The last of three entires i just posted.....Uncle
August 4, 2006
Makuei
I’m not sure where to begin since so much has happened since I last wrote. It has been difficult to write since as soon as I take out the computer, someone wants to watch me write and read what I am writing. When I try to tell them that I am writing a personal letter, it only brings more people to me to read. There is no concept of privacy here. People are crowded on top of one another and no one ever has their own bedroom. I can’t count how many I have shared a room with – both men and children – often three on a mattress. If there is a mattress and a mosquito net, room will be found for another. There is no shame or embarrassment when someone walks in on someone washing up or squatting over the toilet. There is also a great culture of sharing. Yesterday, someone was going towards the Customs office and I asked him if he could change some money for me. When he returned, I gave him a 1000 Sudanese Shilling note. He hesitated, but took it. Then I felt, I should give him another one. He immediately gave it to the boy next to him. I have no signs of taking what is not yours (though this exists on an official level. I think that state money is viewed differently than private property. For a week, I have seen a VIP badge from the signing of the CPA just sitting around. It would be a great souvenir. I asked someone who it belonged to and he said: “we just leave it here. The person who it belongs to will come and claim it.”
Nothing is as it appears and everything I have written up to now should be taken with a grain salt. I Have made quick observations, based on what is told to me – often in broken English, on what I observe – and all of this through the lens of my Western bias. I felt as if I was painting a picture, but the longer I am here I see how big and textured the canvas is and what I have painted is just a speck on the canvas, and poor quality paint – or the wrong paint altogether. I have seen but a slice of the society here and my generalizations may be very far off-base. But that is all that I have right now and as I become more adept at mixing my colors and layering the paint, I hope the picture will become clearer – at least slightly.
Contradictions: there are rules. There are statements made. We went out to a mixed part of town the other night. Most of the shops are owned by Arabs. I asked Aduei’s sitster, Agot how she felt about being in an Arab restaurant. She said that there are few choices in Juba and of course she hates the Arabs – they killed her husband. I asked what would happen to the Arabs if South Sudan secedes. She said they would leave. I then asked: On their own or will they be forced to?” She said that they would be forced to. When I pointed out that the new Sudanese constitution would not allow that the conversations ended. The ideas expressed in the constitution are the basis of a free society with the same guarantees of freedom and choice offered to Americans in our constitution – but with the Bill of Rights and concepts of two hundred years of amendments included from the start. Contradictions: Many of the men here have been fighting the Arabs for 22 years. A surprising amount are married to Arab women, including Makuei – who we will get to shortly since he is the main character of the events that transpired over these past days. I was at the home of the undersecretary of communications after dinner at the Arab restaurant. His friend Omar, who works for the International Red Cross. Omar is a Moslem. Omar is also a Nubian. From a tribe up by the Egyptian border. Where does he fit into this puzzle of tribe, religion, race?
If you ever watched Rocky and Bullwinkle – aside from the brilliant cold war satire, there was a part of the show with Mr. Peabody – a dog and his pet boy, Sherman. They had a time machine and travel to different ages in history. I sometimes think that this cartoon dog is responsible for my love of history. After watching the show, I would go to my white and green World Book encyclopedia (which took my parents years to pay off) and look up the time period or country that was just visited by my animated friends. I have thought of Mr. Peabody and Sherman over these past weeks in South Sudan. I feel as if I have time traveled, though not to specific time and place, but to some amalgam of times and places. At times, I try to think what year in America this could be paralleled with. The state-building and beginnings of democracy bring me back to the 18th century, yet the conditions here are more Civil War era-ish. But it is the anachronism that confuse things. No running water, no electricity, yet there are cars and cell phones. No roads or addresses, but there are airports. 80% of the people are illiterate, yet there are internet “cafes” – rarely working, but with a satellite dish outside and a generator humming.
I think of the stories my mother told me about Palestine/later Israel in the 1940’s and her thrill when she would hear from her family still there (she came to America in 1950) about water, roads, electricity, hospitals. And I know that South Sudan can bring itself into the present. It is how it blends the culture and traditions that will be struggle. Will they have a Mustafah Kamal Ataturk as Turkey did? Who will be their model? Singapore? Japan? – each one of these has elements that could be relevant, though the South Sudanese should study them all and learn from them. Some of the lessons from Japan could be applicable, though the population is heterogeneous; Singapore had a mixed Chinese/Malaysian/Indian population, though a benevolent dictator ruled it. You may want to check these facts – my memory is a bit rusty. Anyway, the point is that there the advantage that South Sudan has is that it can learn from the successes of other countries and really study the failures of others – especially on the African continents.
