Welcome and BYE!

Not the same man, but he looks like he could be

The title of this post comes from an inside joke.  I recently visited a colleague and wandering around the compound was a short, old drunk man.  He greeted others and myself and said something in his drunken, mumbly English/Kakwa/Arabic.  I mostly just looked down, waiting for him to go away, but then he lifted his hand in the air and lingered for a minute until he went on to greet the next person.

Later I asked my friend, “Did you see that guy?  I’m pretty sure he was acting like he was going to slap me.”

She joked, “Maybe he wanted to give you a welcome to South Sudan.”

“But I’ve been here for two years already and I’m on my way out…”

“Well, maybe it was a welcome and bye! Ka-PASH!” [insert hand motion and raucous laughter]

It’s true.  The time has come that I’ll be leaving South Sudan.  I wasn’t sure what to do for this post until I thought to maybe sum up the two years with a few facts and figures instead of actually summing up the two years and leaving you bored with 50,000 words to read.

So, here we go:

Number of boda (motorbike) accidents: 3

I don’t know if I can count any of them for real, especially since one was basically just falling over into the mud at an almost complete stop.  It was more embarrassing than scary. I guess overall I just lowered my standard of safety for bodas (sorry Mom) and just crossed my fingers whenever we entered a really sketchy part of the road.  Did you know they just give out a standard/general license in South Sudan?  Yeah they’ll give anyone a license, whether you’re driving a big rig or a motorcycle.  They’re all the same though, right?

Animal metaphors learned: 5+

I love this.  Whenever someone gets annoyed or wants to explain an individual’s problem in a certain way, they might compare the target of their disaffection to an animal.   Some examples: 

• “He has ears like a Warthog!”  (he doesn’t listen)
• “This person goes and comes back just like a pig” (She doesn’t remember well and learn lessons from mistakes)
• “A snake never digs it’s own hole” (meaning that a person won’t do something for him or herself but will ride on the back of others or wait until something is already in place).

Cards received from people at home: 100+

Plus three or four packages.  The post box I use is actually that of a friend whose family resides in Uganda.  So basically my stuff has to go to Uganda first (which is anywhere from 2 weeks to 2 months) and then come to South Sudan whenever he comes back for a visit or I go there.  A number of people wrote me that “they hope that I’m doing well in Uganda.”  Oops.  I don’t live there.  

many cards, letters and even a wedding invitation

I became that saavy expat who knows the right people and where things are in town

Ok, not really.  I lack that special talent needed when it comes to finding rare things like food or cheese (which I realize is also food, but it’s a very important and rare kind of food here)…  But I DO know how to get ladies in the market to find things for me when I’m too lazy to look.  And one of the area’s pork suppliers found me personally to give me his card when he set up his business.  I also became BFF with the people in immigration and the memory in my phone for contacts is surprisingly full (even though I hate talking to people on the phone).  Basically, I’m a pretty big deal.

I also know one of the skeeziest hotels in town.  Ok, actually I just wanted an excuse to bring that up because I think it’s hilarious that a place can be rumored to house so many prostitutes and still have the name which, when translated, means, “God is here.” 

I met people from over 20+ countries:

Speaking of expats, I’ve run into a lot of them.  Besides the US and South Sudan, I’ve met people from Zambia, Sudan, Ethiopia, Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, Congo, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Ghana, Germany, the UK, Ireland, Holland, Switzerland, Ukraine, Russia, Nepal, India, Norway and Canada (does that count though?).  It’s really funny when you run into other foreigners or white people in town that you don’t recognize.  These were my reactions in the 2 years:

–The first six months: “Do I really greet them just because they’re white like me?  That seems racist somehow…”

–The middle twelve months: “Oh hi!  My name is Jillian, I work on Maridi Road.  How long have you been here? Where are you from? Where do you work? How long will you be here?”

