New Professional Titles: 3-210817

Residency Status

The only music we carried with us when we left the US was
one Dinka music and two Christmas music CDs: BB King and Vince Guaraldi.
Feeling a bit blue and trying to keep up with writing, I played BB King and
tried to remember what I wanted to share with y’all before I sunk into a funk.
I opened my African journal (I’ve been writing in a journal since I was 17) and
read the quote above my last entry:

“I’ve decided to have a happy day & be grateful for the
good things that have happened to me.” – Carole Joy

With a more upbeat attitude – amazing how “Backdoor Santa”
can get your spirits up – and feeling a bit accomplished, I set out with
Michael to the immigration department to pick up my South Sudanese residency
card.

While riding the short distance to the immigration office, I
could hear BB King playing Lucille and thinking, “I used to live in Memphis and
they changed 2^nd Street to BB King Boulevard!” Anxious and smiling
along the way, I also wondered if my new residency status would bring me good
fortune.

When we arrived at the immigration office, we had to go
through an absurd amount of literal back-and-forth between offices:

Pay for paperwork in one office
Get a stamp and pay for that too in different office
Walk around the corner for fingerprinting in an office where there was no actual fingerprinting equipment
Have all documents scanned in another office
Go back to the “fingerprinting” office and get asked questions about who approved all the completed and paid for paperwork
Wait…wait…wait…wait – lunchtime happened in
between
Go get fingerprinted in the office next door to the office where all the paperwork was scanned

Two and a half hours later….my passport and residency card were ready and I’d been put into the South Sudan government system as a
housewife. HOUSE WIFE!!

“Sorry, because you don’t actually hold a job here in South
Sudan and because you are here with your husband who is a citizen, we have to
input you as a housewife.”

Michael and I couldn’t help but crack up until tear welled up in our eyes. We thought how ironic that without jobs and without a home, I was made a housewife – officially.

Thank you Carole Joy and BB King for getting my day started!

After leaving the immigration office, we stopped by one of Juba’s “top universities” to
pay a visit to The Chairman, one of Michael’s relatives. The visit was amazing! We were introduced to The Chairman,
founder of the university, and invited to his office.

Once inside his office, we had a chat and I produced both
our resumes. Upon reviewing mine, The Chairman’s eyes lit up and he began
talks of me joining the team. He took us around the campus, a 2-story indoor
campus, and had us meet the head of HR, the head of Academic Affairs, and the
Vice Chancellor. We saw a number of classrooms, the library, and the lounge
where the professors worked. The whole time, The Chairman shared information
about the school: its history as well as its future. Michael and I were
impressed.

Back in The Chairman’s office, we sat as he further
discussed plans of my joining the team. We had a very formal-like meeting with
HR, Academic Affairs, Vice Chancellor, and two other men. And upon hearing the head of HR ask if I’d really taught at the college level and my responding yes, The Chairman began calling me “Prof” – my second title of the day.

Things were definitely
moving fast and in my favor. All of the gentlemen had a copy of my resume in
hand and the Vice Chancellor collected copies of my undergrad and graduate
degrees. We were all feeling quite ecstatic. I wrote our local number on all of
the resumes and we were then taken to lunch by The Chairman. After lunch and
being dropped back at our hotel, he said that he would call us with an update
soon.So the wait was on.

Maybe my residency status change was bringing good fortune
after all.

Reading & Waiting in the Rain

Before we left Kampala, Uganda, we stopped by a bookstore
and I bought a book: Moses Isegawa’s “Abyssinian Chronicles”. I had no idea how
good the book would be at the time but realized I’d found a gem after reading the opening sentence:

“Three final images flashed across Serenity’s mind as he disappeared into the jaws of the colossal crocodile: a rotting buffalo with rivers of maggots and armies of flies emanating from its cavities; the aunt of his missing wife, who was also his longtime lover; and the mysterious woman who had cured his childhood obsession with tall women.”

The book has been so good that I’ve begun to sit out in the rain and read until I forget the time I’ve spent. So, while waiting to hear from The Chairman, I did just that.

“Abyssinian Chronicles” is a story about the coming of age of a young Ugandan
boy as well as of the country of Uganda and similar to Salman Rushdie’s “Midnight’s
Children”, it has become a book that I have found difficult to put down so, I read for a while until I noticed that my phone had not rung and it was past 3pm. I began to worry and my phone was also running out of airtime.