But his is not what I intended to write about and this is becoming more of journal for me than something for public consumption. I doubt anyone is reading this anymore, so I shall write to audience of one.
Makuei – better known as Uncle
We have been staying at his house fo the past week. The two-day stopover has turned into a week and this week will be extended further. The longer I stay here, the ore I learn about Makuei. I watch as family members (this “family” is enormous) come and stay here – finding a mattress or putting up a tent or simply sleeping on the grounds. They come here as a safe haven (the home of the chief of police of South Sudan is quite sate), but also to talk to Makuei. Makuei is 61 years old,, about 6’4 and maybe, if lucky, 160 pounds. He has two gold teeth where incisors where on top and speaks in a quiet, but abrupt voice. hen talks, all listen. After coming out of the bush as a Major General Makuei Majuc became a high political figure. He was in the bush fighting since the beginning with John Garang in 1983j for the next 22 years. He was already a veteran fighter in the wars that have ravaged Sudan since independence in 1956.
According to so many of the young people I have spoken to, Makuei is the only one who has taken care of the clan over all these years. He has arranged for many of the youngsters to get away from the fighting and go to schools in the regugee camps in Kenya or wherever he could find. He did this not only for the clan but for many of Dinka kids from Bor.
One by one, they return, often short of money to continue their studies – often it is a matter of a few hundred dollars – and they wait for an audience with Makuei. It is lLike a scene from the Father. At times there are groups of young men sitting around him as he gives them advice and tells them what they should be doing with their lives. For some, he can find money to pay for another semester of schooling. He recommends whether they should be getting married or studying or taking lessons to become a driver – a very employable skill an valued with these roads.
These meetings are interrupted by a constant flow of military and government men who must meet with him. Especially now, since he was planning to go Kenya for medical treatment. He was passing out orders and delegating authority. He was always dressed in his green uniform/outfit/suit – not quite sure what to call it, but as he got sicker, he would meet in his pajamas. He soon was getting an IV drip and napping more and more and people would wait for him to awake. But through all this, his mind was sharp. Every day he would see me and say that we must meet, but not yet. He was doing his homework- he was talking to the Sultan of Malek and talking to some of the kids about the school that will be built. He told the Sultan that he must get to Malek before I do in order to prepare the town for the arrival. He talked about land for the school and whom I should meet with.
And through all this, the despise concubine is making everyone’s life miserable. It is interesting that this Arab fighter has an Arab wife (his first wife) who has been living with their children in Australia. Nothing is black and white.
Aduei and I had been called to see him a few times, but by the time we reached his room, he was too tired or asleep. We were told that we must stay nearby and ready for him when he calls us.
And the time came – during a torrential downpour, we went to a porch where he was laying down. He was weak and I struggled to hear him.
He apologized for not being to be more helpful until now, but that he had been ill. He was on medication and had seen some doctor. It was not clear whether it was malaria or typhoid. His chest hurt and his breathing was weak. But he continued to speak and explained the complexities of a white American traveling in South Sudan. He talked about how I could not take the boat up the Nile to Bor, but must travel by plane. The boat, he explained could be quite treacherous – the sun, the rain, the capsizing, the mechanical failures, running out of fuel – the trip could take days. Furthermore, all kinds of people are on the boat. And then he informed that it is not drunks and a few anti-Americans that I needed protection from. He explained that in Southern Sudan there are many Somalis, some of which are part of Al-Qaida and that makes me a target for terrorism. He explained that there are terrorists here and an unprotected American is not safe.
He had my attention.
He then asked me explain the school. I told him that I will let the villagers to decide whether is should be elementary or secondary. I told him that it would be free to all, unaffiliated with any religious group, and equally accessible to boys and girls. The teachers would be recruited locally, as well as from around the world. Language of instruction will be English, though there must be a way to preserve the Dinka language (all schools are taught in English in the South and Arabic in the north). I talked about math, science, engineering and English. And then went on about the importance of learning history and preparing young persons for life in a democratic society – for teaching them how they can control their future. I discussed how kids should not learn by rote and should be able to think, analyze and question.
He was satisfied.
He then checked my papers and their was a problem with the stamp, but he would write me letter this evening and I would go to the police tomorrow to it all arranged. He would talk to me later about certain other arrangements.