–The last six months:  “. . .”    >> This is when I’m too cool to acknowledge the presence of other foreigners that I don’t know because I’m sooo much more culturally immersed than they are and besides, everything they say will just be SO ignorant and show that they JUST don’t know anything… and besides; one of us will just leave in a few months.  So I’m too pretentious and we’ll probably never see each other again. What’s the point?

I learned Juba Arabic and greetings in about 8 different languages.

…and I subsequently forgot most of them.  But hey, it was fun to laugh with people as they tried to teach me how to greet in their mother tongue.  

YES. This is a chief from one of the localities. I love this photo because 1. He’s great in it and 2. He’s like a walking advertisement for Mountain Dew

I can essentially now fake my way at least around Equatoria with my “local” Juba Arabic.  The language is something of a pidgin language because some of these words don’t make sense.  i.e.  kulu (KOO-loo) = all/everything.  kulu kulu = never ever … You’d think repeating the word would be adding more emphasis, but it’s actually something a bit opposite.  There are some other fun examples like hiloo (HEE-loo) Mushakil (moo-SHA-keel) when literally translated means “sweet fighting,” but in context actually means “resolving a problem.”  

Still the language is affected so much by other local languages and it becomes more like classical Arabic the farther north you go.  It’s pretty obvious that it’s not a very unified lingua franca for the county, which has peoples who speak hundreds of different languages.

At least I can also hear a few Arabic words now when they speak in movies!

Some travels in East Africa:

Rasta in Lamu, Kenya

Christmas in Kampala was nice.  I also went on a Spring trip to Nairobbery, Kenya with my boyfriend and although people ripped us off a lot (I’m so bad at negotiating prices, I hate it), we didn’t get robbed even once by poo-flinging street children!  I only managed to reach one other town in South Sudan (besides the capital, Juba) when I traveled to Torit to visit a friend.  That’s where I realized that Yei is excellent since the average temperature has to be about 20 degrees lower than that place and no scorpions…  I’ll be traveling to Rwanda (by bus through Uganda) and leaving for America from Kigali.  Just hoping not to get hijacked on the way there and we’re golden! 

So, I’m selling most of my things, packing up my bags and getting ready to head out!  I’ll miss the hospitality,  eating with my hands, the giant cucumbers and the feeling of patriotism for the people who are so proud and excited to live in the world’s newest nation.  I made a number of new friends that have become like family and hopefully I was able to leave a mark at my organization.  Thanks South Sudan!  I hope to see you again someday!

Made in China… $@#%&!!!!!

I’m sure if I ever go to China, I would love it.  However, I’ve sworn more than once that if I ever meet the Chinese manufacturer of [insert new and newly-broken product] I would punch him/her in the face.

I know a lot of things in the US are made in China, and Americans certainly have egotistical/legitimate economic concerns about products not being American-made. Still, I don’t think many individuals personally care about all the random crap we buy all the time with that ubiquitous “Made in China” sticker. Typically you just buy things and nine times out of ten (or an even better ratio), they operate.

Probably should have cleaned this before the photo, but then the dust adds a little character

In East Africa (and probably much of the rest of Africa), you can buy several watches in a month and they might not cumulatively last a week.  It seems quite obvious that China sends all the mediocre goods to us in America and sends the really poor quality stuff here so it can sell cheap.  It seems like ten times out of nine, they don’t work.  That may seem mathematically impossible, and maybe it is, but you would probably agree with me if you spent as much time as me fixing things only to have them break again.

Let me illustrate my point with personal examples (the watch one isn’t mine; I came with a Timex which died soon after my arrival.  That was probably the watch’s way of telling me not to stress about time in South Sudan).

I bought a decent phone on arrival.  It broke.  Then I bought another one.  It also broke.  Then I purchased a third one.  It malfunctioned from the start and I just dealt with it until it really stopped functioning and I wanted to rip my face off.  Finally, I bought one at a telecom store in Uganda.  It still works and if it breaks too, at this point, I’ll just learn how to make smoke signals or something.

My bike is obvi from China:

the envy of the town (except that every other person has one just like it but maybe in a different color)

If you look closely enough, you can see the Chinese characters all over.

