’t available but his assistant looked over the material, politely lectured me on our being late (guess why we’re late?). I apologized several times.  And he finally said the documents seemed complete, and he’d call me if the director wanted to see me.  No call so I asked the lawyer to follow up on Monday to see if the process had been completed.  Their notice says three days.

20 January 2012, back in Rumbek

The Juba airport gives new meaning to the words “teeming masses” and “packed in like sardines.”  There’s one departures entrance, which some also consider an exit, so as departing passengers are pushing to put their luggage and carry-ons onto the scanner belt and go through a security gate, others are pushing in the opposite direction.  

Passengers for six or eight flights (WFP and several commercial airlines) are all in the departures area, and WFP has two or three lines, hard to tell which and a bit of a misnomer to call them lines.  Then another line, actually two but it was hard to know that, to get through more security to the departures lounge.  I learn there are two lines as I near the entry ... one is for women and slightly shorter.  Computer tote and purse inspected, I literally inch through the security gate and forward.  I already know from previous experience there will be no seats.  But I want to find a place to stand that will let others by and give me some breathing room. Eventually I end up near the exit which means occasional breaths of fresh air but a steady intake of the last-cleaned-during-the-previous-century stench from the men’s toilet on the other side of the wall.  Passengers push by to board flights to Khartoum, Addis, Kampala, Bor, Wau ... and finally Rumbek is called.  

Later, back at the office ...

Lucy (who was acting CD while I was gone) was leading a staff meeting, so I decided to let her finish.  I went to my tent to turn on the a/c, dump my bags, use the facilities, unpack dirty laundry for collecting tomorrow.

And tonight, I acquired a new roommate.  As I sat down on the bed to take off my sneakers, a small light beige gecko raced from from that bed toward the other.  I tossed a shoe at it but missed.  And since it’s only a gecko, I didn’t pursue further.

21 January

“Another Saturday night, and I ain’t ...”  Or should I say, another Saturday afternoon and we’re working.  The senior management team (SMT) and I had to make some adjustments (read: reductions, of course) in our budget which we needed to do together.  But our finance manager is in Nairobi, we’re here and thankfully we have email and Skype and an Internet connection that is working better today than usual.  With interruptions by local staff also putting in some weekend work time, we managed to finish by mid afternoon.  Then I did the final inputs and sent to HQ.  I have to “defend” the plan and budget on Tuesday.

One thing I’ve said to HQ and told the SMT too: I have one of the best SMTs I’ve ever managed.  They rival my last management team at The St. Paul Companies for teamwork, competence and communications.  They’ve put in long hours many week days and weekends without complaint.  They are incredible at coaching and mentoring local staff.  They don’t hesitate to speak their minds.  Plus they’re already used to me.  They know that when I “yell” about something that’s gone amiss, I’m not yelling at them; I’m venting.  They are incredible!

No further gecko sightings, and today it was so cool that I didn’t even turn on the a/c.  Now that’s a feat.

28 January, Pristina, Kosovo

After traveling for more than 25 hours on four different airplanes from prop to Boeing 747, this “quotation of the day”  that I clipped from the New York Times a month or so ago just hit the spot and not in a good way:

"Obviously the first-class passenger is a very senior person in his company, coming a long way around the world, and probably doing something very important for his business. He requires to be able to sleep, work on his speech, perhaps take a shower upon arrival, so he can hit the ground running." JOHN SLOSAR, the chief executive of Cathay Pacific Airways, on increasingly luxurious services in first class.

Obviously I am not the passenger Mr. Slosar referred to.  Although frequently expected to ‘hit the ground running,’ sometimes literally to another flight, sometimes to an important meeting, I’ve never worked for anyone who’d pay for first class.  Perhaps because I’m a “she” and not a “he,” I don’t have the same requirements for sleep, hygiene and comfort.  ‘Nuff said.  I’m pooped.  

And it’s cold.  Maury forewarned that there was two feet of snow on the ground.  (Maury is a friend from my Booz Allen days, who graciously offered me their spare bedroom.)  I will be ever so grateful for my boots and winter things that my wonderful sister shipped to DC for me and my wonderful boss is bringing tomorrow. 