But this is not how things turned out. (it is 3:30 pm the next day – I must get coffee)
Got my coffee – thought I putting in Nescafe, but I just tasted it and got a mouthful of coffee grinds…….mmmm…It will settle.
I continue – Our talk was interrupted by a visit from a police general, but Makuei told him what needed to be done and that he would writing the letter. I would meet the general tomorrow and all would be arranged. Then Makuei suddenly said he was dizzy and went into his room and into bed.
Now that I had spoken to Uncle, we could leave the compound. Agot’s friend, Ade (who I call the Queen of Juba – she is a widow who is also one of the highest ranking female soldiers in South Sudan – she has a car and driver – a boy who looks like he is 14, but is actually 16 they say.) The boy was sick and tonight’s driver was a friend who has visited his father who lives in Nebraska. There are also many of the Lost Boys living in Salt Lake City. Along with another guy, we went to a place that also featured an Internet café. The Internet was down, but we ate, picked up some medicine from an Arab pharmacy for Adeui – cheap by American standards, but very expensive by Sudanese standards. And we headed back to the compound.
The guards opened the gate and we see Deng running to us, screaming his grunts and wildly gesturing with hands. When others arrived, we found out that Uncle had been taken to the hospital. He was having shivers (convulsions) and unconscious). Back in the Mitsubishi and we went to find him. There were a few possibilities of where he could be but with so few phones, we could not get in touch with anyone and would have to search each place one by one. Luckily we had a more experienced driver, as we began our search through the rutted, crater-filled roads. A good driver knows where the holes on and either goes around them if he can or slows down. The torrential rains of earlier in the day had changed the dirt roads’ topography as we headed blindly into the night. We first went to the Military Hospital, but he was not there. The military hospital was in the largest army base in the South, but it seemed that it was controlled by the Arabs from Khartoum. It would not be in the North’s interest to want to save Uncle – that’s what I gathered from conversations – though they put it in much stronger words. Then to the some other “hospital” and he not there. We tried various places where they could have brought him. We entered some facility where there were tens of people lined up sleeping outside. It was pitch black though was one small building with a dim bulb burning. He was not there. All this time, we rode in total silence and dejected, we returned to the compound. As we did one of the high ranking men had a phone and had reached someone and we on our way to the hospital where we would find Uncle. We arrived and there was a group of about fifty people there. Most people did not know what was happening because of the lack of communication capabilities.
We were led to a small building with one small room lit by two kerosene lamps hanging from the IV pole. On the pole was the remaining few drops in an IV bag. Uncle was stripped down looking like a frail old man, gasping and convulsing. There were no hospital beds available anywhere and no where to get supplies. People were praying. Aduei was crying, as were many people. He is a loved man in this community. He is known as a generous man. Women were putting wet towels on him and there were no doctors. There were nurses, but no supplies. The sanitary conditions were abhorable (if that is word) and everyone was just standing around in shock. Uncle slipped in and out of consciousness. A doctor arrived – not a Dinka so he spoke English to the people) and I was by the bedside listening and explaining. I then went outside. After a few hours, a black man wearing a polo shirt arrived. There was something very Western about him. It was the first time I saw anyone put on surgical gloves. He took his blood pressure and pulse. I heard him speak and realized he was an American medic who operates a one room clinic in Juba. He said that there were facilities to take Uncle. I was standing outside by the open window and said: “Doc, what needs to be done? Where can he get what he needs?”
Nairobi. There are no doctors hear who specialize in this or can help him. There are no facilities that can serve his needs.
I said: How can we get him there and what do we do in the meantime?
We conferred for a while and came up with a plan. We would move Uncle to his clinic where at least it is clean, cool, and there are IV’s and an oxygen tank. We would then MediVac him to Nairobi. When I told him that Uncle was scheduled to go on a commercial airline to Nairobi, he said that he would not make it. He has to go in an ambulance airplane.
I spoke with Uncle’s brother who said that money will be found. All the people were willing to help once I began to get the plan rolling. We would transport Uncle in the biggest SUV. We would put the seats down and put a mattress down. I guided the men as they carried Uncle to the SUV and we hooked up the IV to the clothing hook in the car. It was decided that I should travel in the back with Uncle, so that I could understand what was going on and ask the right questions. It was simply a matter of asking the right questions. We drove carefully, as four of us sat around this frail semi conscious man and we made it to the clinic. The clinic is located in a compound of newly built bungalows – the caretaker, an man from Gor, India told me that it is a private site – owned by the US government. I asked how much the bungalows cost and he said $200. “Per month?” He answered: Per day – each unit is self contained. He didn’t want to talk anymore.