Granted, I am basically dirt-biking it on this baby every day due to the challenging roads around Yei, but the thing is obviously of poor quality.  For one, the handlebars continuously broke or randomly became loose until the third bike mechanic I found must have used some special glue or maybe even bike kajur (magic).  After struggling with the pedals spontaneously falling apart (or in the case of one, just falling off), I eventually replaced them completely.  After all, I was afraid of losing control and falling in a ditch or in the way of an oncoming lorry.  I had the inner tube inside the tire fixed twice and then I eventually replaced it as well.

Something recently fell off of my bike that was previously screwed in around the wheel area.  I have no idea where it came from or what it did.  Guess I’ll find out soon enough…

A ton of my other purchases have broken due to their Chinese-made quality.  For example, I boil water to drink and for my tea and  I’m on electric kettle number 4.

I’ve recently had to have some plumbing done because of a clog.  I tried to fix it myself but once I realized that I’m actually not a plumber, I called someone. He brought a NEW spare part that STARTED LEAKING AS SOON AS HE INSTALLED IT.

The thing that always baffles me is that every time I’ve gone on a trip or know someone else leaving on a trip (especially to the US, Europe or a big city like Nairobi), people always ask for the departing person to buy something specific for them like a plug, a camera, computer, etc.  This is because they know they can’t buy a quality one here.. and they’ll pay for it!  So I guess what I’m trying to say is (and no one else take my idea), that there is a market in Africa for QUALITY-made goods…

Public Transport

It was one lady named Rita writing about public transport in a certain European country that inspired me to write about transport in my host country.

I’ve written before about the roads.  So you can imagine what a pleasurable experience it is being ferried 100 miles from Yei to Juba.  I remember over Christmas riding the road from Arua to Kampala and thinking that it was luxury because it was paved and I wasn’t crammed next to 8 people and 2 children on one row.  Also the roads we drove on in Kenya are much better and mostly paved, despite the apologetic “Kenyan roads have many potholes,” I wanted to assure my host that South Sudanese roads take the cake.  And the road networks in the state where I live aren’t even the worst of them!  If they’re passable (and a good driver in a landcruiser can go through some pretty sketchy pond-like areas), then they’re good for South Sudan.

So, the road is bad and I’m pretty sure there aren’t that many kawajaat jumping on public, but there are a few things I’ve picked up through my experiences riding back and forth on the so-called Yei-Juba highway:

No crappy instant Nescafe coffee for you!

1. Don’t drink any water or coffee before you go.  For whatever reason, the drivers don’t like to stop often or at the very least in areas that have nice-ish facilities (no flush toilets, y’all.  But it’s nice when the drop latrines at least have minimum smell and a place to wash your hands).  I grew up camping and I did cross country in high school, where, for well hydrated runners, the woods are your bathroom.  That means that doing my business in the bush isn’t a problem in itself.  The catch is that we’re in a post-conflict country and landmines are always a danger. It’s not exactly an option to go right next to the road because of the other (mostly male) passengers and I don’t want to lose my life because I had to pee.  Because of this, I always keep myself on the edge of dehydration.

2. Don’t worry about finding out where you’re going.  When you arrive to the taxi park, conductors or whoever is working at the park will inevitably guide you to the right car.  “Where are you going?  Yei?  Ok come here, come here, madam.”  It’s surprising to me how chaotic these parks look, but that they are actually really, really well-organized chaos.

3. Make a friend.  I’m not always a very talkative person in general, but it’s worthwhile to make some small talk so people realize that you aren’t a crazy kawajah for getting on public (most people assume that all white people have a lot of money and cars; I always get asked why I wasn’t sent me with a private landcruiser).

Can you spot me?

I’ve pretty much gotten used to being the only white person in a huge crowd of people and having people stare or little children touch my arm. It’s only that the awkward feeling of being foreign is a bit more permanent when you’re stuck in a car with people for upwards of 5 hours on a terrible road.  If you don’t make an effort to talk to people, it will be all strange and confused tension the whole way.  Besides, something almost always happens (like getting stuck behind a road block, flat tire, etc), so it’s good to have a friend so you can muse together what’s happening.

