A Visit

I recently received an invitation from one of our truss welders to visit his home. In Moro, this often means spending the night. Yusef had asked me twice to come, but I had not had a chance. So when the weekend was approaching, and a truck was free, I readily agreed.

I had visited Yusef’s house once before when trying to recruit him for a position as an assistant to one of our truss welding teams. Yusef’s home has a setting and view that would be the envy of most millionaires in my home country. The home compound is composed of three traditional Moro structures in a loose circular fence. The houses are made of mortared mud brick with a conical roof made of dry grasses. The floors are made of small gravel and sand. The compound rests on the point of a low ridge overlooking a stunning pocket valley behind the Ilri church site. Even in the middle of the dry season, the valley was cool, green, and inviting. Now in the beginning of the rains it is breathtaking. Baobab and Nheem trees sprouting from the tops of great boulders offer up leaves and pink blossoms. Cattle and goats browse lazily on abundant new growth. A cool breeze flows calmly down the hillside. Children bounce up and down on the handle of a borehole pump, filling jerry cans with crystal clear water.

I share just a bit less Arabic with Yusef than he shares English with me. However, as usual, I do not find this experience straining with African people. Yusef introduced me to his lively wife, Migdah, and his lovely children Lili, Hana, and…wait for it…Rafael. Of course a host of neighbors came by and offered greetings. One of the other welders showed up unexpectedly, and decided to stay the night as well.

Migdah roasted “ground nuts” (peanuts). We enjoyed them with the overpoweringly sweet Sudanese tea. Dinner was served very late, as usual. Somehow the Moro decided to push their entire meal schedule about 6 hours behind much of the rest of the world. “Breakfast” is usually served around 1 pm.

As the darkness grew, most of the adults fell quiet watching the three children play. They had some kind of wrestling game going on either side of a bed. Yusef explained to me that the game was called “Catch the Turtle.” I could tell by watching that this game had the same ruleless, shapeless nature as many of the games I played as a small boy. And as is normal, it gave rise to the ruleless, shapeless joy that only children can take in things.

I think the night I spent at Yusef’s house above Ilri was a turning point for me. I think my time here just expanded from “my job in Moro” to “my life in Moro.”

Toby Update / 3 Entirely New Experiences

I have recently had three experiences that are entirely new to me. At my
advanced age, this is worth noting.

1. I have received the skin of a civet cat as a gift.
2. My preference for Eastern or Western style toilet equalized.
3. My name appeared in song.

- Toby :: 04.14.08

Toby Update / An Africa I Didn’t Know

I’ve been in the Nuba Mountain region of Sudan for some time now, and I
have given few indicators to few people about what it’s like. This is
unacceptable.

Part of my slowness in sharing about this place is the familiarity of it
to my past experiences in Kenya. There certainly are many factors of
life here that hearken strongly to the blessed days I spent in the
Northern deserts of Kenya with AIM-Tech. Probably the single biggest
difference is the fact that I am no longer going to many distinct
locations and people groups. I lay down to sleep in the same place every
night. I am part of a community and economy in a way I never experienced
in Kenya, or anywhere else, for that matter.

The primary people group where I find myself is called the Moro. Their
lifestyles and appearance are very different from the Dinka tribe in the
South that forms the basis of so much of the world’s picture of Sudanese
Africans. While they are somewhat taller and more massively built than
the average Kenyan person, they are nowhere near the towering heights of
the familiar Dinka. Most people carry in their hearts their mother
tongue, and a form of Arabic only slightly departed from its origin.
Lifestyle, mores, and mode of dress exhibit a similar blending of
African and Arabic traditions. The Moro herd cattle, raise sorghum, and
harvest Mango with equal vigor.

Being more than 10 degrees North of the equator, this part of the world
has genuine seasons, and this is another marked difference from the
Africa I have known. Moro has a long dry season with gradually inclining
heat. This siege is finally broken sometime between late April and early
June when powerful rainstorms appear with daily regularity. The crop
cycles follow with a burst of fruit bearing during the rains.

Our particular area is continuously between 400 and 600 meters above sea
level. Numerous hills and mountains interrupt the flatness by rising to
1500 meters or more. At present the landscape is somewhat forbidding
with massive boulders, sand, and thorned palm trees being the main
features. But here and there shaded areas already hold the promise of
the rainy season. Valleys and horseshoes formed by the mountains shelter
lush trees and green places even in the present dryness.

I look to the rains with both anticipation and dread. I can’t wait to
see this place in its abundance and joy. But I also know that our work
will become much, much harder as roads turn to endless swamps, and
insects breed rapidly.

By and large, I am most interested in the feeling of genuine culture
that exists here. In our area there is an economy that has few outside
influences. It is small in comparison to any I have known, but it is
appropriate to the area. Western clothing has completed its
infiltration. Hip Hop and Reggae music are inevitably following. But
traditions still live on as well. Local wrestling matches and dances
abound. I have seen an entire choir singing Moro songs while dressed in
matching Fubu T-shirts.

I have previously known East Africa as an itinerant worker based near
its greatest metropolis. Now I am settled in one corner of a somewhat
isolated region. I am enjoying learning this place at length. I can only
hope these people can say the same about me.

- Toby  ::  3.29.08

Sweet Lady Come and Gone

 

 

 

Life was rich indeed for 12 days.

Legend 2 of the Moro People

“The Best Time for Stealing Pigs”

If you are in the Nuba mountains, and you have any inclination to
raising or stealing pigs for a living, there is a cosmological factor
you need to take into account. It is widely known that a pig is a hard
animal to steal. They squeal continuously when you try to pick them up.

At certain times of year, the full moon can appear a bit red. The wise
pig thief knows this is the most auspicious time for his trade. One only
need point the pig’s snout to the moon before trying to pick him.
Everyone knows that when a pig sees a red moon, it believes the world is
coming to an end. Pigs universally face the final cataclysm with stoic
silence.

-Toby :: 2.27.08