Samburu

So I got back to Nairobi from Lamu on a Sunday and stayed there until Thursday, attending fiction workshop in the mornings and Kwani LitFest in the afternoons and evenings.  On Thursday I left Nairobi for a safari at Samburu.  Samburu is up north in the semi-desert environment of Kenya.  I flew for an hour in a small Cessna and arrived at the landscape right out of the pages of the novel I am writing.  In my novel I mention a small african antelope called dik-dik and as soon as we arrived at the lodge, the driver pointed out the dik-dik.  I couldn't believe it.  That night I went for the game drive and saw elephants, zebras, antelopes, impalas baboons, a thousand kinds of birds and the next day I saw leopards. The lodge was 5 stars.  But  most amazing of all was the Turkana village way up in the North that the driver (Samson) took me to.  I was met by the village chief and shown all through the village. The beautiful women wrapped my neck in beads and led me by the hand to the dancing. I'll post some pictures because you really must see this!

Samburu

Back to Nairobi

The power in the hotel was too inconsistent to keep this blog, so I'll just recount some of the things I did after I returned to Nairobi and post some pictures.  The opening party for Kwani LitFest was incredible! I met Kenyan writers, some of them heros whose books I read years ago, Ngugi Wa Thiango'O among them!  Some other authors who were there were Binyavanga Wainaina, Marjorie Oludhe Macgoye, Micere Mugo and Eva Kasava.  The party was held at themansion of a Kenyan musican, whose name I don't know, but another musican, Atemi Hatimaye played and I bought her CD.  It's great! We also attended the launching of the new issue of Kwani at the National Museum, that's the Museum where Leaky's skulls are exhibited! Both events were extremely exclusive with beautiful talented people. I hope I stay in touch with all the Kenyan authors I met. Some of them live in the US having been forced to exile.

Last Day in Lamu

I took some amazing pictures of the Masai in Lamu and will post them.  The Masai live still immersed in traditional ways.  Last spring, Joseph Tipanko, a Masai activist and leader came tot he States and I saw him many times and I contacted him here and he's invited me to his village. So I may have the opportunity to go to a real Masai village and spend the night there.  The Masai are so sweet.  One of them showed me the scar from where he killed a lion--part of their initiation is to be alone in the woods and not come back until they've killed a lion.  And he showed me the claw around his neck that he wears from the lion he killed.  

Leaving Lamu Today

It's been very difficult to post while in Lamu because of the lack of internet.  The hotel does have WIFI--when it works! That and a hot shower. Hahahaha! I've been showering with ice cold water for 5 days, but fortunately the Indian Ocean is right out my door. Lamu has got to be the most exotic place I've ever been to. Donkies in the streets, Masai warriors who wear the claws and teeth of the lions they've killed around their necks, little children playing games with coconut shells and mango seeds, people carrying bundles of wood on their heads, fisherman, old timers, and everyone greeting you with "Jambo," (hello in Swahili) and a smile.  

Last night was SLS's open reading and it was so beautiful to hear the work of all the participants on Mando Beach.  We ate a giant buffet and swam in the Indian Ocean and sailed back at midnight under stars that we can't see from the Eastern US, thousands of them lighting up the sky.  I'm going to lose my internet connection so just was to load in some pictures of this magical place before I do...

Second Day in Nairobi

First fall day in Nairobi

Well I just spent a full day in Nairobi and did quite a lot. Went into town to buy a cheap cell phone with SLS leaders Tom and Rich.  Went to the Nairobi synagogue--it was closed and I couldn't get through the security gate. Had a long talk with poet and fiction writer Terese Svoboda all the way to the Rift Valley. Saw part of the Rift Valley from an overlook (place where Leaky explored, where the Garden of Eden existed, where humankind began).  Met Bishee's mother and brother-in-law and delivered to them their gifts. Attended SLS opening reception where I met among others the Kenyan poet Ngwtilo Mawiyoo.  Here's the final stanza from her poem Childhood Revisited:  "The grass is dead, the last generation gathered in a heap at the foot of the hill.  No one has offered last rites, else it would rot, become part of the healing.  The soil has slid downhill since earth has limited and receding immunity.  There is no hedge..."

Am exhausted!

