Juba Nights

Salsa at Logali House

The week started out as usual; us sleeping in late and chatting about why we were in Juba, tea and coffee with a new breakfast of banana, avocado, lime juice and pepper, and the idea that I would go check out Logali House for their Salsa Sunday affair. The entire day, rain was threatening to fall but the skies held up. I walked our dirty clothes to the laundromat. Well, actually a guy and his buddy who have a small corrugated tin shack with one ironing board and two plastic tubs for washing clothes. They are quite efficient and thorough as well as reasonably priced. And I’m still getting used to having someone else wash my clothes instead of a machine. Every other week I have my clothes washed.

Getting to the laundromat is a nice walk and I’ve found that I have really gotten to know a bit more of the language than I admit to knowing. I was able to properly greet the young man who would wash my clothes and ask how much it would cost before leaving  to visit with Achut and Aganj: they live down the street from the laundromat. I didn’t stay long with them because I can only pretend to speak more than I know for so long and then things begin to get a bit awkward for all of us. So after about 15 minutes with Achut and Aganj, I left and headed back to the hotel.

Once the sun is out in Juba, it’s hot as fire and I’ve learned to take my time walking around. The process of morphing into an Afri-CAN woman takes time: slow walking, hip switching, non-perspiring, and all at the same time making it appear effortless: yeah…I’m a work in progress for sure. The next phase will be carrying items on top of my head that weigh more than 10 pounds and dress a bit more lady-like. It’s going to be a long metamorphosis. So for now, I simply walk slow and try not to perspire. The hip switching comes natural.

Upon my return to the hotel, I learned that Michael had a basketball meeting to attend so we shared our potential whereabouts for the day and planned to go our separate ways. We’d never gone different directions before and I think we were both feeling a tad anxious over leaving one another. He’s not too keen about riding boda-boda and let me know he would take a rickshaw. I let him know that I would walk to Logali House.

The walk to Logali House is up the street past all the ladies that shout out their hellos to me and then past the group of boda-boda boys who call me Rasta and then up a small hill that’s set in an alley. Walking up the hill I step over plastic bags, empty water bottles, tumble weave, and every manner of trash imaginable. I can only describe it as the equivalent of walking through a dump or landfill with the smell included. There’s also an outcrop of rocks that are a bit difficult to navigate on the way up. They are smooth and facing various directions; big slabs of a granite-like rock and some other black rocks (actually boulders) and the ground sparkles and reminds me of the biblical “streets of gold”.

Once up the hill, I cut through a tiny community of thrown up shacks and bare-feet children kicking plastic bottles in a soccer match. There’s an old man who greets me in English and old ladies who simply nod and wave. I pass another group of boda-boda boys and then arrive at the security gate of Logali House.

The building itself is an old colonial relic that is in good shape. Kenyans run it and the service is amazing. They also have the best samosas in Juba. It’s the first thing I order when I arrive along with my usual Nile Special. However, on Sundays, they serve tacos, enchiladas, and nachos with the filling choice of fish, chicken, beef or vegetable. The guacamole and salsa are very tasty and make me miss California and real Cali-Mexican food.  

Upon entering the security gate, I could hear a Gloria Estefan song playing along with much chatter and laughter. I was not prepared for what I saw:

Africans and Westerners all up on the dance floor getting down. They were seriously dancing! South Sudanese, Kenyans, Spanish, British; everyone was all sweaty and smiles. Everyone was in sync with the rhythm and I just stood there watching in amazement thinking about Stevie Wonder: “Music is a world within itself…there’s a language we all understand…”

Logali House has something special and it’s right in the middle of Juba, South Sudan. After watching for a while, I finally decided to dance along with the local Electric Slide (they dip twice) and then really show off when an old school African jam came on. It was the first time since I’ve been in South Sudan that I felt as though I were living in a truly metropolitan city. So of course, I now look forward to joining in on the fun every once in a while by which I mean weekly. 

SSBC TV

So every night the news comes on twice: once in English followed by an airing in Arabic. SSBC – South Sudan Broadcasting Company is a state run media house. The only thing that is shown on the news are stories regarding National Dialogue, returning to agricultural roots, and information about what the rebels and military have been up to. There are also Presidential Decrees every now and then and to watch the news anchor read the decree in its entirety is beyond boring. So there is no wonder why I’ve taken to mimicking what I see and hear.