4. Look out the front window.  I don’t usually get car sick and even the roads aren’t that much of a problem for me other than feeling achy and tired the next day, but I recently in got a small van with terrible shocks on it all the way to Juba.  I could even feel the axle moving under my feet.. it was weird and terrible and I wanted to “throw” the whole way.

5. Love it.  Although I always psyche myself out about these trips since they’re so long and uncomfortable, I think I always learn something new or get a new story out of it or get to buy something along the road that I wouldn’t get in town (like fresh honey from the village).  Also, in a strange way, there’s this sense of solidarity and looking out for each other that occurs on these trips.  For example, the woman that has a baby with her (and there’s always a woman with a baby) can easily find someone to hold the child and everyone becomes interested in soothing the baby if it cries.  I think this is a beautiful phenomenon that you would be hard-pressed to find in the West.

The one with the uninvited house guest

Coming to Africa isn’t like going camping; I have a toilet inside my house and a warm shower.  That being said, I really think that in the West we have perfected industrialization to the point that we have paved over most of the more and less pleasant aspects of mother nature.

Despite the amount of time I spent outdoors in my formative youth, I have never previously encountered some of the things I have heard of and experienced since I’ve been to South Sudan.  I would like to focus especially on the critters…

Besides mosquitoes, mice, cockroaches, ants (the biting kinds), crabs (strangely enough), there are also many frogs, crickets and flying ants or termites.  The lizards or salamander creatures may look cute at first, but they are impossible to get rid of and refuse to stop leaving me presents everywhere in my house.  I’m fortunate to not have encountered any scorpions, which I think aren’t common in my area, but I’ve heard of many people being stung because of not shaking out their clothes or inspecting their shoes.  I’m also happy that I live in Yei, because I hear in Jonglei, the place is COVERED with snakes.  Which wouldn’t bother me so much if I didn’t know that almost all of the snakes you encounter in South Sudan are poisonous… except the giant boas.

A while ago I got to know a new, special kind of animal.

I came home after dark and entered my house, noticing that  a few things were knocked over and out of place.  As I inspected further, my gaze went near my window and to the curtain box: there was a giant reptilian THING hanging on my wall!

I immediately called my colleague and he sent in backup: the watchman on duty and two other men with big sticks and metal rods.  They quickly entered my house and closed the door (while I stood several yards away) and I could see from the window as they smacked and hacked at it to kill it.  A few minutes later, the guard grabbed the dead monster by the tail and marched proudly with it out of my house.  As he came towards me, the thing dangling at a good three or so feet long, I completely lost any previous street cred I may have had as a strong, non-stereotypical, unflinching woman…  I started running, screaming and jumping like a small girl.

The next morning, I was thoroughly teased.  Apparently, the thing in Arabic is called a worrel; in Kakwa, manyang; or in English, a monitor lizard.

ew, they’re reproducing…

Someone told me they heard that “meat” entered my house (apparently people eat them and the guard took it to his brother for that purpose) and yet someone else told me that they can bite you and never let go and the one that entered was only a baby one…

I still have no idea how it entered into my house.

 

Update: Right before I was about to post this blog, I found two M&M-sized eggs hiding in my curtains.  So that’s great that the circle of life is circling itself inside the privacy of my home.

Long Time Gone

Yes, I been a long time gone.

Due to a number of factors (#1 factor being laziness/the fact that I hardly belong to my generation of twitterers and computer/gadget obsessed peers because being on the internet too much has that effect of making me feel like I have the attention span of a hamster), I haven’t posted for over two months.  