Malaria medicine

Going to start taking it on Wednesday.  I hope it doesn't make me dizzy, because on the bottle it says it might.  Have to take it everyday I'm away and a whole week after I'm back. That's lots of dizziness.

October 21, 2010

I got my shots for my trip to Kenya. I had to get four shots--yellow fever, typhus, hep A, and polio. It was really scary, but fortunately I didn't get any reactions. The shots were so expensive-$400.00--and insurance doesn't even cover it though the US won't let you back into the country without a yellow fever certificate. I hope the trip doesn't get cancelled with all this live virus in my body. I just can't believe that they give you all these shots at once. There does seem to be a lot of activity going on beneath my skin and my stomach is mildly upset and my arms really hurt. I'll be careful to sleep on my back tonight.

Lea Remembers

Today as I sat editing footage from the 2009 Reunion Project I wondered when James and Mary would be taking their trip back to Sudan to be reunited with their families. Although this is not the first time that the Writing Program has worked to raise awareness about the Lost Boys and Girls of Sudan, this year was particularly special because we were able to send two people back to be reunited with their families, instead of just one.

This year, the Drexel University Writing Program led a Read-A-Thon to raise money to reunite a Lost Boy or Girl with his or her family. Students took pledges of around $10 per book and could read up to 100 books from a list of works focusing on the crisis in Sudan, African folktales, genocide, and more. In the meantime, Sudanese Lost Boys and Girls applied to the Reunion Project by writing essays, explaining how the trip home would affect them and help them with their lives in the United States.

When the essays started coming in, I was lucky enough to be one of the writing tutors assigned to read them. The stories were heartbreaking. Each person described in detail the trauma of being separated from their families and their homes. There were passages about losing friends and siblings, missing meals for days at a time, and coming close to death itself. I knew that it would be nearly impossible to pick a "winner" out of the participants in the Reunion Project, but we moved forwards nonetheless.

When I met with participant, James Deng, I knew that his story must be heard. We spoke for a while over coffee about his essay—about his life then and about his life now. Although it was my job to help James revise his writing, it was difficult to critique such an emotional story. We mainly focused on adding more description—which was difficult since James was only about 5 when he was separated from his mother and couldn’t remember all the details.

While writing tutors were reading the essays, other participants in the Reunion Project were doing their best to raise money to support the cause. Six Drexel University students who formed a genocide awareness group teamed up with the University Writing Program and Center for Civic Engagement who co-sponsored a “Jam against Genocide” benefit concert on May 5^th from 7 to 10 PM. Also, in honor of Mother’s Day, postcards with original designs by a Drexel writing tutor, Sarah Solomon, were sold to raise money.

On May 19^th, 2009, the final decisions were announced at The “Lost Boys” of Sudan Reunion Project Celebration. James Deng and Mary Ayom took the stage and spoke about their experiences, reading from their winning essays. Also taking the stage were Michael Kuch, last year’s Reunion Project award recipient, College of Arts and Science Dean, Donna Murasko, and Drexel University’s Senior Vice President for Finance and Treasurer, Tom Elzey, who presented the final check for $10,000 to James and Mary. The audience was filled with all different types of people; there were students who helped raise funds, members of the community, and friends of the recipients.

Sitting among all of the people who worked so closely with this project, I couldn’t help but feel that I was a part of something special. The respect that I felt for James and Mary was only augmented by my admiration of the people that chose to help fight for this cause. The Reunion Project Celebration was a perfect culmination to months of fundraising. Taking time to revisit the project now, I am even more eager to find out about James’ and Mary’s trip back to Sudan.

Stay tuned for more!