The national language of South Sudan is English however, many people use Arabic (the language of their oppressors) to communicate….and these guys want to be a part of the EAC (East African Coalition). Anyway, the men who speak Arabic during their interviews usually get hung up on a word or phrase and either stammer or hold the sound too long on their lips. “Fi-fi-fi-fi-fi…uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh”: so I can’t help but send Michael into great fits of laughter as I take on their tone and air. Sometimes I walk around our room sticking my chest out and stuttering in Arabic and other times I simply ask, “Did he just say fucking?” Note: if you see me in the US unexpectedly, it was because I was deported for making fun of government ministers and generals but, not the president. That would be impossible.

One night it dawned on me that I’d never seen nor heard the president, His Excellency Salva Kiir Mayardit, speak. It seemed so odd because growing up in the US, people know the voices of the presidents. In fact, I can tell the voice of Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Bush, Obama, and Chump. So having no clue about what Kiir’s voice was like caused me some discomfort. What if I was making fun of him and didn’t know? Would I get into trouble for it? I wanted to know what this man’s voice was like so as not to truly get deported or worse, jailed form mocking him. Was Kiir’s voice like Barry White or Richard Pryor? I really didn’t know and needed to find out.

So now I watch the news faithfully just to learn what the president’s voice is like. So far, I’ve not been lucky and can only describe what he looks like and I refuse to do that here because I really don’t want to get in trouble. I’ve learned that we take so much for granted in the US with having our First Amendment Rights all in tact - in that we can criticize our officials and not worry about getting in trouble. So for now, I will continue to watch nightly and give my husband some comic relief from all the chaos that’s going on in the world. 

Night Walking

The evenings in Juba are warm. Well some are hot but, most nights, around 8pm, the air is warm and there’s a breeze. And when I can convince my husband to take me for a walk (he won’t let me go out by myself), I can’t help but stop and stare at the vast number of fire flies I see. It looks like someone has thrown a bunch of clear Christmas lights in the grass and they are stuck in the blinking mode. Once I brought it to his attention, Michael remarked, “It’s like looking at a galaxy on the ground.” That’s how many there are just minding their business.

During our evening walks, we can hold hands in a way that we don’t during the day and it brings me great comfort and joy. There is not much conversation because we are generally being vigilant and specifically listening out for the numerous people who speak and come to shake our hands and greet us. Yes, even at night time there are formal greetings that take place and if I’ve not put in a request for hand sanitizer before now, PLEASE SEND A SISTA SOME!!!

The night time handshakes are the worst because they’re usually from men who have just taken a leak on the side of the road or blew snot out of their nostrils and wiped it on their pant leg. It’s quite disturbing but, I love being with Michael in the evenings and miss our Memphis porch-sitting nights so much that a walk around the block with a few nasty handshakes actually soothes me.

The most amazing thing about our evening walks is looking up at the sky and seeing every single star. There are no skyscrapers blocking the view, no bright lights distorting the night skies, and no airplanes with blinkers up there. It makes me wish that all our children could spend time in way that helped them appreciate the true beauty of nature. We now take a walk every Wednesday: it's the best night of the week. 

Drinking at Logali

So this one time, at Logali House….

I met three ambassadors, two minister, one CEO and accidentally got drunk. We’d spent the day taking care of business with some young people who’ve been working on organizing the South Sudan Basketball Federation and decided to go grab something to eat and finish our conversation at Logali House. It was a nice evening to walk so we did. We were continuing a conversation with a young lady that had started earlier in the day when Michael’s cousin stopped by our table. I’d not met him before and as we sat chatting, he phoned his wife and asked her to  join us. She was present within 15 minutes and ordered my second glass of wine for me. While sitting there and having my second of eight glasses of white wine, I was introduced to the three ambassadors and two ministers who were seated at a neighboring table.

I truly had no idea how connected Michael was to people who were connected. His cousin Deng made the introductions to the trio of ambassadors and the two ministers. The men were friendly and inviting. They shared the various offices of government they worked in as well as how proud they were of me for moving to South Sudan to “help our people”.

During the course of our conversation, I found out that they all had multiple wives and we joked about how controlling I must be for Michael to only have one wife and then they gave me a nickname that I cannot remember. They bought the third and fourth glasses of wine I’d consume that night. Then they introduced us to more of their friends. It became clear to me that Logali House was “the spot” to be if one was ever interested in rubbing shoulders with “The Man”.

After some time – I’d lost track after the fourth glass of wine, we met the CEO of an online magazine and a lawyer and the ministers and ambassadors left. Once with the CEO and the lawyer, glasses five through seven were poured and consumed amidst more lively conversation, jokes, and the answering of more cultural questions like, “Why do you only have three children?” and “Are you going to allow your husband to have another wife?” Yes, the latter question comes up on a weekly basis and I’m totally used to it now. I’ve learned to smile and say, “If he wants one it’s up to him.”