Instead of spending a lot of time writing a thoughtful entry, I thought I would treat everyone to a few nice photos to illustrate a glimpse into several of my more recent activities:

Bringing diversity to the local watering holes (please note the second name on the receipt)

Admiring determination and ingenuity (two young boys are trying to get at a mango by tying two bamboo rods together AND standing on a stack of bricks… )

Learning how to make local food (this one is called kisra. If you’ve ever had Ethiopian food, it’s kind of like injera. If not, then it’s like a really complicated pancake)

Becoming a godmother

Starting my modeling career (with a more Arab-influenced style of dressing, which I OBVIOUSLY look so natural and amazing in…)

trying to handle the invasion and permanent settlement of frogs and salamanders in my house (I think this blog wouldn’t be complete or sufficiently offensive without some mention of toilets, so here’s a visual)

I think it’s safe to say that I’m not the next Perez Hilton, so I can’t promise when my next post will be.  

The Perks of Going Native

Ok, so maybe I haven’t completely gone native, and my colleagues might roll their eyes at me because I’m not exactly working in the middle of a village where women don’t wear bras and I live in a hut. However, I like to think that I’ve assimilated well enough since I now say “fearing” instead of “afraid,” I’ve learned most of the common hand gestures and can now tell on which day of the week people were born based on their names.  I’m not all the way there yet, but I know basic (very basic) greetings in Kakwa/Bari, Dinka, Zande, Kiswahili, Luganda and of course, I’m getting somewhere with my simple Arabic. I love to see people’s faces break into a smile when they realize I’m butchering their mother tongue.

I also recently received what I perceive to be compliment when someone saw me sitting outside at a local (but not TOO local, as they say) bar and said, “I don’t think we’ve ever seen a white person here before!”  Check.  Unchartered territory.  I should have given them an American flag.

So if I’m to pretend that I’ve so far gone native (in a good way) then I’ll list some of the perks below:

• I know where to buy the good roasted goat in town
• Going to the immigration office is barrels of fun instead of an awkward tense situation (although I’m disappointed that they aren’t corruptible enough anymore to give me a longer term visa)
• Knowing more random people= knowing more people who can help me drive away drunk people who wander the streets and find me interesting

• People in the market think you’re hilarious instead of weird or trying to make fun of you.  For example, women always ask me where my husband is, to which my default response in Arabic is “I’m still a small girl.”  A woman held up her 1 year old son and asked what I thought (implying that he could be a suitor if I’m so young).  So I gave her a weird eye and explained to her the obvious reason why we couldn’t be together.  It was a good thing I learned the word for breast feeding like the week before.
• I can hardly just walk to the town now without seeing someone I know who can give me a lift…
• …on a related note, boda drivers don’t try to rip me off (as much)

• my hangover from the Christmas holiday was considerably brightened when, on my first day coming back to Yei, several different people I barely know in the town told me that I was “missing” in the previous weeks, which made me feel loved.
  

On a more serious note, I’m constantly questioning my reason for being here since I’m acutely aware of the colonial legacy on this continent.  The fact that the philanthropic urges of someone donating money or coming to Africa now are maybe not so different from those over a hundred years ago (imperialism had it’s humanitarian eras) is something that disturbs me and challenges my rationale for wanting to “help” Africans.

Being treated differently because of my race compounds my discomfort, especially since we are treated as “big people” where ever we go and there’s apparently this perception here that kawajahs know everything.  This certainly has something to do with the fact that most people coming here from the US, Europe or elsewhere are wealthier and also coming for “capacity building” or have had the opportunities for higher education. However, just because my English is better and I can solve your very simple computer problem doesn’t mean that I know what is best for your community or your country.  This is especially a problem when foreigners come here and don’t first try to get to know the people and the context before imposing solutions.  Because of this, I feel like “going native” not only has its perks, but it’s necessary if one is genuine about aiding a suffering society to grow in a positive way.  How can you understand how to help someone if you don’t first understand them?   Besides, we Westerners shouldn’t be so proud; I often feel that my own society at home is also in dire need of some sort of help…

I love the following quote which I actually read this evening in a Christmas card I just received (it’s February, but I will still continue to receive them even in April).  I think I will keep it and it will help me maintain perspective when I don’t feel like I’m “making a difference.”  It encourages me to try harder to connect with people instead of losing focus on something else that is ultimately less important:

I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.  — Maya Angelou 

I, I, I, I workout!