Josh's Journal

The following day, my family took Michael and his mother to a Koala Sanctuary. It was the first opportunity that Michael had to spend time with his mother alone without the company of his siblings. Not to mention, it was their first mother-son experience together, one which they will remember forever. Walking side by side, they led us into the sanctuary. We were all about to embark on our first encounter with native Australian animals. The sanctuary was full of furry koalas sleeping in the eucalyptus trees drugged off their leaves. The creatures were incredible with their long nails dug into the bark of the trees. We even saw a mother carrying its baby on its back. I couldn't help but think of Mama Majok and how she would have loved to have held her baby those 19 years, but then I looked ahead and saw the mother and son walking side by side, arms locked, and realized that although they could never relive those years, they were finally together after all the years of hardship. Following the koalas, we entered a field full of kangaroos. My dad, my mom, Teddi and I approached a kangaroo. It was a great experience to feel the kangaroo lick food pellets off our hands. We took pictures and petted the amazing creature, one of which I have always been fascinated by because of the countless projects on marsupials that I've had to endure in school. Michael and Mama Majok went to the kangaroo next to stroke it and feed it as well. The best part was watching the sheer joy from Michael's mother as she bonded with her son like she had never done before. My father took a great picture of Michael's mother, which embodied all of the emotions that she was feeling at that instant. The day was magical. We continued the tour by hanging out with more kangaroos and then watching two dingoes playfully chase each other around their pens barking and growling, then attacking one another. There were tropical birds, as well as boar-like creatures called wombats. We all ate lunch and talked about the fabulous tour. The journey through the Koala Sanctuary was concluding. However, it was the start of a new beginning for the Kuch's.

Rick's Thoughts

The trip started with meeting Michael in LA.  I have been to LA before but never under such exciting circumstances.  Traveling to Australia was actually so much easier than I thought it would be. The flight was at night so we were able to sleep most of the way. Getting through the terminals went pretty smooth and we were all psyched with anticipation after we collected our luggage and headed into the taxi towards Michael's family's temporary Brisbane residence.  My heart was pounding with nervousness as we pulled up the driveway, unloaded our luggage and waited for the moment when Michael would finally realize the purpose of this odyssey.

When the gate finally opened and Michael's family members came rushing out to greet him with hugs and tears, I choked up and couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment in helping this dream come true.  His mom was crying and trembling as she held onto Michael as though she never wanted him to leave her again.  One by one, each sibling came toward us and hugged us and then finally Michael's weeping mom hugged me tightly. I tried the best that I could to capture some of the moments on film but it was one of those times where the goosebumps just took over.

The experience of reuniting Michael with his mother has been an incredible journey.  From the moment I met him at our home for dinner, I knew there was something special about this young man.  When my son, Josh, suggested that maybe there was the possibility to begin a campaign to raise money and awareness about bringing Michael and his mom together after all these years, at first I thought it was a stretch.  Now, after being there to witness the event, I see how thoughts like these can become a reality!

My thoughts now are about how rewarding it is to do something good to help people and how in this small way my giving back can repay some of the favors that people did to help my ancestors when they came to America.  Michael is going to be someone great some day.  I am happy to participate in helping him get closer to his goals.  I am looking forward to returning to Brisbane on the last leg of our adventure to hear how his week has turned out with his newfound family.  He has already texted us and told us that he has many stories to share.

Achieu and His Courage

After we left Michael and went back to our hotel, we took a walk along Brisbane's South Bank. It's a really beautiful part of the city with restaurants and cafes along the river that won the Wall Street Journal award for being the best planned city walk in the world.  And it was.  With an art museum, a performing arts center, botanical gardens and a University all leading into one another, the river walk was both convenient and beautiful.  We had a great lunch and relaxed.

Later that night, Ellen and I hopped in a cab and went back to Adior's house to meet her brother, Michael's uncle.  In the Dinka tradition, the mother's brother has a special tie to the mother's son.  The best English equivalent I can find to describe this relationship is godfather, but I think this relationship is even more powerful.  Think of the horse's head scene in Godfather I and you'll get my drift.  Just a little sideline here to introduce Ellen. Ellen is an Australian student whom I met while she was studying film at Drexel this past term.  It turns out that Drexel's study abroad program for film students is in--of all places--Australia!  Talk about coincidences. So, when I was looking for a videographer to document Michael's reunion, Tom Quigly, one of my students majoring in film, told me about Drexel's exchange with Swinburne

 University in Melbourne.  Then Dani Ascarrelli of Study Abroad sent out an email to all the Swinburne students on exchange in Philadelphia and within five minutes Ellen responded. Within ten minutes, Ellen and  I were lunching together at the Creese Cafe and she was accepting my invitation to come along.  Ellen lives in Melbourne (she was planning to return home at the end of that week) and she flew from Melbourne to Sydney and met our plane when it arrived on the 28th at 6 AM to document the trip. She's making a short film that will be ready later this month that we'll upload here when it is done.  Anway, she and I wanted to go back to Michael's family's house on Moggill Road to meet Michael's uncle and videotape him for the film.  We thought it would be less intrusive if we went without Teddi, Rick, and Josh, so I hope they get to meet Michael's uncle when we go back to Brisbane at the end of our trip.