By the time the eighth glass of wine came, we’d been at Logali House for approximately 5 hours or more…how would I know. We’d eaten two plates of roasted goat and samosas, and had talked about all manner of human existence including marriage, divorce, democracy, and independence. So when it was time to go, I looked at Michael and said, “Baby, I’m drunk.”

His cousin Deng gave us a ride down the hill to the hotel and as soon as I’d gotten out of my clothes, I was fast asleep.

Celebrating Peace

I woke up with the worst headache ever! 

Eight glasses of white wine and I don’t get along too well. The sun was too bright and frogs were croaking too loud outside. And then the phone rang (it was also loud) and it was my friend Amoko inviting me to prayers for the International Day of Peace. I met Amoko thirteen years ago during my first trip to South Sudan and have kept in touch with him all this time. He was letting me know that Bishop Paride Taban was being celebrated and the African Peace Award was going to be given to him. So it seemed that the day was starting off very well: 1) I was being given a chance to go to church and repent for the previous night’s sins and 2) Michael saw some Pentecostal folks at the pool performing baptismal and felt it was a sign for me to repent for my bad behavior as well as crack jokes in a very loud voice.  

So I didn’t jump into the pool but, off to church we went. After drinking a cup of coffee and a few swallows of water, I began to feel a bit more like myself. And by the time we arrived at the church, Taban drove us, I was back at 100%.

We entered the vestibule with other true parishioners and received brand new t-shirts emblazoned with the word PEACE on the front and back. The ushers were super efficient and got us seated just as the first minister began speaking. I sat quietly and said a little prayer and then focused on the service. It was amazing!

Being in church that afternoon and listening to all the women get up and pray reminded me of my mom, Aunt Dorothy, Auntie Nette, and Donna Wilson…the ladies prayed some seriously fervent prayers. I felt the spirit fill the sanctuary and began missing home. I even cried because I could feel the weight that war and conflict had dropped onto the shoulders of the mothers and the difficulty with which they bore the pain of losing husbands, sons, nephews and uncles to a senseless conflict. All the women wanted was peace and security and even though their prayers were spoken in Arabic, I totally understood what they were expressing in that moment.

After the ceremonies at the church, the celebrations took place at the Bishop’s compound. There was more food than what I imagined would have been at the wedding weeks ago and the festivities started over an hour late (just like the wedding). But, I was not complaining…it felt good to be out among good-hearted, non-drinking, God-fearing folk! And then the traditional music and dancing started…

I was all too happy to dance off the rest of the alcohol in my system on the day of peace. The Madi traditional dance was full of energy and I was happy to see Dinka, Murle, and Bari join in on the fun. There were many tribes represented that day as the Bishop is a man of the people and has historically brought various tribes together – the reason he received the award.

What was supposed to be a 2-hour affair turned into an all-nighter and it was great to be with so many different people from various regions of South Sudan. In spending time with them, I found that peace in South Sudan was possible if only people took the time to celebrate it. 

Celebrated So Hard!!

There’s a group of people who live on the other side of the wall just outside our hotel room window. Every Friday, they take to drumming out of syncopation, singing at the top of their lungs, and ululating like wildlings. I don’t know why they party. I just know that they do every Friday.

They usually start and stop their partying between 8pm and 10:30pm but on this particular night, they went on and on ‘til the break of dawn. They partied like our Mexican neighbors back in East Palo Alto - making me want to get up and go outside and bust a move right along with them.

On this particular night, the drumming started late. It was around 9:45pm when the party-goers commenced to drumming and singing. But this particular Friday, I was exhausted from the events of the week and really wanted to sleep like my sweet husband who was already snoring.

Michael doesn’t know the language of our friends on the other side of the wall because they don’t speak Arabic or Dinka. But the drumming that I’d heard for the past 6-7 weeks now had a familiar sound because of the traditional song and dance from the night before. My guess was that the group of tent-dwellers (that’s what they live in on the other side of the wall - on an empty field) was of the Madi tribe.  

So many people have been displaced by the conflict that erupted back in 2011 and have yet to move back to their ancestral lands. They have literally brought the village to Juba and live in structures made of mud and sticks that stand next to five and six story hotels. It’s a trip. Their living situation does not keep them from having a good time on a weekly basis. And this particular Friday was no different than the rest…only I was not in the mood for more partying.