I sent Michael to purchase airtime at the shop across the street from the hotel. I wrote the number on a piece of paper and waited to receive a text message from MTN stating that my airtime had been “topped off”. I was still waiting for the text when Michael returned. I looked at the number of the paper and realized that I’d transposed two digits. But before I realized my error, Achut had taken the piece of paper and gone off to find a different MTN kiosk to pay for more airtime.

Achut had just walked off when the phone rang. Uncle Arkangelou wanted to know why we’d not been answering the phone because The Chairman had been trying to call since morning! Oh no! I’d written the wrong number on all the resumes too. Michael’s “idiot wife” was feeling much like Tony’s sister “Jackass Joe” and keeping with his brother-in-law’s ways, he spoke to me in a gruff tone and the tears began to fall. I was feeling miserable because Achut had gone off with the wrong number and she was also suffering with malaria and it was over 90 degrees.

By the time Achut returned, Michael had already gone to the shop across the street and bought the airtime. I apologized for sending her out with the wrong information and finally got a chance to speak with The Chairman. He wanted to interview me Thursday morning at 9am.

The wait was over and I was feeling a little better about the end-of-day good news.

House Search –
Walking Under the Stars

We were finally able to get out of our small area of town
and begin looking for a more permanent place to call home. We drove to four
different places in search of a house or apartment. The only problem was that all the places were asking for a rent higher than what we’d been paying back in Memphis. A 2 bedroom/1 bathroom in Juba can go for as high as $3200! Imagine paying first world rent prices in a third world country.

Although we were tempted by the spot the Ethiopian men had: marble floors, tiled bathrooms & kitchen, and 24 hour electricity and WiFi all for $2700 per month – we knew that it was way out of our league. Did I mention that we don’t have jobs yet? And I’m sure that you’re wondering why is rent so high…well here is how I see it:

The main reason for such high rent prices is due to the number of NGOs in the area like the UN, World Food Program, and Doctors without Borders. They are able to pay whatever the hotels and apartment landlords ask because the money being spent on housing does not come out of their paychecks. Also the existence of government oversight such as rent control is unheard of in Juba. Former military as well as current government officials own the buildings and/or the land but, foreigners manage them. The Chinese, Lebanese, and Ethiopians are all making loads of money in Juba while regular citizens find it difficult to pay for a descent meal on a daily basis. A problem I’m not here to solve.

Needless to say, we did not find a place anywhere near the 4000ssp ($25 per night) that we’ve been paying since we got here. Feeling a bit deflated, we decided to go for a walk and talk about why we were in Juba. But first, we had to eat at a South Sudanese owned hotel but Ethiopian run restaurant. The food was good and far more safer than the street food we’d had days before.

On the walk back from the Ethiopian restaurant (about a quarter mile or so), I looked up and
almost fell down. Night was upon us and for the first time since we’d been in Juba, the evening skies were clear. There were so many stars! And there were no airplanes nor blinking city lights to obstruct the view. It was beautifully humbling to simply see the work of God.

Back at the Top University

At 7:30am, I was up trying to figure out what to wear for my 9am interview. By 8am, we’d called our driver to come get us and take us back to the university. And being the American that I am, I was there at 8:55am. We were promptly told that The Chairman was not on site yet and were escorted to his office where we waited.

9:30am rolled around; no Chairman. 10am came and the head of HR sat with us to pass time. We discussed the goings on in Juba and the South Sudanese government’s call for “National Dialogue” for the building of peace. We also discussed the educational differences and needs of young people in south Sudan and before I knew it, it was 11:30am and still no Chairman.

It was approaching lunchtime when The Chairman walked in. He came in talking on the phone and finally addressed me and Michael. Apparently, he’d been at some meeting with government officials trying to promote his institution. Feeling weary, frustrated, and hungry, I became a tad angry when I realized that what I’d prepared for was not an interview at all. The Chairman rehashed some of his sentiments from Monday as well as give me a brief history of South Sudan.

At some point, he finally mentioned how he would like to have me come on board and possibly become the DVC – Deputy Vice Chancellor of Academic Affairs. WOW! That was a mouthful. And all with limited to no pay but, the prospect/promise of being able to move in to the place he owns because we “have been paying too much for rent”.