Michael's uncle came to Brisbane about 8 years ago and it is he who sponsored Adior and her family's resettlement here.  Without his support they would not have been able to immigrate to Australia. During the interview he filled  us in on the events in Michael's village after Michael and his brothers, Isaiah (who was four-years-old at the time)  and David (who was three-years old), vanished.  He told us how the military had armed Arab Baggara (cattle herders who live in Southwestern Sudan) to destroy their village and what it was like to live in constant fear of being attacked again.  The village was bombed, torched, and attacked by Baggara on horseback who rounded up the adults and raped and abducted the women and girls.  He said that after the attack it eventually became much too dangerous to continue living in Bor and he and his wife, Elizabeth, started their own thousand mile trek through the desert to Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya.  In addition to the threat of attack, the famine of 1988 compounded the situation making it impossible to stay in Southern Sudan.

When I first met Michael, I was overwhelmed hearing his journey of trekking through the desert.  He walked barefoot and dressed in rags, if wearing any clothing at all, with thousands of other boys through a war zone constantly threatened by wild animals and without water or food.  I didn't know then that average people also were subject to this situation.  Michael's mother, father, stepmothers, uncles, aunts, and even grandmother all survived this journey to Kenya.  

I have read that on the average 1 in 4 people died on this journey.  When I first met Michael's mother, she said to me, "Your family is blessed and my family is blessed."  Survival on such a grand scale is not something to be taken for granted.

As Michael tells me, survival is a combination of "good choices, good luck and good blessings." It's interesting to me that Michael's attitude resembles very much the attitudes of successful immigrants I've met in the US, particularly a Vietnamese immigrant who runs a house painting company on the Main Line and does awesome work, Ta Dieu, and what I remember of my grandmother.  I used to smile and wonder why Yetta and her two sisters, Annie and Rosie, were always thanking God, when one of us children would say something negative.  Instead of berating us, they would say, "God Bless America." Thankfulness and a childlike almost blissful state that I used to consider naive, but now see as the consequence of great wisdom, was their day to day state of being.  When it comes to survival, the mind has a larger role to play than any of us can imagine.  Despite evil portents and actual life threatening situations, the Dinka who survived their walk to Kenya and their years in refugee camps were able to do so with their positive thinking.

Michael's Uncle, Achieu,  reiterated all these ideas during our interview of him.  He told us about the Bor Massacre in 1992 when there was a split between the rebel forces, which resulted in revengeful attacks on the Dinka.  The book to read about the Bor Massacre is Emma's War, which I highly recommend.  The book is written by Deborah Scroggins, who through another freak coincidence associated with our journey, is a dear friend of our brother-in-law, Mark Gloger and Ellen Epstein.  Those in Michael's village who survived the 1988 attack which forced many of the Lost Boys on their trek across Sudan, did not survive the brutal Bor Massacre. 

It was hard to listen to Achieu while imagining all he endured.  In spite of this, Achieu's sweetness emanated from his face as he spoke.  Fluent in English and a father of eight children, he is presently in seminary school training to become a minister.  Michael attended a special sermon that Acheiu gave at a church in Brisbane last Sunday.  I'm sure he mentioned Michael in his sermon and that it was moving and inspiring.  Achieu's story is representative of social upheaval characteristic of the modern day Dinka.  The Dinka have been in contact with other civilizations for centuries, but living in the West presents the particular challenge of retaining values based on a way of life that favors the community over the individual.  When the coverage of the Harriton High School Hunger Banquet appeared on the NBC10 website and Philadelphians were able to post comments, some people wrote in that they didn't understand why Michael couldn't raise the money to reunite with his family in Australia without our help. Frankly I was appalled by these comments and embarrassed by the ignorance of my neighbors. Since Michael's arrival in the US when he was 15 years old and still a high school student,  he has been working two jobs in addition to fulfilling the obligations of his soccer scholarship while a student at Chestnut Hill College and supporting himself solely on his own and sending money home to his extended family in Africa. Once Michael learned that his mother and siblings were alive and living in Kakuma, he sent monthly checks to them there.  Don't think Michael is unique in this.  As many of you know, Africans and other immigrants typically send money home.  People living in refugee camps subsist on a half a cup of runny porridge a day. With Michael's support they were able to buy a little more food--maybe a small piece of gristly meat every so often.   Americans have many lessons to learn about survival from cooperative societies.  Without the support  of our parents, friends, coaches or teachers, how far would each of us ever get?