Winter in Rumbek

Winter in Pristina

30 January, Pristina

Yesterday I spent a delightful morning playing Lego with Maury and Andrew’s almost-five-year-old son Roland.  We built a fire station, complete with pole.  And Andrew and Maury made pancakes, something I haven’t eaten in years ... seriously.  What a treat to just kick back on a Sunday morning.

Maury and son Roland 

Which was especially great given that the trials and tribulations of South Sudan have followed me via email.   Before leaving, I fired our receptionist/guard because he had not returned from his leave for three weeks.  So of course, the day after I sent the letter to the local Ministry of Labor, he returned with five different excuses why he couldn’t call or even send a message via someone to tell us he would be late.  I stood by our decision.  When our HR manager went to the ministry to get a signed copy of our letter, he was interrogated in a very hostile manner.  And the drama continued as the employee harassed our staff until he was told to stay away until the issue was resolved through the ministry.

Back in Pristina, last night could qualify as a ‘most embarrassing moment’ in my life.  I took a taxi from Maury and Andrew’s to the hotel where the rest of the WfWI Global Leadership Team (GLT) was staying.  We were going to all have dinner together.  Although I had met three while waiting for our connecting flight from Vienna to Pristina, most were unknown to me but of course knew each other.  So as they joined the group, they automatically greeted me and introduced themselves, and we shoot hands.  One woman joined us and I put out my hand, ready to shake hands and introduce myself when she said, “I only get a hand shake?”  That’s when I realized it was Karen, my boss!  I was mortified that I didn’t recognize her, but in my defense, she was wearing glasses and had a different hair style the one time I saw her before, during my interview in DC. 

Karen presenting Global Programs’ plan

11 February 2012, Rumbek

As usual, I'm a bit late in posting.  Looking back at my first January post, I see that I commented on the potential for a non-violent celebration of South Sudan's first anniversary of statehood.  After reading a lengthy article in today's New York Times about the continuing battle over oil (South Sudan has the oil; Sudan has the seaports), I'm not so sure.  As one person was quoted, give two options -- hurting the Khartoum government or helping its nation, the South Sudanese are more likely to choose the former.  A sad state of affairs.  

Stay tuned ... keep those Skype calls and emails coming.  Much as I'd love the care packages so many of your offer, we have no postal service.

More than ‘ho ho ho’

3 December 2011, Rumbek, Lakes state, Republic of South Sudan

Moving day ... what chaos.  And our logistics officer Tom had it so well planned.  Unfortunately he didn’t allow for a snafu that arose yesterday while I was at the farm.  Juliet, a manager and a bank signatory, went to the bank to transfer November pay to staff with bank accounts and get cash to pay the others.  A wire transfer from HQ is caught in the ethosphere somewhere, and another had to be sent, thus making payday a bit late.  When Juliet got to the bank yesterday, the operations person caught that names and accounts didn’t match.  It appeared they were off by one line but all had to be re-checked and verified. Our finance manager is in Nairobi. Juliet and our cashier completed the task early this morning.  So amidst our move, all bank account holders made a mad dash for the bank to get some cash before the noon closing ... others had to be paid in cash and finally, a couple of people who had applied for bank accounts hadn’t been told by the bank those were opened so expected cash but their pay had already been deposited ... you get the picture.

It was after 10 by the time I finally called the staff together, thanked them for coming to work on a Saturday, apologized profusely for the late pay and thanked them again for their patience.  Then I told them we were moving -- they knew our lease expired in January from an earlier set-to with the landlord.  I told them we would pay the landlord to the end as we knew that was our obligation, but I didn’t want to move with the holidays coming and leaves starting.  They needed to pack and mark their boxes, then help with furniture etc.  Tom took over giving detailed instructions and the logistics company arrived with its helpers.  

