The Final Chapter

 

In the middle of the independence celebration in Juba, just after the flag reached the top of the pole and the long fight for independence had officially ended.

I am having a hard time organizing my thoughts and feelings right now.  As I sit on the verandah outside my room in Ilula, Kenya, I feel stuck between many different worlds, not at all in a bad way, but more just an increasingly confusing way.  I have just returned from an extended journey to South Sudan and soon, in less than two weeks now, I will be returning home to the US, but I can’t help but feel wonderfully at peace and ease back here in what has been my second home for the past few years.  There is so much to digest from nearly the past month in Juba, and even more in the weeks and months that lie ahead as I return to life in America and begin school again.  I have continually found one of the most challenging aspects of travel of this nature for myself to just be able to stay present in where I am, who I am with, and what I am doing.  There is constantly so much to reflect on and look forward to that I often am not even aware of what I have at the moment until it passes into the category of reflection, but every once in a while I find myself just laughing at where life has taken me and the situations it has put me in. 

This sign represents the mood of Juba Town very well.  I was told they have forgiven, but not forgotten as they move forward united in their struggle as a new nation.

One of those situations was celebrating independence with all our brothers and sisters in South Sudan just one week ago.   I wish I could find a way to put into words what the energy was like in the build up to independence, and especially in the square on July 9^th, but I am afraid those words do not exist.  The difference in Juba Town just from two months ago when I was there was astounding; the roads and fields had been cleaned up, existing buildings painted an almost uniform white and blue, new buildings constructed, even street lights were being installed.  It was quite clear that the government understood all eyes around the world would be on Juba very soon, and they wanted to make a good impression.  In the end, as observed by a friend of mine who has lived there for some time, it is still a dirty, developing town, so only those of us who had been there prior, a group I can hardly include myself in, would appreciate the drastic change, but it was a great start and their efforts were noticeable and appreciated nonetheless.  The international news and South Sudanese diaspora communities converged on Juba from around the world, making every day an opportunity to meet new and interesting people from nearly every continent.  This was an opportunity I did not waste, walking what must have been 20km per day all over Juba, stopping at different hotels, restaurants, and offices along the way to see who was around and what their stories were.  I heard from many returnees, who had fled their homes on foot, either during or before unannounced and brutal attacks were unleashed, ended up in refugee camps in Ethiopia, Kenya, and Uganda, and somehow survived to make it back home to see a day they dreamed of for years.  There were also those who stayed behind and fought in the bush for anywhere from a few days to years, putting the value of freedom for their people above their own safety and livelihoods.  There were also reporters, journalists, and filmmakers who have covered this situation and countless others around the globe, who were able to offer insight based on their experience.  I have always believed that experience is the best teacher, and I have to say that I could have never learned all I did about this place, these people, and just life in general if I had read every single report and watched every single documentary a million times over.  It was seeing the places and the faces involved, and hearing personal reactions and opinions that really taught me what I learned.  You can easily forget facts or statistics, but you cannot so easily forget experiences that represent those same facts and statistics.

With some new friends I met in Juba.  These guys fled the war years ago and lived in refugee camps and slums for years before returning home to promote peace and youth development through art.

After all the build-up and talk about independence, the day finally came.  We arrived at the Dr. John Garang Mausoleum, the site of the celebration, around 10am and the crowds had already gathered.  We walked into a sea of joy and jubilation, expressed through singing, dancing, chanting, flag waving, and impromptu parading.  I am not sure of the temperature that day, but it was one of the warmest days during our stay, made almost unbearably hot and steamy by the presence of hundreds of thousands of celebrating southerners.  After an hour of strong commitment to a good spot to stand and watch it all unfold, I had to remove myself to get some air in an attempt to avoid fainting, a fate many had already succumb to.  It wasn’t until around 1pm that all the dignitaries had safely arrived and the military parade began, signifying the beginning of the celebration.  The crowds that had dispersed while waiting all came rushing back, and the cheering, flag waving, and unique screaming calls of joy of South Sudanese women reached a new high.  From where we were standing, just on the corner outside of the square, we couldn’t hear anything from the ceremony itself, so after the parade, we found ourselves waiting in silence for the flag to be raised.  Less than an hour later, the flag began its ascent of the tallest, stand-alone flag pole in the square, arousing the crowd to rush the previously blocked off street outside the square.  Of course I went rushing in with them, and found myself in the middle of the most incredible celebration I have ever witnessed.  Screams and cheers and chants filled the air, accompanying the singing of the new national anthem of the Republic of South Sudan, tears ran down faces, and medics carried many overheated and overjoyed unconscious bodies away to safety.  I vicariously felt just an ounce of their pride and emotion as I stood in the middle of it all, feeling that time was standing still and may never start back up again.  I have no idea how long I was there, maybe 10 minutes, maybe an hour, but next thing I knew I was walking dizzyingly away toward the fountain on the corner again.  Only when I saw my party partner for the day, Samuel, did I come to and realize where I had just been and what I had been celebrating.  We walked the hour-long back route to our place, passed by countless celebrators along the way.  We picked up a big bottle of water along the way and took the rest of the afternoon to rehydrate and digest the morning everyone had been waiting months, years, even decades for.