En Route to Syndey

Our plane from Brisbane to Sydney has been delayed, so I thought I'd start writing some about the past two days with Michael's family and begin to organize my thoughts.

When we first arrived, we were impressed by the sheer size of the house.  So it seems like Australia is a good choice for the family to be resettled in after all.  I doubt whether they would be placed in such pleasant surroundings in the States.You enter the house through a wood fence that is about 100 yards from the front door and to get to the front door you have to walk through a yard and down a path.   It's more like a compound than a single family house and Michael said that it's a good house for the family because it has grass and places to play and is removed back from the road.  The birds here are tropical.  We saw a couple of magpies around the house--they are big black birds something like ravens--and some other birds that are white and red with crested tufts.  Brisbane is like a big outdoor bird sanctuary.  You can see these red parakeet birds and white cockatoos just flying around.  After the emotional explosion of Michael seeing his family for the first time, we dragged our bags to the entrance and walked inside and sat down.  The inside of the house is large with many rooms and almost a separate little guest house through a door attached to the main house that was set up for Michael to stay in, with its own bedroom and kitchen.  

Michael's mother, Adior, or Maman Majok (the Dinka call their mothers by the name of the their first born child, and in this case, it is Michael) had gone to a lot of trouble to make Michael comfortable.  In the center of the room was a big double bed with a yellow sheet on it embroidered with flowers and the same matching patterns on the pillows and chair cushions. It was simple and beautiful and clearly adorned with much anticipation and love.  The room, as is the rest of the house, was stark and clean and fresh.  Noticeably, there was nothing extraneous around, no nicknacks or children's toys or pictures, a shocking reminder that Adior and her family had lived in Kakuma Refugee Camp for the past decade and had just come to Brisbane in January.

Even as we entered the house, Adior was still weeping.  Michael had been sitting down next to her but then he got up for a moment and she looked utterly forlorn as if she had lost him all over again. I sat down beside her then and took her arm and hugged her and asked her what she was thinking.  Even before she answered, I knew what she was going to say.  Afterward, I checked with Teddi and Ellen and Josh and Rick and they knew too.  It was one of those moments when the air was so electrified that her words just hung there before she said them and hearing them was verification.  She said, ''The years, the years," meaning that she would not be able to recapture all those years from the time Michael was five years old until now, notwithstanding Michael's brother, David, who was only three years old when their village was razed and with whom Adior has not yet had the opportunity to reunite.

Despite the tragic amplifications of Michael's life, his mother's life is the ultimate tragedy. Michael's future lies ahead of him, but for his mother, all is lost.  And don't forget that her tragedy gets multiplied by the thousands.  The devastation that occurred was systematic, village by village.  Michael's mother's father had been a chief and Adior grew up as the first daughter of a powerful man.  Nyankurdit, Adior's mother, and one of the wives of that chief, sadly still lives in Kakuma.

It was going to become intrusive for us to stay at the house, so after we were served tea and cookies, we started to bring out all the gifts we had brought for the family. This was a magical moment. The first gift I presented were the scarves my thirteen year old neice, Emma Phillips, knitted for Dut and Riak.   The scarves are very colorful and the children loved them. Aweil grabbed one and wrapped it around her neck.  We have some pictures of the children playing with the scarves, which they proceeded to do for the rest of the time we stayed in the house.  In the pictures, the children are so gorgeous that they look like models in a GAP ad, which gives you a clue about our culture.  When Michael gave his mother the gold Fossil watch and the earrings she was clearly moved. She just kept staring down at the gifts on her lap.  Then I gave Adior a bag of Ahava products we bought for her and explained how each of them get used.  We also brought a goodie bag for Aweil filled with hair products and lip balms.