The night before I’d tried to call the landlord several times to tell him about the move.  I got through to someone several times, but the line was so bad neither of us could hear.  I sent him a text message asking him to come to the office on Saturday morning.  No answer.  So when he called me on Saturday morning, he was hopping mad.  I was surprisingly calm, repeating that I’d tried to reach him etc.  About 90 minutes later he came to the compound, still hopping mad; I remained calm, repeating to him what I’d told the staff.  Half a dozen young male staff members jumped to my defense and gradually moved him out of the compound.  He didn’t try to stop the move, which we had anticipated as a potential problem.  So boxes were packed, furniture was moved, computers were dismantled and a huge flat bed and several Land Rovers were filled more than once and off-loaded at the new digs.

I returned to our new offices, in the same compound where we senior managers live, and ate literally about four bites of lunch.  But my blood sugar had dropped to minus zero so I needed something.  Via Lucy, who was at the old office, the landlord requested another meeting.  I returned as did he with his colleague who’d signed our lease.  Job, our regional HR person, and I sat with them, had a calm conversation in which the landlord once again had to berate Jan for our earlier meetings, assign me the role of ‘good witch’ and agree to accept our check for the rent.  You would all be amazed at how calm, rational and controlled I was all day.  Reminded me of the day in January ’76 when I carried my bleeding three-year-old down Amsterdam Avenue in Harlem to a hospital emergency room -- the three Cs of calm, cool and collected -- until it was all over and I was back in my husband’s apartment (he was doing post-grad work at Columbia).  Then I collapsed.  Ditto tonight.  Moving out is done, moving in is as far done as possible today, my tummy is full.  Time for bed.

4 December, still Rumbek

The sun is shining, the day’s high will be in the 90sF (high 30s C) and there’s no snow in sight.  And I’m leaving tomorrow for Poland, why?  Oh, right, my semi-annual board meeting at the Center for Support of Entrepreneurship, and a chance to get some much-needed hugs from old friends.

I’ll never get used to Christmas where it doesn’t get cold let alone snow.  Amanda, an Australian friend that I got to know when we both lived in Sandomierz, and I used to debate Christmas activities.  She said the best was a “barbie on the beach” (that’s a barbecue for we non-Aussies).  I said snowball fights and skiing.  

11 December, Hala’s farm in Czermin, Poland

It’s fitting that I begin and end my time at the Center’ board meeting at the farm.  I love this place, it’s good for renewing my soul before I return to my natural urban habitat.  Even we chattery extroverts who prefer the hubbub of the city need an occasional rural respite.

As Hala and I left for town on Thursday, we saw our first snowfall on the lawn in front of the house.  I snapped a few pix to share.  She made me appointments for a manicure, pedicure and hair cut/color.  I’m a new woman -- red toes, trimmed cuticles and a new head.  I debated the hair cut but decided my hair was way too shaggy, and I’m glad I went ahead.  It’s the best color and hair cut the local stylist has ever done.

Meeting went well.  I re-upped for another term.  My friend Steve’s daughter who lives in Turkey joined us; her first trip to Poland.  I found a silver and polished flint pendant for my friend Ted’s wife Mary’s Christmas present.  Long story short -- I buy jewelry gifts for Mary and often their daughter and mothers too.  Mary liked the pieces I helped Ted select when he was here in the late ‘90s to do a training for me.  So now it’s a bit of a tradition that I enjoy.

18 December, back in my tent in Rumbek, South Sudan

Time flies except when you’re flying.  The journey back to South Sudan was even longer than the journey out because of longer layovers.  One, however, worked out perfectly.  My friend Ana and her husband Archie who live 15 minutes from the Amsterdam airport were returning from their “hols” just before I was transiting through AMS.  We agreed to try to meet.  I had cleared the Schengen zone and was looking to see where my next gate (in five hours) would be and thinking I wanted to call Ana ... when the phone rang and it was Ana.  I spent a lovely few hours at their flat catching up and eating delicious soup that Archie prepared.  My idea of how to lay over between flights.

Nairobi airport was the next five-hour stop and is among the worst airports for spending time.  Hot, nothing but uncomfortable molded plastic seats, two places for food, overcrowded narrow-for-an-airport corridors, and shops that all seem to be selling the same souvenirs or booze and cigarettes in bulk.  I have to admit they have cleaned up their restrooms, and I mean that literally.  They used to be the most disgusting places, used only out of absolute necessity.  Now, while still run down, they were very clean.

