Toposa Ladies and Babies

I woke up really early the day after we got back from Kimotong because I haven’t been sleeping, and surprisingly Jerome was up and trying to fix the car, though he still looked totally exhausted. In fact, we all got up pretty early. I met Beatrice, the new lady in the kitchen and her adorable son Innocent. He is seven months old and a real, healthy, responsive baby. He has the best smile you have ever seen, that lights up his entire face and reveals his little baby gums, and he almost never cries and he lets me carry him everywhere and when he sees me a huge grin cracks across his face. I loved the two of the instantly. Beatrice helped me wash pretty much all the laundry George ever packed, as well as lots of pieces of mine, Neeshas and Jeromes. Mostly though, I played with Innocent. He has a cold so I gave Beatrice my Vicks to put on him. His hair is soft and downy and the same color and texture as mine, although I know soon enough it will harden into tiny black curls. I wore my new Katanga skirt which made me so happy (and so desperate to get more made). Our internet was broken, of course, because that is just the kind of luck we have here.
We found out basically what was wrong with the car. It turned out it wasn’t the battery or the radiator, but rather the cylinder gauge which is apparently a part that you cant buy anywhere in Sudan for a ’94 Pajero. We didn’t get in touch with Ed in time to get the parts directly from Nairobi, so in addition to Ed’s bag which got lost, funnily enough, it a first world country (England) rather than a second or third world one, the parts will be coming in and driven over from Juba. Jerome spent the entire time being really worried because with the Pajero dead, there was absolutely no way to pick Ed and Teddy up from Juba, but George and I tried to reassure him that Ed is resourceful and we could figure something out. As it turned out, Father Vuni was going to England so he lent us his car and driver and Jerome and George headed off to Juba to pick up Ed.
Neesha and I spent a lot of time doing nothing. Father Amyio showed up just in time for lunch (I swear people here time their visits to coincide with meals) so we visited with him and talked about Nimule, and I took a brief nap and played solitare and then around 6 they all pulled up and everything was chaotic.
Of course the first thing Ed did was strip down to a towel and go try and find cell phone reception in the middle of the compound. Teddy was so excited that he was everywhere at once. He has taken to following me or Neesha around like a lost puppy (typically me-although he taught Neesha to play Fluxx which was hilarious as she kept losing and he was delighted about it). We went downtown to get rope and beer (Ed gave me 100 SPs-a huge amount of money considering that its for alcohol and string.) and we gave Beatrice a ride home, so I got to hold Innocent in the backseat with me and Jerome made faces at him to get him to giggle. It was pretty adorable.
I was dressed in my slut African skirt (it somehow became both too short and too slit to the thigh-I’m not sure how that happened) and a really dirty white tee-shirt, and I hadn’t showered in days, and I was carrying a little black baby around. Needless to say I looked beyond bizarre and people were staring at me like I was an alien as we walked around trying to find rope. Jerome bought Neesha some roasted corn and gave me a bite (warm and roasty tasting, but not as sweet as I for some reason thought it would be). Then we dropped off Beatrice and I carried Innocent and she dashed off to get bread I think, and a chair materialized out of no where, so I sat down. Innocent was instantly incredibly unhappy that I was holding him and started fussing. I met Beatrice’s first born, a two-year old named Janet who was very quiet and very sweet. Jerome got impatient in the car but it was so nice to just sit there with her family, and see what her life was like.
The next day was, as I called it, our Last Day of Rest. It was a Sunday, and started pretty slowly. Teddy and I read books on the floor of the porch while it poured rain. We got cold after a bit so we swaddled ourselves in towels. It was so calming to just sit and watch the rain and be outside but dry. Love it.
George woke up and suddenly believed that I was useless, not a team player, and a horrible person-facts which he commenced to tell Ed and Teddy the second I wasn’t in the room. Unfortunately for him, I walked into the room mid-tirade and yelled at him, which, in his eyes, proved his point and in my eyes, solidified my belief that he his currently being an asshole. I know its hard for him to have Ed back here-he is getting much less rest for one thing-but periodically he acts incredibly childishly and aggressively, and I don’t have the time or patience for it. We waver back and forth between being on good terms and not, but for the most part I just keep away from him. I have a much better time sitting by the kitchen, helping Abby and Beatrice cook, playing with Innocent, helping set things up for meals and visiting with the men that wander by. (I met Abby’s brothers-so much family resemblance!) We gave Lucy and Abby their presents from Mary Liz, which both of them loved and have been wearing everywhere (they are crocheted bags). They want her email so they can send her a thank you (I’ll give it to them soon Mary Liz, I promise).