Then we took a group picture together and hugged goodbye for the time being to leave Michael in private with his family and for us to go check in to our hotel.

Tedra's Testimonial

In a checkerboard pattern, the Kuch family and our own dragged our luggage up the brick path to their new yellow-tan Australian home.  The house was very open and looked as if they had just moved in.  The only thing that was missing were cardboard boxes full of their possessions.  Then I realized that coming from a refugee camp, what sort of possessions could they even have?  Barely any.  The mother urged us to sit down on the blue couches decorated with printed doilies and pillows.  The shy brothers stood around us and Awiel perched herself on the other side of the room.  After we were settled, Michael went to retrieve the huge bag recently purchased from an army surplus store.  My mother sat next to Michael's mother, who was silently crying, and started rubbing her arm, whispering things like "You have raised such an amazing son," wondering if his mother's nods meant she could actually understand what my mother was saying.  When Michael came back in and sat down, she immediately threw her arms around him in a heap.  She then collected herself by going into the other room and wiping away her tears with the gigantic shaw she wore, one of the several layers she was sporting.  Tea and cookies were served, and the family was able to produce laughs and smiles.  There was definitely some awkwardness, as their Dinka and our English were not easily traded.  We were surprised, however, about the amount of English the younger children knew.  After taking a family picture of the Kuch's, the first complete family picture they have ever had, we did another round of hugs and they watched as our taxi took off, leaving Michael to stand with his family for the first time.

Measureless Magnitude

Before we knew it, we were standing at the fence before the house at 597 Moggill Road waiting for Michael's mother to come out.  We heard someone on the other side fiddling with the latch, then the side of her face, then her whole face wet with tears rushing toward Michael to embrace him.  She hid her face from us, too shy for us to witness her tears.  She buried her face in his face. She would not let go.  We watched.  We stood there.  We imagined another person beside her--Michael's father, then his image faded, and it was Michael and his mother again, finally together.Then Michael's sister, Aweil,  came out and Michael's mother made room for her to embrace Michael. Then Awiel let go of Michael and made room for her mother again. Then Awiel approached each one of us--Rick, Tedra, Josh, Ellen and me--and embraced each one of us tenderly.  Then Biar, Michael's seventeen year old brother came out, red-eyed, weeping and ran toward Michael, then Michael's youngest brothers, Dut, aged 7, and Riak, Aged 11--all born in Kakuma Refugee Camp. Then the brothers made room for the mother again and each of them came toward us and embraced us, sweetfully, thankfully.

LA

Rick and I arrived in LA on the 28th. Tedra was already here--she'd been living with Rick's nephew and niece, Glenn and Jen for the month--and Josh arrived from his Summer Discovery program in Ann Arbor the next day with Michael.  Jen was so kind to drive me to Michael's hotel early the next morning and we picked him up and took him back to their house.  After we readjusted everyone's suitcases trying to make them lighter for the very stringent airline requirements, under 50 pounds, we took Michael to see Hollywood.  This was mainly a car trip because of his knee injury.  We drove to the this mall where you can get a direct view of the Hollywood sign and we stood on the street with clumps of other tourists taking pictures of all of  us standing in front of it, including Jen's children, Olivia and Aidan.  It was especially poignant to watch Michael and Aidan interact in lieu of Michael's reunion journey because Aidan is only six years old--close to the age Michael was the last time he saw his mother. Although as Michael pointed out, his cultural upbringing was so different than an American's upbringing that although he was only five years old when he began his 1200 mile trek he was much more prepared and mature.  As a Dinka, he walked miles every day to follow his uncles to the cattle camp outside their village.  He was already an apprentice learning how to hunt and to use a spear. Try as I might I can't imagine little Aidan even carrying a spear without hurting himself-- or someone else!

After we took those pictures in front of the Hollywood sign we walked down to the Chinese Theater and stepped in the footprints of the stars.  That was fun and also daunting to find out that the icons I grew up, such as John Wayne and Marilyn Monroe are already losing their glimmer.  Neither Michael nor Josh knew who John Wayne was and I think the only reason Josh knew who Shirley Temple was is because my Dad used to subject him to endless marathons and to Little Rascals.