In Warsaw the woman who checked me in was game to figure out how to check my bags all the way to Juba, South Sudan.  Even though I had a separate ticket for that last leg of travel, it was on Kenya Airways, the same as my AMS-NBO flight.  If I had to get my bags in Kenya, I would’ve needed to buy a visa.  After a bit of bad info from her telephone contact, another agent helped her accomplish the task.

Next to last stop Juba where the full force of South Sudan December hit me. I was overdressed for the heat.  Our flight was apparently full of government ministers who’d been in Kenya for a conference; I was too tired to notice as we boarded but a cavalcade of vehicles, drivers and greeters awaited them on the tarmac where we all deplaned.  Alfred from my staff met me after Immigration/Customs, and we went to see our program’s new lawyer and deliver the cash he needed to finalize our registration.  Talk about long processes (our re-registration) ... but I won’t; it’s boring.

I spent the night in a hard room at Afex Riverside in Juba ... had dinner outdoors along the Nile but was too tired to enjoy that.  Fell into bed early and awoke the next morning in time for breakfast, a drive through rush-hour Juba and my WFP flight.

Now I’m back in my tent, Alpha 1, and it really did feel like coming home.  I know many of you are appalled, astounded, amazed at my choice of living quarters, and I don’t know how to help you understand how good this place feels to me.  Maybe because a hard room is just like any other hotel room, impersonal and difficult for me to make mine.  My tent, like my Minneapolis condo, is small, cozy and mine.

Of course, now that I’m back, I have played catch up on what happened while I was gone, what needs doing before most of the Senior Management Team and staff go on holiday at various times next week and what Lucy, SMT member who will stay here over the holidays, and I need to do to draft our 2012 plans.  Yesterday we all worked the entire day ... today I am going to find at least some time to sit in the sun and read.  While I was in Warsaw and had the strong, fast Internet at my friend Marta’s apartment available, I re-filled my Kindle with a dozen books and downloaded a few favorite TV series from iTunes to Mac.  

20 December

6:30 am and all’s quiet ... almost.  It’s never truly quiet here, even at this hour, because somewhere in the background you’ll hear the pulsing energy of a generator or two or more.  Both Afex, where I am now, and Hillview, where I first lived, run generators 24/7, one of their advantages, along with wifi/Internet.  Pan Door (House of Peace), where two staff previously lived, is on what I call West Nile Electricity; the generator is run in the evening only, just like when I traveled to Arua and Nebbi in the West Nile region of Uganda.  Plus no wifi.  But it seems that everywhere in Rumbek, the cork-screw style low energy light bulbs are in use.  My eyes are adjusting but don’t particularly like the light they produce.

Needless to say, no street lights, which is a huge reason why we don’t drive at night. Not having a lot of outdoor lights means I can see the evening stars, bright twinkles on a black sky.  Last night I noticed them for the first time in weeks.  And they were magnificent.  Reminded me that Christmas is coming.

23 December

I will never get used to hot weather at Christmas.  I need cold and snow, boots and fur coats, hazardous driving on slippery streets.  Ah, well, I shall enjoy what I have and remember that it isn’t snowing in MN either.

25 December, Merry Christmas from Rumbek

Christmas really is something special when it’s stripped of the last minute price reductions, gift laden trees, fake and real, and boozy office parties.  Today after breakfast, Lucy and I went to her church, the Protestant church at the UN compound.  Her friend Joyce arranged transport since, although we have a vehicle, neither of us was prepared to drive it.  The service was already underway under large canopies on either side of an open field.  A few shade trees continued dropping their dry, brown leaves, and the colorful balloons and decorations, pink altar cloths and red clay dust were blown in a brisk, warm breeze.  We arrived shortly before 10 am and left at 3 pm.  And in between, we sang and danced and listened and watched others do the same.  Guest pastors and worship leaders gave testimonials, offered prayers, rejoiced with a spirit that filled the great outdoors.  Small children, youth of both sexes, and a group of street boys all had their chance at center stage.  About 1000 people attended the service, from several congregations as well as the community at large.  And before leaving, we were all served lunch in an amazingly orderly manner, children first, mothers with babies next, then youth/teenagers, adults last.