The site was not complete and we sludged through mud. The medic, Dennis Newsome, had brought the bed over in his pick up truck and we brought Uncle in. I helped him get a medical history and Dennis believes that Uncle had suffered a heart attack. He hooked up the IV and did some tests and then attached the oxygen tank through a tube in his nose. The Medi-Vacs were called and arrangements were made. I was driven back to the compound at this point. There were some issues with payment, but the Interior Ministry worked that out and this morning Uncle was airlifted to Nairobi. We are waiting to hear how he is doing. He was doing better before he left and the plane has a doctor and two nurses. His brother went with him.
It is in crisis that I operate best. With a goal at hand my mind gets clear and when I was organizing the move, I could visualize it. A side note: There was a woman with a white dress who was very helpful and worked with me during the move from the dank room to the clinic. I found out this morning that she was Dr. John Garang’s widow
Short notes: it is incredible that some people know seven tribal languages plus either English or Arabic. If they speak only English and all those languages, they cannot speak to a person who knows another five tribal languages and Arabic. This brought back my thoughts about a universal language – like Esperanto – which I speak for those of you who don’t know me that well – but it seems that English is becoming the neutral language and the language of commerce.
It was told to me that when Uncle was being prepared to be board the plane, he first insisted that he should be wearing his suit (that did not happen). But amazingly, in his delirium he said: “I’m not leaving until I meet with Charly and Aduei.” “I’m not leaving until Charly gets the papers he needs to go to Bor.”
While I was writing this I had a surprise visit from Abraham, one of the Lost Boys who I met in Kampala. He lives in Salt Lake City, and is staying next door for the next few days, not far from the compound and he has just returned from Bor where his organization is building a school. He would like us to work together and share resources, especially mine as an educator He knows how to get the materials here and has many connections. We will meet in the States. He has just returned to his family and they are slaughtering a cow tomorrow and I am invited. I also leaned that there are sixty thousand Sudanese in Utah.
Makuei
I’m not sure where to begin since so much has happened since I last wrote. It has been difficult to write since as soon as I take out the computer, someone wants to watch me write and read what I am writing. When I try to tell them that I am writing a personal letter, it only brings more people to me to read. There is no concept of privacy here. People are crowded on top of one another and no one ever has their own bedroom. I can’t count how many I have shared a room with – both men and children – often three on a mattress. If there is a mattress and a mosquito net, room will be found for another. There is no shame or embarrassment when someone walks in on someone washing up or squatting over the toilet. There is also a great culture of sharing. Yesterday, someone was going towards the Customs office and I asked him if he could change some money for me. When he returned, I gave him a 1000 Sudanese Shilling note. He hesitated, but took it. Then I felt, I should give him another one. He immediately gave it to the boy next to him. I have no signs of taking what is not yours (though this exists on an official level. I think that state money is viewed differently than private property. For a week, I have seen a VIP badge from the signing of the CPA just sitting around. It would be a great souvenir. I asked someone who it belonged to and he said: “we just leave it here. The person who it belongs to will come and claim it.”
Nothing is as it appears and everything I have written up to now should be taken with a grain salt. I Have made quick observations, based on what is told to me – often in broken English, on what I observe – and all of this through the lens of my Western bias. I felt as if I was painting a picture, but the longer I am here I see how big and textured the canvas is and what I have painted is just a speck on the canvas, and poor quality paint – or the wrong paint altogether. I have seen but a slice of the society here and my generalizations may be very far off-base. But that is all that I have right now and as I become more adept at mixing my colors and layering the paint, I hope the picture will become clearer – at least slightly.
Contradictions: there are rules. There are statements made. We went out to a mixed part of town the other night. Most of the shops are owned by Arabs. I asked Aduei’s sitster, Agot how she felt about being in an Arab restaurant. She said that there are few choices in Juba and of course she hates the Arabs – they killed her husband. I asked what would happen to the Arabs if South Sudan secedes. She said they would leave. I then asked: On their own or will they be forced to?” She said that they would be forced to. When I pointed out that the new Sudanese constitution would not allow that the conversations ended. The ideas expressed in the constitution are the basis of a free society with the same guarantees of freedom and choice offered to Americans in our constitution – but with the Bill of Rights and concepts of two hundred years of amendments included from the start. Contradictions: Many of the men here have been fighting the Arabs for 22 years. A surprising amount are married to Arab women, including Makuei – who we will get to shortly since he is the main character of the events that transpired over these past days. I was at the home of the undersecretary of communications after dinner at the Arab restaurant. His friend Omar, who works for the International Red Cross. Omar is a Moslem. Omar is also a Nubian. From a tribe up by the Egyptian border. Where does he fit into this puzzle of tribe, religion, race?