George and Ed spent the whole day hooking up this inverter thingy so that we can get internet and power even when the generator isn’t on. I’m wondering why we didn’t have this from the start, but I’m not asking, since Ed is really on edge lately, and views any conversation not directed towards work as a waste of time. We were in the car going for a meeting with the Minister of Health (which I inadvertently keep calling the Minister of Magic because that’s what happens when you listen to Harry Potter book on tapes at night) and laughing and having a good time and he snapped at us that we needed to get serious, prompting me to explain to him that we would be serious in the meeting, and that he was where fun goes to die. It got him to laugh but didn’t distract him much.
We took one trip to town the other day which was mildly successful for everyone but me. I went to SSRRC to see Rex, who was having a funeral, so then I walked over to the Minister of Health’s office to find Neesha and Ed (couldn’t) so then I walked down to the Bishop’s house to wait for Teddy, George, Jerome and Ida (Fr. Vuni’s driver), feeling like I was strutting down the street naked the entire time because of how many stares I was attracting. Halfway there I met up with Father Andrew in his shelter for life car and his boss, so we made a dinner date at the Kenyatti Club for Wednesday night at seven-with all of us and Rex and his wife and daughter. As it turned out, making that dinner date was the only successful thing I did.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of boredom and the only thing I remember clearly is the light spilling off the computer screen and the periodic whurr of the generator cranking on. Father Amyio left to go to Juba and then Nairobi, and a man named Ben showed up asking for help with his impounded motorcycle, but other than that not much went on.
Some boys from Uganda arrived the next morning, the Kitigum boys if you listen to Jerome, and they were lots of fun to hang out with. The head guy, Chris Kidega, is a contractor for the diocese and really nice. His friends Sam and Bosco (I love that his name is Bosco) were really nice too, and the four of us sat around under the thorn tree next to my room, drinking beers (their treat) and talking about all types of things-America, Uganda, life in Africa, etc. Chris was the one who helped out Ben the motorcycle guy, or at least attempted to-he said it was just for me, that given the option he wouldn’t have. Considering he had known me for about a day, I was flattered. Which brings me to something that I’ve noticed. I know earlier I bitched and moaned about how everyone is constantly asking asking asking for things. It took me until now to realize they are also always giving. Chris helped out a complete stranger because I asked him to. Joseph from Kimatong brought me two huge garnets to make into earrings after he mentioned they were in the rivers and I said that was amazing (I never got them-he had to leave before he gave them to me, but I think that is beyond the point). This is a man who knew me for maybe a total of four hours. Giving away garnets, that he could easily sell for a big profit, just because I said garnets were beautiful. Junior and Americano, two guys that work over in the construction site next door, printed out photos they took for me, so I could remember them. Margaret from Loki sent me this incredibly beautiful Kenyan dress and two Kenyan Katanga shirts-probably some of the most beautiful clothing I’ve seen since I’ve been here-for nothing! Just as a present. Just because when she was in Torit I told her how lovely and elegant she looked in her dress. She sent it all the way up to Torit from Kenya with the man who takes care of the water purification for the diocese. The tailor who is currently making skirts for me and Neesha and a shirt for George only charged us 10 SP per item-when normally it costs about 55 SP for one. Rex is treating us to machomo-roasted goat-tommorow (Saturday) night just for fun. The generosity here is unbelievable. I know that Sudanese hospitality is legendary, but the amount of giving, just to make someone happy, not even as an obligation, has blown me away. I don’t have any idea how to say thank you. I don’t have any idea what warrants that type of gift.