But the more important reason for driving out to Hollywood was to go the Army/Navy store on Century Blvd. to buy Michael a new suitcase.  Anastasia had taken him suitcase shopping before he left, and although the big nylon bag with wheels that she helped him find fit the magnificence of gifts for his family and extended family, when Josh picked it up to move closer to the door in preparation for our taxi ride to the airport it tore in half.  Panicked, we thought we'd have to spring for another large bag, when Jen had the great idea of buying a cloth duffle at a Army/Navy store.  It turned out that the closest one was in Hollywood, so while Michael, Rick, Teddi, Olivia, and Aiden waited for us on the Sidewalk of the Stars, Jen and I rushed the four blocks down Century to buy the bag.  We saw exactly what we needed--a big kahki regulation duffle for only $20.00.  It fit all of Michael's gifts with room to go!  And it even fell within the airline's baggage requirement and Michael wasn't charged any extra money for it as he was on the way to CA.

Teddi's Michigan friends who live in LA--Lara and Brett--came for dinner at Jen and Glenn's and gave us a send off, with one freak misfortune:  Lara hit the brick wall of Jen and Glenn's neighbor pulling out.  Her car wasn't even scratched and she was fine, but the wall did get pretty damaged--that and the news the day before about the Quantas explosion on a plane en route from London to Australia, made us only slightly a little bit jittery.

This night is crazy because we're leaving tomorrow.  How is it possible to pack for winter in Australia when it is over ninety degrees outside?  I had to rifle through my closet for my winter coat, which is not something I wanted to be doing in August.  The wool is super itchy.  I didn't have the heart to look for my scarf and gloves.  

Besides the cruelty of traveling into Winter, something else happened.  Michael hurt his knee playing soccer and will probably need to get an operation when we return.  I just emailed Qantas Airlines to order him a wheelchair.  We had debated whether his uncle should pick us up at the airport or if we should go to Michael's family in a taxi.  It would be great to get picked up at the airport, but if Michael's mother is tempted to go along, then the first sight she would get of Michael would be in a wheelchair.  That's how we made the decision to go to them by taxi.  Michael bought a carved wood cane to help him walk, which would be a little better for him to use than the wheelchair.  Either way, it is a pity that this happened right before our visit.

Fortunately, Michael's mother knows that he has been playing soccer on a Sudanese team in Philadelphia and on his college team and that he was even awarded MVP in 2006 when Chestnut Hill College won their league championship.

Two weeks to go!

July 16, 2008 

I'm getting so excited about the trip that I can't sleep. I lie awake until 3 AM with my heart beating fast or skipping beats. I've had this problem ever since I was a child.  When I get really excited about something I either stop being able to sleep or come down with a fever. I haven't gotten a fever yet, but I will if I can't manage to get enough sleep!

Yesterday Michael and I went shopping for him to pick out some gifts for his mother and sister. We met at the handbag counter at Macy's because I thought we would buy his mother a beautiful Lucky bag.  The problem was that they were all too expensive--$175.00 and up.  So we looked at some jewelry instead.  Michael picked out a beautiful pair of dangling gold earrings with little flowers on them for his mother.  Then we bought her a gold Fossil watch.  Jewelry seemed like a better gift anyway.  Michael did buy a Lucky shoulder book bag for his sister.  It is canvas and leather with colorful flowers on it.  His sister, who is 15 years old, should really love it!

After we finished shopping, I drove Michael to his car and we got to talk some.  I've been reading a book on the Dinka, with the old-fashioned title: Pagan Tribes of the Nilotic Sudan, by C.G. Seligman that was published in 1930 and I wanted to ask Michael about one of the Dinka beliefs Seligman discusses.  The belief is that certain clans speak of animals as their ancestors, not in a Darwinian sense, but in the sense of actually being a member of their family, kind of a half-human, half-animal relation.  You see this in a lot of the Dinka folk tales.  Characters in the tales collected by Francis Deng in his book, Dinka Folktales, often have half-animal parents or siblings. 

 

Seligman reports that each clan has a special relationship with an animal and says that it is customary for them to avoid eating their totem animal and instead to show it reverence.  I asked Michael if this is true and he told me that his clan, Juet, holds a snake as their totem animal. He said that when he was a child, snakes were free to crawl around in his hut and onto people, up their arms and onto their shoulders and around their necks, and they never bite anyone.  He said it used to really freak him out and that he was afraid of snakes, but that these snakes never harmed anyone in his family.  They might harm people outside his clan.  