In the midst of the crowd waiting for the flag to be raised and officially become an independent country.

There was more than just waiting for independence and talking with strangers throughout the previous four weeks, during which time I found myself back on the basketball courts in Juba with the local players many times.  When I played with them a couple months ago, I think I was much more aware in the moment of what I was doing, and therefore not able to fully experience it.  This time I found myself lost in the games, aware only of what was happening on the court, shouting instructions and communicating strategy to my teammates, much like I used to years ago when I played competitively.  I wasn’t aware this time, like last time, that everyone who had gathered around the court was watching, wondering, and even laughing at the one white guy on the court.  It wasn’t until the games finished that I noticed that the innumerable obvious differences between me and my teammates and opponents had all melted into just one similarity, self-expression through sport, for the duration of each game.  It didn’t matter how out of my element I was everywhere else, at every other time in South Sudan; all that mattered was that within the confines of that 94-foot-by-50-foot concrete rectangle we were all exactly the same in any and every way that truly matters.  I would never have been able to connect with the guys the way I did if I had simply started a conversation with them on the streets of Juba, or even on the sidelines of the court.  This experiential reminder of the power of sport to bring people together was extremely important for me to be reaffirmed in my commitment to use sport as a platform for community development, and I am now more focused than ever on doing so.

Enjoying a competitive game with some aspiring young basketball players, and now new friends.

So now what?  I am back in Kenya for about two weeks before flying back to my home country for the first time in six months.  Only half of those two weeks will be spent here in Ilula, while the other half will be spent with my good friend, Kigen, in Nairobi and the coast of Kenya.  Both of us need a few days to really relax and unwind from busy schedules before jumping back into more busy schedules, so I am very much looking forward to this time.  Though I am heading back to the states soon, I still have another couple months of moving around and being unsettled ahead of me.  Before I start school in September, I will be in New York for nearly a week to reconnect with friends and former colleagues, in Seattle for nearly another week to do the same, in Salem to finally unpack and spend time with my family, in LA to visit friends and be a part of a wedding of one of my very best friends, in Salem again to soak up some more family time, and finally back up to Seattle to hopefully settle in a place and prepare for the beginning of classes.  As for the week I have here in Ilula, I hope to wrap up everything with the borehole project, making sure everything and everyone is in place for sustained and successful operation of the tree nursery, garden, and fruit trees, but mostly I hope to simply spend time with my wonderful family here.  I arrived back here a few nights ago, exhausted from the stay in Juba and the journey back, but as soon as the kids heard my voice and excitedly ran to hug me, I felt rejuvenated and very much at peace in my home.  That is what I want the next week to be all about, which I don’t imagine will be much of a problem. 

Hanging out with our neighbors in our compound in Juba.  These guys are from all over the place and have all converged on Juba searching for a better life with opportunities for employment.

I will try to write again before I leave, but if I fail to do so, and if this is the last you will hear from me in Africa, let me just convey my most sincere appreciation for joining me on this journey.  I hope you have enjoyed it and learned even 1% of what I have.  Without each and every one of you, this journey either would not have been possible or wouldn’t have been worth it.  To those of you who have financially supported me and my vision, I can’t thank you enough, and I hope you have seen a return that has made your investment in me and the people of Ilula worth it.  To those of you who have followed along and encouraged me in any number of ways, that means more to me than you know.  Being physically alone on this journey for the most part and facing some of the challenges I faced, I know there is no way I could have stood up time after time and been a part of all I was without knowing you were all right there with me, rooting for me and these people.  This journey, which has taken me more than 25,000 miles, put me on three continents, in 6 countries and countless towns and villages, and challenged me in ways I have never been before, has been exhausting and invigorating throughout.  I knew, as I did three years ago when I set out on my first journey of this nature, that I was intentionally putting myself in situations that I simply did not have the strength, stamina, or wisdom to handle on my own.  I would need more of it all from somewhere, and I always got it at just the right time in just the right way.  I am convinced that God’s preferred mode of intervention is through people, so, whether you believe in Him or not, thank you all for being that vehicle for Him to work through.  We are made to live together and thrive in community, and I hope you all feel that we have thrived together with the people of Kenya, Uganda, and South Sudan.  I am beyond excited to get back home and see and hug each one of you, so please send me a message and let me know when and where that can happen.  Otherwise, as always, be good to yourselves and those around you. 

A sign near the airport honoring Dr. John Garang, the former leader of the SPLA and father of the fight for  independence, and a speech he gave shortly after the signing of the CPA, which gave Southerners the right to vote for their independence this year.