Jerome’s birthday was the 28th-we gave him beers but that was about it. I’m hoping before we leave we can give him something to really remember us by. Most of Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday was spent fixing up the Pajero. We finally found a mechanic who would help us put in the gasket and the tube thing that we needed, and Jerome, Teddy, Mechanic Man, and Ida spent literally the entire day of Wednesday taking apart the engine piece by piece. Also on Wednesday, we got the first downpour we’ve had in Torit during the day-a soaking torrent of rain that, incidentally, coincided with Bishop Paride’s visit. With him, he brought Mark Amoko (my favorite! His wife Edith is about to have a baby and he said if it was a girl they would name it Emma-I am not holding my breath but that’s still very sweet), Grace (his niece), Mary (they picked her up from town), two sisters (Sarah and Santa) and an entire troop of Toposa women and girls. The Toposa didn’t speak any English, but I remembered two words (Mata-hello, and Ajok-good/beautiful) which got me through. So while Neesha was squealing over Bishop Paride (she loves him so much), I went over to the Toposa standing awkwardly next to their truck and started saying hello. The first girl I greeted was maybe 9 or 10, and so pretty, with this open face and small sweet smile. I held her hand while I said hi to everyone else, and then I saw a little baby (I thought it was a girl-it was maybe one and half years old) so who was getting wet, so I picked her (turned out to be him) up and carried him around. He sat there on my hip, looking slightly perplexed, very curious, and not at all alarmed. He had the biggest eyes you have ever seen-they seemed to take up his whole face. Anyway while I was saying hi and trying to communicate even a little, the woman to my right blew a shrill whistle and all of a sudden I was being ushered along by this current of moving, swaying, singing, stomping women. They marched over to where everyone else was standing around in under the awning of the office, and danced and jumped and twirled and sang. It was so beautiful. Bishop Paride asked them if they would change into their special clothes and dance for us again, so I let them into my room (I think they spent a fair amount of time inspecting things like Ipods, computers, hair brushes and books)-all 15 of them. I hung out outside with the baby who I wrapped up in my sweater so he wouldn’t be cold. They smelled a bit like sour cows milk-which makes sense considering they are cattle keeping and milk is one of the main staples of their diet. Their skirts were made out of tanned skins-tanned with oils that apparently go rancid after a bit, leaving a very specific and pungent smell which I don’t mind (its lingering in our room)- but on the front of the skirts they beaded the entire thing. While they were inside, Lucy brought chairs and tables, and we laid out tea and some fried bread so everyone could eat, and it was just like a little party. Until everyone came over, the girls practiced their dance around my chair, and in the off time, stroked my hair, completely taken aback by it.
Their dance, when they finally got around to it, was one of the most incredible things I think I’ve ever watched. They were all in pink shirts (substitutes for bare breasts I think) and green beaded cow hide skirts, but their jewelry was the most incredible part. They had thick bands of beads wrapped around their waists, one after another, each different bands of colors. Their earrings were beaded in strings, they had beads wrapped around their heads, beads draped over their necks-not just colored beads but black and white ceramic beads, red and yellow plastic beads, every color and strand and thickness imaginable. Metal brass colored wire-thick, as thick as the straps on my flip flops-wrapped and coiled around their biceps, wrists, and ankles. Metal rings curled around their fingers. Studs stood out in their noses. One of them carried an arched wooden whip with brass bands around it. Some had bells around their calves or thighs. All of them had raised scars across their faces, their bellies, their arms and legs, and down their backs. Some scars arched around their hairline, some speckled their cheeks like freckles, some fanned away from their belly buttons or twisted and curved across the top of their backs. One girl who was maybe 13 touched my face as if surprised I didn’t have them, but when Grace tried to lift up her pink tee shirt to show me her belt of beads, she pulled it down looking shy about her belly scars. I loved them though I didn’t know how to tell her that. I think they look so gorgeous and unique. That girl became my good friend, along with two other of her friends. The four of us sat around after they danced, me perched on the arm of a plastic chair that the 13 year old was sitting in, while she played with my hair and touched my skin and giggled. When they left, they all hugged me good bye and I told them I would come up and visit them in Kuron which lit up their faces with smiles.
The dance itself was simple but powerful. They stomped and jumped and blew wooden whistles around their necks and sang and chanted and everyone there filmed them in some capacity or another (except me, because my memory ran out, of course) and they moved up and down the narrow shade of the porch like one solid entity. I wont even try to describe it, I’ll just post the videos of it, but suffice it to say that I cannot wait to go to Kuron next summer and visit them all. I’ll learn a lot more Toposa before that happens.