On top of the party drums and singing, the dogs began to howl and the cows mooed and the frogs croaked and the cats moaned. It was too much for me to comprehend. How could the entire night be alive with every living thing at once? How could people feel so good during a time of pure struggle? And that’s when it hit me:

“These people are having fun to keep from falling into depression. They are celebrating in spite of all the woes they share. They are partying to fight the ills they struggle with on a daily basis.”

Once the thought crossed my mind and I played with it and compared it to my own people back in the time of slavery, reconstruction, Jim Crow, Civil Rights Movement, and TODAY…I was able to understand and go to sleep knowing that we were more alike than different.

Party on South Sudan!

Club on the Move

The ambassador and minister that I didn’t get drunk with were at the club. It’s not really a club but rather a gathering of middle-aged men and women who don’t want to be in a club. The wives bring great food; there is whiskey, wine and beer for sale, and amazing live music.

I totally behaved myself because I was under-dressed and didn’t want to embarrass myself nor my husband and because they chose not to speak English and I was completely lost. The mistress of ceremony (also the wife of the minister) was very gracious and apologized for not translating. I felt very welcome and at ease.

Deng, Michael’s cousin, made the introductions to the ambassador and the minister and then I was able to take it from there. I shared why we were in South Sudan and what we wanted to achieve. The ambassador almost cried and I couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or if he was truly appreciative of our goals. I do know that he, along with a number of other men, found it pretty awesome that a wife – not from South Sudan – wanted to live and work in South Sudan. I was feeling flattered.

Then the musician began playing some traditional music; singing in Arabic and it reminded me of my grandfather. Everyone on the rooftop that evening was relaxed and open-minded. I could tell that the group of friends had been through quite a bit together and that the time we were spending with them was special and very “inner-circle”. We were both grateful to be there and experience yet another aspect of the complexities of living in Juba.

Just as soon as the night began, it all came to a smooth end; or so I thought. The minister dismissed himself in a quiet and professional manner. The ambassador had to be escorted down the steep set of stairs so as not to fall down. And Michael and I sat with his cousin a bit longer to share our appreciation and perspective on how the evening went.

As we sat with a small group of men discussing how the Club on the Move was going, an argument broke out and the two of us tried to play the role of peace-maker to no avail. The men continued to exchange words and frustrations at a tone that became a bit uncomfortable for me to handle. Michael’s cousin then apologized to the men and we left. He further apologized to us for “ruining” our evening during the ride to our hotel. But, our evening was far from ruined. We both learned that very evening that everyone in Juba has a side hustle and that it doesn’t take much for one person to mess it up.

As we rode in silence, I couldn’t help but wonder where the next gathering would take place and if we would be invited. Club on the Move was something that I wanted to be a part of in the future because the atmosphere was one that could potentially lead to cool things happening in the future. 

Night on the Nile

A moonless night with water shining in the darkness

Mango trees reflected off the Nile River casting an eerie portrait of the days gone by

Cool air blowing in my face and the humming of the boat’s engine filled my body with peace

My thoughts wandered to a place in the past:

How many people had the river fed and sustained throughout the centuries?

How many people had lost their lives in the chocolate colored liquid?

Speeding in the darkness, I thought about its future:

How would a new nation work to preserve this wonder?

There’s an island the size of Manhattan in the middle of the Nile and there are some who are looking to “develop” it. How can a new nation develop and preserve the Nile at the same time?

Life giver and taker

Promising and foreboding

Traveling down the Nile River was a magical experience one starry night in Juba

The above is how my mind thinks when faced with something so awesome. I tried my best to keep the words that passed through my head and quickly get them written down. The day started out with a trip out to Full Moon Island – a bar and grill owned by Michael’s cousin. The weather was cool and it rained a bit. There were no mosquitoes and the silence was deafening. The birds and butterflies I saw took my breath away. I couldn’t help but think, “Do the people here really know what they have here?”

I am not the wordsmith I pretend to be and cannot formulate a succinct and detailed description of what I saw and felt. Suffice it to say – the evening journey was one that I will never forget.

e on how the evening went.

As we sat with the group of men discussing how the Club on the Move was going, an argument broke out and the two of us tried to play the role of peace-maker to no avail. The men continued to exchange words and frustrations at a tone that became a bit uncomfortable for me to handle. Michael’s cousin then apologized to the men and we left. He further apologized to us for “ruining” our evening. But, our evening was far from ruined. We both learned that very evening that everyone in Juba has a side hustle and that it doesn’t take much for one person to mess it up.

As we rode in silence back to the hotel, I couldn’t help but wonder where the next gathering would take place and if we would be invited. Club on the Move was something that I wanted to be a part of in the future because the atmosphere was one that could potentially lead to cool things happening in the future.