Kawaija Walking in the Village

When we arrived in the village, everyone was happy. There were plenty of smiles and an abundance of love and laughter as it was the second time in ten years that Michael was visiting his people with me; his wife from America. There were also a number of people who were worried about me and my ability to endure the harsh conditions for two weeks. With the daily temperature hovering above 90 degrees, no running water, no toilets, no air condition, and no diversity of food; family and friends couldn’t help but express concern about my wellbeing. Many of them, including the governor of the state, believed that I would struggle and complain about my new living situation and they all put forth an amazing effort to make me feel welcomed and comfortable – at home.  The governor even sent his personal driver to pick me up and drive me to his home just to use a toilet! The short drive took longer than the expected 10 - 15 minutes as there were no paved roads and plenty of potholes. It was like driving in the Outback. I had no sense of which way was north nor did I really care. I was simply grateful for the 20 minute ride to the loo. The governor even had a care package of toilet paper, beer, and fresh fish ready for me when it was time to go back! It was a true and unexpected blessing because the distance between our compound in Pokuač and the governor’s house in Mayen Abun was at least 6 miles; a distance we actually walked twice while we were there and saw many others trek multiple times a day. You see, when living in the village, a distance of 6 miles “footing” is not very far at all. Some people even walk between 10 – 20 miles a day! It was nice to have a ride the first couple of days because the rest of the time we were there we walked like everyone else. It was our only mode of transportation.

Me, Nybol (sister-in-law), and Maloudit in the governer's truck

Before leaving the US, I’d been walking every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday; a total of about ten miles per week. I had no idea that I was getting myself ready to survive in my husband’s home. I felt physically and mentally prepared to walk about in the village. Long walks around Memphis in silence, heat, and unknown spaces made walking in the village feel very natural. I walked roughly one mile (one way) each day with my niece to fetch water. The borehole was the gathering place for young women and girls to pump water for cooking, cleaning, and drinking. There was always chatter and gossip going on at the pump. There were also lots of wide-eyed stares when I showed up. The women in the village and my niece were surprised that I wanted to walk to the watering hole each day, pump water, and carry it back to the compound.

Adut, my niece, could not hold back her laughter the first time we took the walk to go pump water. I was in awe of the distance the women had to travel (sometimes 4-5 times a day) and the vast emptiness of the landscape. It was like walking through a desert and suddenly finding an oasis. She was baffled that a kawaija wanted to do what she did on a daily basis to support her family. Adut took excellent care of her seven children; going to get water for them every morning, afternoon, and evening was just one of the ways she proved her love for family. Once at the borehole, I pumped water. It took about 10 minutes to fill the 20 liter container as there was an art to the pumping. Once I caught a good rhythm, the water would flow smoothly. But, if I lost rhythm, took a break from pumping because my arms and back were tired, the water would gush and most of it spilled on the ground instead of running into the jerry can.  So, I tried my best to keep a song in my head to keep me pumping to a steady beat – Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman” of course!

Once the container was full, I was given a piece of cloth to twist and roll into a small “doughnut” and place on the crown of my head. I then lowered myself down so the women could place the 47.5 pound container on top. From the start, I felt like it wasn’t so bad nor too heavy but then we began that mile walk back to the compound and my neck, my back, my legs, and arms were on fire! I held the container on my head as best as I could, trying not to spill water with each step. It was the longest one-mile walk I’d ever taken. With an aching body and a soaked shirt, I made it back and the women cheered and broke into song congratulating me on my accomplishment.

“The kawaija did it! Maan Malou did it! Acuil has a good wife who can carry water! Thank God for our sister.”

On other days, I walked a half mile two to three times a day with the kids to visit their grandfather; my brother-in-law, Maloudit. One day, I walked and followed the sound of birds and youthful laughter and found a swamp and young people fishing: it was about two miles away from home. That day, I had gotten out of bed early and was full of curiosity. I saw great flocks of egrets and other birds fly overhead and could hear their songs and chatter but I could not see them so, I began to walk in the direction they’d been flying. I’d walked for about 20 minutes when I came to a swampy area where the birds had settled. They were settling down noisily in the marsh and I was surprised to see the body of water and the young people standing in the middle with their fishing net spread wide. The young folks laughter intertwined with the sound of the birds brought joy to my heart. I was lost in bliss while my husband walked around worried about his kawaija wandering off on her own. I’d been gone too long and Michael followed my tracks and somehow found me. Together, we began picking up large snail shells and he shared a story of how dense the place used to be when he was young. I listened intently as he described the home of his youth.