Seligman talks about a Dinka man sprinkling dust on a snake's back in the forest for fear that the snake might think he is unfriendly and try to bite him.  If the snake did get angry, then the man himself would die before thinking of killing the snake.  He writes that "this man's children show the same reverence for the snake as their father." (Seligman 143).

SCARS

By Michael Kuch with Harriet Levin Millan

This first-person account tells the story of refugee Michael Kuch’s journey as one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. Harriet Levin Millan Director of The Drexel University Writing Program and the author of The Christmas Show (Beacon Press) interviewed Kuch and pieced his answers together in fluid prose.

These scars on my forehead? These are not my initiation scars. They are not the scars a boy gets when he goes into the forest to become a man. I did not live in my village and with my family long enough. Initiation happens to boys when they are somewhere around 10 years old. I was much younger when I was forced to seek a home elsewhere. These are razor blade scars. When I was about 5 years old I had some problems with my eyes — maybe just some dirt in my eyes — I don’t know how serious it was, and my grandmother cut my forehead with a razor blade to improve my health. I still remember the pain. The blood. I didn’t like my grandmother after that. Her name was Nyankuerdit. The “it” at the end of her name means “big,” a sign of respect like you would say in English, my esteemed Grandmother Nyankuerdit.

The government systematically planned to destabilize my village, Bor, in southern Sudan, because it was the home of John Garang, the man who started the Sudanese People’s Liberation Movement and began the rebel uprising. My village was attacked at night. Planes bombarded it with bombs and set it afire. My family was scattered. I joined a crowd of people and walked with them. When I first started walking I wore shoes, but this walk went on for three months and most of it I did barefoot.

There are two seasons in the Sudan, the dry season and the rainy season. This happened during the dry season, which is hot, windy and humid. We walked at night to avoid the hot sun and the winds, and because we’d be less thirsty. The problem with walking at night is that there are wild animals, which attack people. I saw lions and hyenas attack and kill people in my group. Another reason we walked at night was because we were walking though a war zone.

Even though I was so young, I was conditioned for the walk because I had spent many days with my siblings in the forest learning how to hunt animals. I was already skilled at learning how to survive. We walked days without food. Some of the walkers ate wild plants and others ate mud, which attached to their insides and killed them. It took me a long time after I moved to America to get accustomed to eating meals. For a year or so I only ate once a day, and still, I don’t eat a meal the way you do.

After three months of walking, I arrived at a refugee camp in Ethiopia. It was 1991 and Ethiopia was undergoing its own troubles with Eritrea. A civil war was breaking out and almost as soon as I had arrived, I had to leave abruptly in the middle of the night. This time it was the rainy season and the Nile, which runs through all of eastern Africa, was flooded. Not many of us knew how to swim. There are tribes who have always lived by the Nile. In fact, they are called Nilotes. These people knew how to make dug-out boats from trees. I was lucky enough to get a spot in one of the boats, but other people were pulled across the river with rope attached to the boats. I saw many people drown in that river. I also saw crocodiles in that river attack people.

I couldn’t make it back to Bor because it was so far away. Instead, I stopped at an Internal Displaced Persons Camp called Pachalla where food and medical attention were provided. But again, just as I was settling in, more violence broke out. Planes bombarded the camp day and night and it became unsafe to stay. It took me one month to walk to another refugee camp, Kakuma, in Kenya. I stayed at Kakuma for eight years, all that time learning how to survive in the camp, which meant learning how to live in a very small space with tension — clashes over food and water, and avoiding the Turkana, the tribe who lived nearby and often attacked refugees outside the camp.

In 2000, I got an offer from the U.S. state department to come to the U.S. I struggled with this decision, which meant leaving Africa, perhaps forever. I still didn’t know if my family, particularly my mother, was alive. Just about that time, I was united with three of my brothers and sisters, who it turned out had also come to Kakuma. Then, all of us were given the chance to immigrate to Philadelphia.

I always feel called to go back to Sudan. The whole American experience, the chance to get my B.A. here, and now, applying to graduate school, is an opportunity, but I will always want to go back and do more.