Again, we were taken out to lunch and upon walking into the restaurant and seeing some of his colleagues, he introduced me as Starford’s new DVC. Before our meal could come, he walked me through all the things he would have me do:

Provide support to HR and help manage
Provide support to Academic Affairs and help manage
Provide support to the current Vice Chancellor on a technical level and eventually have his job
Get in touch with my contacts in the US (Barack Obama and Oprah) and get funding

At this point, I almost spit out my food. It’s truly sad when people in developing countries see Americans as geese who lay golden eggs. He labored on with the last point for a long time and it dawned on me that he really only wanted me on his team for money.

“You can write grants and get funding for your position.”

The flattery from Monday was now sounding more like bribery and I was not impressed. In fact, after being held hostage all day, I told Michael that this would not work. We almost began to have a heated debate about the sincerity of his countryman but, I closed my mouth and sat in silence for the rest of the evening.

Back at Starford
Again

Knowing not to get on campus as early as I had the day
before, I arrived with Michael at 10:50am and as before, The Chairman was not
on site. Feeling more resolute in my silence, I brought “Abyssinian Chronicles” with me and read while waiting.

Unlike the previous day, we did not sit and wait as long but, it was still more than an hour of waiting. Breaking my silence, I asked Michael the best way to get out of being held captive again. His response was, “Let him know that you have some other business to take care of today.” Sweet! When The Chairman walked into his office, I let him know that “I had other business to attend to” and he let me know that the contract was almost ready.

The Chairman had someone (maybe in HR) draw up a typo-infested contract and presented it to me with a blank line where a salary was to be. I asked him about the salary and he launched into a “well you know the economy is really bad these days…and the government has not been paying people actually”. So I asked directly, “So, you don’t plan on paying me at all?” To which he replied, “Once you get funding going, I will be able to pay you – lump sum. Also, this contract is just for your review right now.”

So, this guy had me sit for three days, wait for a crappy contract, and offer me a huge title with no pay? Seriously, if it weren’t for trying to be a “good African wife”, I would have cursed him out with all the language my Cora has taught me. Instead, I sat silently and prayed a prayer, “Lord, hold my tongue.” And just like that, I was silent and feeling cool, calm, and collected.

Afterward, he produced a letter for the bank stating that I was being employed by Starford and that I should be allowed to open a bank account. Before kidnapping us for lunch, I pressed the issue of needing to open a bank account in order to pay for and receive my crate. So instead of going to lunch, he escorted us to Stanbic Bank where I almost cursed the customer service representative out.

First off, when Abraham saw us enter the bank, he had a smirk on his face as if to say, “These two again.”

Second, when The Chairman present the letter of recommendation regarding my employment, Abraham quickly noted that there was no salary indicated in the statement.

Third, after being convinced that there would be a salary and that we should be allowed to open an account, Abraham present us with the application and began to walk away stating, “You come back on Monday and we finish then.”

Wait…what?! “Why come back Monday when I can read and write and complete the form now?” – I thought and said this at the same time. His response was that it would not be able to get finished until then or 2-3 days afterward and then he walked off. I was furious.

Just then, I received a message from Bol Ring. He worked upstairs and I was glad to know that he was actually in the building. The three of us proceeded up stairs to check in with Bol. Upon entering his office, I launched into a rant about my experience down stairs with Abraham. Bol, with a smile on his face, shared the steps to opening an account and assured me that he had to go through the same process. All I wanted to know was, “Why didn’t Abraham take the time to explain it to me?”

During our 20 minutes in Bol’s office, I was able to get the crate paid for electronically, Bol grilled The Chairman on the future of his school, and Michael and I landed on the same page about everything with a single glance.

When we got home that evening, after yet another late lunch with The Chairman, Michael and I talked about the pros and cons of working for free with a huge title. We also discussed why working for The Chairman would take us away from what we were supposed to be focused on now that the crate was surely on its way to Mombasa. In the middle of our conversation, the phone rang and it was Uncle Arkangelou. He wanted to know what happened but, by the cheekiness in his voice, I could tell that he already knew and had stayed out of our way while we learned a lesson on our own.

It was good to know that what we were both thinking was being confirmed by one of our elders. We both had a restful night and agreed on what our next step would be.