Perhaps there comes a time in every girl’s life where enough people compliment her for “growing strong” that she decides to start running a few extra laps in the morning.

Perhaps my anthem after a few months of P90X?

I know I’m not the only one gaining weight during service abroad; apparently it’s really common for women to gain weight and men to lose.  I hear that Peace Corps volunteers are even taught this during their training.

“Maybe you could try to diet,” you say?  Of course, I love food too much and well, sometimes I have nothing better to do in the evenings but cook entirely too much food for one person.  Ironically, probably my best bet to “reduce” on this front is laziness.  No fridge , no microwave and organic food that goes bad faster means that if I don’t make regular market trips and put time in to cook then I don’t eat well.

Since high school, I didn’t really drink soda regularly… until now. I would give it up, but I don’t think that’s possible.  Stoney is just too nice and besides, if I want to have friends and/or not offend the hospitality of people whose homes I’m visiting, then I need to accept what they’re giving me (except water that isn’t in a bottle; I’ve heard typhoid isn’t a nice experience).   Literally every time I visit someone, a son, daughter, younger brother or sister appears not less than 15 minutes after my arrival with a cold soda purchased at the nearest place to serve me on a tray along with cookies or biscuits.  My record is two meals, three sodas and four waters in one afternoon; we were making rounds and each house was being well… normal and hospitable. I do love Sudanese hospitality, but surely it’s a diabetic’s nightmare.

And this hospitality goes beyond just tea and sodas.  Even if I was more conscious about what I cook for myself, I’m offered food so often that I could almost never cook and still be well-fed. There’s always someone who has just purchased or cultivated sweet potatoes, maize or ground nuts and they want to share.  There have even been a few days where, if I played my cards right and my stomach was up to the challenge, I could eat two or three free lunches.  Also, I can’t tell you how many times people have invited me for a meal and then proceed to watch me closely.  Inevitably he/she will tell me to go for more or tell me that I haven’t taken enough chicken or “don’t I want to try more [insert local starchy food here]?”

If running around Yei and borrowing workout DVDs don’t work, other fun weight-loss alternatives include rolling around in the grass and playing with dogs until I get some weird kind of worms OR going to the local witch doctor to take “herbs.”  Fortunately, I’m far too secure with my body-image to ever try those. Besides, being called “fat” here is like a compliment, right?

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from Kampala!

Christmas may have already come and gone, but my I suppose my post is still relevant since we still have yet to arrive at 2013!

I think I must be having the best week ever. 

On my trip here, the bus was nice and made a satisfactory number of bathroom stops (A very important feature and unlike my other public transport experience from Juba to Yei, a 7 hour trip that stopped only when we got a flat tire and got blocked in the road). I could eat maize, goat meat, bananas and cassava, all roasted, from my seat as I purchased them through vendors coming quickly to my window to make a buck when buses stop full of potential customers.  I even made a friend who insisted on giving me a mini narrated tour of the country from the bus. This kept me mostly entertained on the long trip, except when we were passing a bridge over the Nile and he wouldn’t stop telling me about all the bus crashes that occurred in the same spot (including fun details about people about passengers drowning in the river!).  However, he redeemed himself when he bought me oranges and mangoes to take home with me, hoping I would have a “truly Ugandan experience.” 

The roads were mostly paved although bumpy at parts.  But if the car can move at more than 10 miles an hour, it means they’re far nicer than those in South Sudan!

Between the infrastructure, different languages and the number of people speaking good English, the availability of many goods and the rush of the cities of Arua and Kampala, I’m almost experiencing culture shock in Uganda after months spent in Yei, South Sudan. 

Everyone has been telling me that I’ve been living in “the village” while I’ve been staying in Yei, which of course I denied until walking around Kampala and seeing the smartly dressed men and women, while I’m in an over-worn skirt, my washed thin, thread bare t-shirt with dirty sandals and no make-up.  In order to avoid looking so much like a village woman, I was excited to buy cute beaded sandals in Arua and some skinny jeans in a mall in Kampala.