If you ever watched Rocky and Bullwinkle – aside from the brilliant cold war satire, there was a part of the show with Mr. Peabody – a dog and his pet boy, Sherman. They had a time machine and travel to different ages in history. I sometimes think that this cartoon dog is responsible for my love of history. After watching the show, I would go to my white and green World Book encyclopedia (which took my parents years to pay off) and look up the time period or country that was just visited by my animated friends. I have thought of Mr. Peabody and Sherman over these past weeks in South Sudan. I feel as if I have time traveled, though not to specific time and place, but to some amalgam of times and places. At times, I try to think what year in America this could be paralleled with. The state-building and beginnings of democracy bring me back to the 18th century, yet the conditions here are more Civil War era-ish. But it is the anachronism that confuse things. No running water, no electricity, yet there are cars and cell phones. No roads or addresses, but there are airports. 80% of the people are illiterate, yet there are internet “cafes” – rarely working, but with a satellite dish outside and a generator humming.
I think of the stories my mother told me about Palestine/later Israel in the 1940’s and her thrill when she would hear from her family still there (she came to America in 1950) about water, roads, electricity, hospitals. And I know that South Sudan can bring itself into the present. It is how it blends the culture and traditions that will be struggle. Will they have a Mustafah Kamal Ataturk as Turkey did? Who will be their model? Singapore? Japan? – each one of these has elements that could be relevant, though the South Sudanese should study them all and learn from them. Some of the lessons from Japan could be applicable, though the population is heterogeneous; Singapore had a mixed Chinese/Malaysian/Indian population, though a benevolent dictator ruled it. You may want to check these facts – my memory is a bit rusty. Anyway, the point is that there the advantage that South Sudan has is that it can learn from the successes of other countries and really study the failures of others – especially on the African continents.
But his is not what I intended to write about and this is becoming more of journal for me than something for public consumption. I doubt anyone is reading this anymore, so I shall write to audience of one.
Makuei – better known as Uncle
We have been staying at his house fo the past week. The two-day stopover has turned into a week and this week will be extended further. The longer I stay here, the ore I learn about Makuei. I watch as family members (this “family” is enormous) come and stay here – finding a mattress or putting up a tent or simply sleeping on the grounds. They come here as a safe haven (the home of the chief of police of South Sudan is quite sate), but also to talk to Makuei. Makuei is 61 years old,, about 6’4 and maybe, if lucky, 160 pounds. He has two gold teeth where incisors where on top and speaks in a quiet, but abrupt voice. hen talks, all listen. After coming out of the bush as a Major General Makuei Majuc became a high political figure. He was in the bush fighting since the beginning with John Garang in 1983j for the next 22 years. He was already a veteran fighter in the wars that have ravaged Sudan since independence in 1956.
According to so many of the young people I have spoken to, Makuei is the only one who has taken care of the clan over all these years. He has arranged for many of the youngsters to get away from the fighting and go to schools in the regugee camps in Kenya or wherever he could find. He did this not only for the clan but for many of Dinka kids from Bor.
One by one, they return, often short of money to continue their studies – often it is a matter of a few hundred dollars – and they wait for an audience with Makuei. It is lLike a scene from the Father. At times there are groups of young men sitting around him as he gives them advice and tells them what they should be doing with their lives. For some, he can find money to pay for another semester of schooling. He recommends whether they should be getting married or studying or taking lessons to become a driver – a very employable skill an valued with these roads.
These meetings are interrupted by a constant flow of military and government men who must meet with him. Especially now, since he was planning to go Kenya for medical treatment. He was passing out orders and delegating authority. He was always dressed in his green uniform/outfit/suit – not quite sure what to call it, but as he got sicker, he would meet in his pajamas. He soon was getting an IV drip and napping more and more and people would wait for him to awake. But through all this, his mind was sharp. Every day he would see me and say that we must meet, but not yet. He was doing his homework- he was talking to the Sultan of Malek and talking to some of the kids about the school that will be built. He told the Sultan that he must get to Malek before I do in order to prepare the town for the arrival. He talked about land for the school and whom I should meet with.