Early morning walk before the sun gets high

I also walked a half mile from home every time I wanted to relieve myself. Even though I was out in the middle of nowhere, I still had to find a space that was “comfortable” to do my business and that was a long walk for me. Each time I had to “go”, I took the walk (toilet paper in hand) preparing my mind and body to go a squat in the bushes. I wasn’t concerned about snakes, scorpions or any other critter. I was worried that I get too low and pop a hip out of place or, be seen by some passerby freaking out at the kawaija in the bushes. Thankfully, the village was not densely populated and my fears never became a reality.

View from my "bathroom" in the bush

One day while walking from Pokuač to Mayen Abun we encountered a group of early morning revelers. The group sat under a shade tree chatting loudly amongst themselves about what sounded like a family dispute but I couldn’t tell because it also sounded as if they’d not even gone to sleep from the previous night’s activities; Christmas celebrations. Michael and I were walking in silence; enjoying the heat and dust kicked up by the herd of cattle being led down the road by an extremely handsome young man. He carried a hand-carved stick and sang a song full of pride as he led his cows to green pastures.  As we walked past the group of young men, the leader of the group called out to my husband and said, “Where are you taking that kawaija and why aren’t you brining her here to give us something?” The man seemed to be in his mid-thirties and looked rugged and unkempt.  His hair was matted, and his clothes were full of stains and wholes. It was not the typical look of a man his age in the village because even in the village, men and women go out of their way to look their best and this man looked shabby. He also spoke to Michael in a way that was too familiar and lacked proper protocol for speaking to an elder. Of course his language was the same as my husband’s but; his mannerism was unacceptable to Michael. I had no idea exactly what he’d uttered but, I knew the word kawaija and understood that he was talking about me.

Visibly irritated, Michael stopped and turned around to go and talk with the man. I was eager to know what was going on so I turned around and followed my husband who immediately launched into a very traditional and formal tone and pattern of speaking; one I’d not heard before. He introduced himself with air of authority and his tone was full of pride.

“Good morning. My name is Acuil Mading Malou. I’m from Pokuač; son of Madingdit. And this is the mother of my children; Maan Malou. She’s from America and belongs to us in Pokuač.”

Immediately the entire group of about twelve men stood to their feet and extended their right hand with the left hand gripping the right elbow. A proper greeting was being delivered with heads slightly bowed. The shift in the atmosphere was palpable as they all sobered up and turned into respectful young men. Upon hearing the name Madingdit and the area of Pokuač, the men were clearly aware of who my husband was and to which clan he belonged: it was like magic! I was beaming with pride the rest of the way to Mayen Abun.

The most difficult walk for me was the day we had to leave the village. It was also the shortest walk; just a few feet to the truck that the governor sent for us. Everyone was gathered around smiling and holding back tears. They weren’t ready for us to go and I actually wanted to remain another week. I was touched by Maloudit’s words to his brother;

“You can’t take her away yet. I’m not finished loving her.”

Maloudit and me

When Michael translated what his brother had spoken, his eyes filled up with tear. It was clear to him how special the visit had been to everyone; including his eldest sibling. He didn’t know that every day I was in Pokuač; I’d spent time with my brother-in-law “talking”. I’d drink mou with him in the afternoons, record him singing the songs of his youth in the evenings, and most days before Michael woke up, I was with Maloudit walking about the compound. We didn’t need Michael to translate as we sat and spoke to each other. I just listened and he would draw pictures in the dirt. There was an eternal understanding that existed between us. Maloudit’s spiritual ways made it easy for me to feel what he was expressing. And each morning, I’d walk with him to sit before the heat settled upon us and dried up the thirst to speak to one another.

The walks in the village were always eventful. Every day was truly a new day and different from the day before. And although I was considered a foreigner during my visit, I felt very much at home. I’ve been looking forward to returning since we left and instead of walking about, I can’t wait to be the kawaija that actually lives in the village.