Joyce and Jennifer who work for UN agencies have been trying to resolve the issue of the street boys.  They are generally abandoned boys, some orphans, some separated from their parents during the conflicts, some runaways probably too.  They roam the streets all day with nothing to do.  They frequently sleep in the yard at the police station where they are at least safe.  But that has become an issue with no easy solution.   Because they are boys, nobody wants them; they’re considered of no value.  Oh, when they’re adults, men rule the roost.  But as kids, they are ignored while any female children are valued, indulged, pampered because girls add cattle to the father’s herd through the bride price.  And the number of cows a man owns tells you who he is.  Cows are a status symbol with absolutely no economic value.

Pastor welcomes, encourages street boys to sing

Mr. Cool sat in front of me during the service

Youth sing and dance

27 December

A day without water is a day without ... you can fill in the blank as creatively as you like.

I awoke this morning, turned on the hot water tap as usual; it gets hot while I brush my teeth.  No hot water ... no cold water ... and I had just flushed, so no ... Used a facial cleanser toilette to clean up a bit, dressed and went to breakfast where I learned the water pump had broken.  The camp manager was not a happy man, having previously asked to have a spare purchased.  He was on his way to town to see if the bore hole driller might have a pump.  In the meantime, his assistant distributed two big bottles of water to each tent.  I bought water for the office last week.  And we have about 10 bottles left in the refrigerator in my office. But I sent our driver to town to buy two more boxes of large bottles of water, just in case we need more.  

Lucy’s tent went waterless a few weeks ago as she was halfway through a shower.  At least I didn’t have to deal with that -- it was supposed to be a hair wash day!  

Hot water heater near by tent

29 December

The water crisis only lasted a day.  The pump went out.  But I laid in several cartons of bottled water to ensure we didn’t run out.  There’s a small ‘frig’ in my office, and we stock it with water as well as having a regular water cooler.  I’m never quite sure where they get the water cooler water from ... And at dinner last night, I got a second glass of water from the water cooler in our dining room.  Thought a bug had gotten in the glass; not an unusual occurrence in open-air dining anywhere.  But whatever it was, it was not a bug ... it was very small and swimming around in my glass like a little fishy.  

Murphy’s Law is prevailing.  Two of our Land Rovers are in Nairobi for major maintenance and a Toyota Hilux pickup is what we’re using here.  Or were until it decided to die on us.  Thankfully our logistics guy has a couple of local drivers with cars that we can hire.  We have 500 women graduating who expect their savings to be delivered as well as their certificates and refreshments.  The staff took “public transport” -- boda boda (motorcycle taxis) or matatus (van taxies) to the training centers; the driver loaded his car with water, sodas and donuts and delivered them.  We are nothing if not resourceful.

New Year’s Eve in Rumbek

And what am I doing?  Downloading episodes of Burn Notice, Skypeing my brother to say ‘happy new year’ and finishing this month’s journal.  Typical NYE for me.  I will be sound asleep before the bell tolls midnight, as usual.  For whatever reason, and I don’t really know why, this has never been a particularly big party night for me.  My first NYE as a married woman, Bob and I went to dinner at our favorite restaurant in our town, Marion, Illinois ... and the meal was so disappointing that we ate and left early.  My boss and his wife had invited us to their house in the country, so we joined them for an evening of good friends and George Carlin on the tube.  

I recall a memorable NYE midnight run around Lake of the Isles when Steve and I were engaged.  My son Peter and his best friend Thom (both about 15) had a supposedly ‘boys only’ party planned then three girls showed up early in the evening and didn’t look like they were leaving.  To their horror, I collected the girls’ parents’ phone numbers and called each to alert them to the party and my two-hour absence from the house.  I think the parents were as weirded out as the kids.  But it seemed like a good idea to me.

Signing off for 2011.  In case you want to give a Christmas gift that multiplies once it’s received ... or you have room for another tax deduction or two, consider my favorites:

http://www.womenforwomen.org/

http://www.mayoclinic.com/

http://www.tns.org/