And through all this, the despise concubine is making everyone’s life miserable. It is interesting that this Arab fighter has an Arab wife (his first wife) who has been living with their children in Australia. Nothing is black and white.
Aduei and I had been called to see him a few times, but by the time we reached his room, he was too tired or asleep. We were told that we must stay nearby and ready for him when he calls us.
And the time came – during a torrential downpour, we went to a porch where he was laying down. He was weak and I struggled to hear him.
He apologized for not being to be more helpful until now, but that he had been ill. He was on medication and had seen some doctor. It was not clear whether it was malaria or typhoid. His chest hurt and his breathing was weak. But he continued to speak and explained the complexities of a white American traveling in South Sudan. He talked about how I could not take the boat up the Nile to Bor, but must travel by plane. The boat, he explained could be quite treacherous – the sun, the rain, the capsizing, the mechanical failures, running out of fuel – the trip could take days. Furthermore, all kinds of people are on the boat. And then he informed that it is not drunks and a few anti-Americans that I needed protection from. He explained that in Southern Sudan there are many Somalis, some of which are part of Al-Qaida and that makes me a target for terrorism. He explained that there are terrorists here and an unprotected American is not safe.
He had my attention.
He then asked me explain the school. I told him that I will let the villagers to decide whether is should be elementary or secondary. I told him that it would be free to all, unaffiliated with any religious group, and equally accessible to boys and girls. The teachers would be recruited locally, as well as from around the world. Language of instruction will be English, though there must be a way to preserve the Dinka language (all schools are taught in English in the South and Arabic in the north). I talked about math, science, engineering and English. And then went on about the importance of learning history and preparing young persons for life in a democratic society – for teaching them how they can control their future. I discussed how kids should not learn by rote and should be able to think, analyze and question.
He was satisfied.
He then checked my papers and their was a problem with the stamp, but he would write me letter this evening and I would go to the police tomorrow to it all arranged. He would talk to me later about certain other arrangements.
But this is not how things turned out. (it is 3:30 pm the next day – I must get coffee)
Got my coffee – thought I putting in Nescafe, but I just tasted it and got a mouthful of coffee grinds…….mmmm…It will settle.
I continue – Our talk was interrupted by a visit from a police general, but Makuei told him what needed to be done and that he would writing the letter. I would meet the general tomorrow and all would be arranged. Then Makuei suddenly said he was dizzy and went into his room and into bed.
Now that I had spoken to Uncle, we could leave the compound. Agot’s friend, Ade (who I call the Queen of Juba – she is a widow who is also one of the highest ranking female soldiers in South Sudan – she has a car and driver – a boy who looks like he is 14, but is actually 16 they say.) The boy was sick and tonight’s driver was a friend who has visited his father who lives in Nebraska. There are also many of the Lost Boys living in Salt Lake City. Along with another guy, we went to a place that also featured an Internet café. The Internet was down, but we ate, picked up some medicine from an Arab pharmacy for Adeui – cheap by American standards, but very expensive by Sudanese standards. And we headed back to the compound.
The guards opened the gate and we see Deng running to us, screaming his grunts and wildly gesturing with hands. When others arrived, we found out that Uncle had been taken to the hospital. He was having shivers (convulsions) and unconscious). Back in the Mitsubishi and we went to find him. There were a few possibilities of where he could be but with so few phones, we could not get in touch with anyone and would have to search each place one by one. Luckily we had a more experienced driver, as we began our search through the rutted, crater-filled roads. A good driver knows where the holes on and either goes around them if he can or slows down. The torrential rains of earlier in the day had changed the dirt roads’ topography as we headed blindly into the night. We first went to the Military Hospital, but he was not there. The military hospital was in the largest army base in the South, but it seemed that it was controlled by the Arabs from Khartoum. It would not be in the North’s interest to want to save Uncle – that’s what I gathered from conversations – though they put it in much stronger words. Then to the some other “hospital” and he not there. We tried various places where they could have brought him. We entered some facility where there were tens of people lined up sleeping outside. It was pitch black though was one small building with a dim bulb burning. He was not there. All this time, we rode in total silence and dejected, we returned to the compound. As we did one of the high ranking men had a phone and had reached someone and we on our way to the hospital where we would find Uncle. We arrived and there was a group of about fifty people there. Most people did not know what was happening because of the lack of communication capabilities.