Mark brought me a Kikuyu bag from Kenya-its yellow and brown and orange and pink and light blue and it’s the nicest bag. He brought one for Neesha too-hers is brown and woven with a blue, green canvas part as the cover. Its smaller, because, as he explained it, she is smaller.
Once they left (it was a brief stopover on the way to Juba for the Silver Jubilee), we didn’t actually get much done. How could you after a show like that?
Jerome and Ida and Teddy and Neesha and I had the world’s worst trip to the market on a hunt for a tailor. First I fell in a puddle and dropped some of my cloth and both Teddy and Jerome laughed at me and Ida almost ran me over and in my raincoat I looked like a small child being an idiot. Then we got there and parked and it became instantly clear that Jerome had absolutely no idea where he was going. He led us through twisted, muddy alleys turning this way and that way, following, I’m pretty sure, the faint whurr of a sewing machine that periodically rose up from one of the tin shacks. Being petrified of falling into the muck yet again, I was going very slowly and getting grumpy, which Teddy thought was hilarious. Ultimately we admitted defeat and decided to come back later. This was so useless probably because it was Hero’s Day-the memorial for the day John Garang died, so no one was doing anything.
That night, after wrestling with the Pajero for what seemed like hours, we went down to the Kenyatti Club to meet up with Rex and Father Andrew and Rex’s wife and some of his friends for dinner. We got tons of beers and what looked to be an entire goat-roasted-and some oogali and chapatti and onions. Neesha, poor thing, had to eat chapatti and onions, but she chatted with Jerome the whole night and seemed to do fine. I rediscovered how much I love roasted goat. Mochoma. So delicious. Especially when you fold it into a piece of chapatti and smother it with onions. Oh my.
Dinner was lots of fun and Rex told us all these stories about Ranger training and being a badass and I confirmed that next summer he is teaching me lots of fun ways to kill people (kidding) and be stealthy and really cool. He confirmed that his puppies (Tiger and Jamoose!-Jamoose means buffalo but I pretty much want to name my next dog that) have been vaccinated for everything-he’s so good!-so I can play with them. All in all, a good night.
Thursday was pretty uneventful. I spent much of my time sneaking away from work to be able to stick my head into the hood of the car and watch them fix it. I find it so much more interesting. I played with Innocent, who completely recognizes me now. I even helped give him a bath (so cute! He was just sitting in his little bucket splashing around, and then he tried to stand and started gumming my kneecap). I took an incredibly unhelpful trip downtown to SSRRC and the local government office-both of which ended up not being helpful, although Gloria from Nimule is now working for Rex at SSRRC which I was so happy to see because she deserves it and Rex is a good boss. Neesha, Abby, Jerome and I went into town in hopes of finding a tailor, again, and this time found one, a delicate man named Ken. Poor Ken. We overloaded him with stuff. He is making three skirts and a shirt for me, three skirts for Neesha, and a skirt and a shirt for George. The skirt is for George’s girlfriend, and we had to spend about 30 minutes stopping random women in the market and evaluating whether his girlfriend was thinner than them or not because all George gave us to go on was “She is a size two, whatever that means.” Ken was appalled (and actually so was Jerome) that George couldn’t accurately visualize his girlfriend’s body. “Don’t you touch her?!” he asked, incredulously. George shrugged. So-about five women later, we had an approximate size, though we had disgusted Ken with our inability to translate “size two” into something meaningful for a Sudanese person.
The problem with getting skirts made with Neesha is that she is such the opposite side of the spectrum from me that I look huge in comparison. While he was measuring me, he wrapped his tape around my hips. He looked up and smiled at me. “Very Fat!” he proclaimed. I huffed-I’m curvy! And he just laughed as if to say “sure, tell yourself that” but I wasn’t really bothered by it because to hell with it, I’m going to look damn fine in these skirts. Neesha laughed, until he told her she was like a child. Then she huffed. So it was ok. Jerome was off getting a beer, or so we thought. In actuality, when we left the tailors to go get food in the market (and I went jewelry shopping, sorry, I cant help it) he materialized out of nowhere and pounced on us-claiming he smelled us from far away and knew where to come. I have a feeling that our blindingly white skin and extremely American voices probably played a role in it, but we let him pretend. I bought some jewelry and some seasonings so I can cook like a Sudanese person when I get back home and then we headed back to the compound.