My time in Kampala has been relaxing and not too eventful, but it’s the simple things that have enjoyed:

• Buying DVDs for about 1500 Ugandan Shillings each (about 57 cents) and watching the Hobbit in theaters. 
• Watching my friend argue with a rude public bathroom attendant in Luganda as she was just trying to ask the price for using the toilet. 
• Finding cheap mushrooms, cilantro and a new flavor of Fanta in the supermarket.
• Pizza, burgers and ice cream.

I was also pleased to introduce a few more individuals to the glory that is guacamole (avocados are huge and cheap in East Africa), which we ate with chapati while watching a Spanish soap opera dubbed into English called “Beautiful but Unlucky.”  Ah, a taste of Mexico while staying in Uganda!

All these things along with seeing my friend and her smiling baby three-week old baby have contributed to making my holiday quite happy and restful!

Mubruk [Congratulations] America!

My experience and struggle of applying, filling and somehow trying to send my absentee ballot from a country with no real operating postal system probably doesn’t constitute the normal voting experience of an American during a presidential election.  For example, your grandmother probably just went early in the morning to the local Baptist church, waited in line for twenty minutes, proceeded to take that same amount of time to vote with a number 2 pencil with two erasers and then received an “I voted” sticker from one of the bluish-grey haired ladies working at the voting station

They should have mailed me one of these after receiving my ballot in Virginia

While I know I must be keeping everyone on the edge of their seats trying to find out whose bubble I filled in on my little ballot, being a young (typically left-leaning demographic), female (more likely than men to vote for a Democrat) living abroad (basically making me European, aka a “socialist”) in a developing country (seriously, as a rule expats are almost always save-the-world bleeding heart liberals, although there are exceptions…), you can probably guess who I voted for…

You’re right!  I wrote in Donald Trump!

“Excuse me. Could you show me the way to the exit for relevance? I must have driven past it.”

But seriously, everyone here is so excited that Obama won.  I was given many congratulations this past week and I even received a “thank you for voting for Obama,” today.  In a town where you can easily find Obama flashlights and a store called “Obama Traders,” it’s not a surprise. There’s even a “Yes We Can” salon that later turned into a saloon and now they painted themselves orange and are selling fruit juices.

Even though I’m happy that he was re-elected, I know that with the divided political atmosphere in US politics, little will actually move “Forward” as quickly or effectively as many of us progressives might like.  In fact, the whole state of the current political system leave me sounding angry and ranty whenever I try to explain things as I understand them in the US to my colleagues here at RECONCILE.

But as much as everything seems hopeless and worthy of either rage or apathetic indifference in the US, there is much for which to be thankful.  For example, Americans would never object so strongly to an election result that it would erupt in ethnic violence like the post-election violence in Kenya in 2008 which left hundreds of people dead and hundreds of thousands displaced.

In South Sudan, David Yau Yau lost in his campaign to become a parliamentarian in the State Assembly and he is currently undermining peace efforts, wreaking havoc and destabilizing the county of PIbor in the conflict-ravaged Jonglei state.

And praise Allah for the 22nd Amendment to the US Constitution!  No thank you Museveni.

One of the watchmen was telling me last week that he is impressed that people in the US don’t fight after an election, something I had to explain to a lady here when she seemed overly concerned that someone within my own family voted differently than I did (*cough* my dad *cough*).

Of course, there’s a different kind of normal here in East Africa and indeed, in many other parts of the world. Political efficacy isn’t so low at home after all.

Welcome to “Jillian San Frontières”

I’ve relocated my blog.  I hope you enjoy the  new look and title.  It’s a bit less cliché and also a bit more self-indulgent, don’t you think?

 

“To travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries.” – Aldous Huxley

Five individuals from four different countries. Picture courtesy of Shelvis Smith-Mather

 

“There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.” – Robert Louis Stevenson

Which one of these is not like the others?