We were led to a small building with one small room lit by two kerosene lamps hanging from the IV pole. On the pole was the remaining few drops in an IV bag. Uncle was stripped down looking like a frail old man, gasping and convulsing. There were no hospital beds available anywhere and no where to get supplies. People were praying. Aduei was crying, as were many people. He is a loved man in this community. He is known as a generous man. Women were putting wet towels on him and there were no doctors. There were nurses, but no supplies. The sanitary conditions were abhorable (if that is word) and everyone was just standing around in shock. Uncle slipped in and out of consciousness. A doctor arrived – not a Dinka so he spoke English to the people) and I was by the bedside listening and explaining. I then went outside. After a few hours, a black man wearing a polo shirt arrived. There was something very Western about him. It was the first time I saw anyone put on surgical gloves. He took his blood pressure and pulse. I heard him speak and realized he was an American medic who operates a one room clinic in Juba. He said that there were facilities to take Uncle. I was standing outside by the open window and said: “Doc, what needs to be done? Where can he get what he needs?”
Nairobi. There are no doctors hear who specialize in this or can help him. There are no facilities that can serve his needs.
I said: How can we get him there and what do we do in the meantime?
We conferred for a while and came up with a plan. We would move Uncle to his clinic where at least it is clean, cool, and there are IV’s and an oxygen tank. We would then MediVac him to Nairobi. When I told him that Uncle was scheduled to go on a commercial airline to Nairobi, he said that he would not make it. He has to go in an ambulance airplane.
I spoke with Uncle’s brother who said that money will be found. All the people were willing to help once I began to get the plan rolling. We would transport Uncle in the biggest SUV. We would put the seats down and put a mattress down. I guided the men as they carried Uncle to the SUV and we hooked up the IV to the clothing hook in the car. It was decided that I should travel in the back with Uncle, so that I could understand what was going on and ask the right questions. It was simply a matter of asking the right questions. We drove carefully, as four of us sat around this frail semi conscious man and we made it to the clinic. The clinic is located in a compound of newly built bungalows – the caretaker, an man from Gor, India told me that it is a private site – owned by the US government. I asked how much the bungalows cost and he said $200. “Per month?” He answered: Per day – each unit is self contained. He didn’t want to talk anymore.
The site was not complete and we sludged through mud. The medic, Dennis Newsome, had brought the bed over in his pick up truck and we brought Uncle in. I helped him get a medical history and Dennis believes that Uncle had suffered a heart attack. He hooked up the IV and did some tests and then attached the oxygen tank through a tube in his nose. The Medi-Vacs were called and arrangements were made. I was driven back to the compound at this point. There were some issues with payment, but the Interior Ministry worked that out and this morning Uncle was airlifted to Nairobi. We are waiting to hear how he is doing. He was doing better before he left and the plane has a doctor and two nurses. His brother went with him.
It is in crisis that I operate best. With a goal at hand my mind gets clear and when I was organizing the move, I could visualize it. A side note: There was a woman with a white dress who was very helpful and worked with me during the move from the dank room to the clinic. I found out this morning that she was Dr. John Garang’s widow
Short notes: it is incredible that some people know seven tribal languages plus either English or Arabic. If they speak only English and all those languages, they cannot speak to a person who knows another five tribal languages and Arabic. This brought back my thoughts about a universal language – like Esperanto – which I speak for those of you who don’t know me that well – but it seems that English is becoming the neutral language and the language of commerce.
It was told to me that when Uncle was being prepared to be board the plane, he first insisted that he should be wearing his suit (that did not happen). But amazingly, in his delirium he said: “I’m not leaving until I meet with Charly and Aduei.” “I’m not leaving until Charly gets the papers he needs to go to Bor.”
While I was writing this I had a surprise visit from Abraham, one of the Lost Boys who I met in Kampala. He lives in Salt Lake City, and is staying next door for the next few days, not far from the compound and he has just returned from Bor where his organization is building a school. He would like us to work together and share resources, especially mine as an educator He knows how to get the materials here and has many connections. We will meet in the States. He has just returned to his family and they are slaughtering a cow tomorrow and I am invited. I also leaned that there are sixty thousand Sudanese in Utah.
posted by Charly at 4:01 AM
1 Comments:
interesting post. I would love to follow you on twitter. By the way, did any one hear that some chinese hacker had hacked twitter yesterday again.
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