University of Juba

We had been advised on a couple of occasions to visit the
University of Juba so, with not much to do on a Saturday morning, we decided to
go see it. We called our driver, Taban, and asked him to take us across town. Once we arrived, Michael and I could not agree on whether to have him go or wait for us to finish. Eventually, due to the heat, we had him leave and decided that we could find our way back to the hotel later.

We were dropped off at the Manute Bol / Luol Deng Basketball Court. There was a large number of young men sitting on the ground listening to what was obviously their coach. Michael was quickly greeted by a tall older gentleman who walked us over to the office; a make-shift space made from a used shipment container.

The three young men inside immediately apologized for the temperature and the lack of electricity. We were completely unfazed and I let them know that it was not my first time in South Sudan. It’s amazing how people don’t understand the concept of similar weather patterns around the world. I found myself explaining that it get just as hot where I come from.

Anyway, after exchanging traditional pleasantries, the leader of the young men began to share the work that goes on at the basketball court. They host between 50 – 75 young men who come to play on a weekly basis. While with the coaches, the young men learn about health and hygiene and that they are still in need of athletic gear for men as well as women. We learned that the shoes that are donated usually come in sizes that are too large for the players. Even though South Sudanese grow tall, their feet are generally “normal” size…meaning, instead of needing 12, 13, 14 shoes, they need 10, 11, 12.

The leader of the group also let us know that he would love to have someone work with the young men in the area of counseling. Many of the guys where young soldiers and are now possibly suffering with PTSD. They tend to get into fights immediately after being fouled on the court and don’t accept apologies well. So, it would be helpful to have someone with a child psychology or child development background to work with both the players as well as the coaches. So while there is a lot of good going on, we learned that there is more that can be done.

Tired of talking about basketball; I decided to take a walk around the campus. Of course, I found myself in the Education Department chatting with the Dean and Deputy Dean. From the looks of the facility and the number of students present on a Saturday, I was impressed. I am looking forward to going back and learning more about possible collaborating with the Ed Team.

By the time we had finished our visit, I realized that Taban could have waited the hour we took. We called him for a ride but, he was not available. We called Uncle Phillip, Uncle Arkangelou, my good friend Amoko, and the guy we’re thinking about buying a car from, Deng. No one was available! Then it dawned on me…”It’s Saturday and all their cars are probably in line for fuel (there’s a shortage) with some young man burning up under the Juba sky.”

We eventually decide to walk and find a taxi. Well, not exactly a taxi but a motor rickshaw similar to the one pictured below. We needed to ride about 1.5 miles back to our hotel and the entire ride I prayed (and I’m sure Michael did too) for the thing to hold up at least until we got home! It only cost us 300ssp or about $2 for the ride but, our lives were definitely worth more.

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We made it back in one piece and possibly with a chipped tooth or two! We also laughed at the fact that everyone who told us to call if “ever in need” where unavailable that day. In total, we logged about 2.5 miles of walking and had a good laugh.

Driving in South
Sudan

Keeping my promise from last week, I did get up early and go to church. I’m sure that Eliska (my godmother), Dorothy (my minister/evangelist aunt), and all the religious folk back in Memphis would be proud of me! I attended Mission Pentecostal Church with Mary, one of the hotel workers.

I was foolish to think that she would actually come to the hotel to pick me up in a car she didn’t have or in a taxi she couldn’t afford. So when I spoke with her over the phone, she said, “You come by boda-boda.” and with my polka-dot dress and black heels, I walked out of the hotel gate in search of the nearest driver to take me to church; all while Michael was sleeping.

God being good as usual had me walk not 100 feet out of the gate before finding the first boda-boda driver. the man was happy to charge me 300ssp for the 3 mile ride across town to the tiny mud church. I tucked my dress in every crevice available and straddled the bike (a very unladylike thing to do) before he took off. Most of the women who ride on a boda-boda sit sideways, legs crossed, and pocket book pulled tight to their bosoms. I was not having anything to do with being prissy! I wanted to get to church and back to the hotel without being killed or maimed.

Church was good. Praise and worship lasted a full hour and the sermon another hour. The minister spoke about the Kingdom of God and how it will be established here on earth. I felt like a complete blasphemer the whole time because in my mind, I was thinking, “Who really cares about this stuff when the people of South Sudan are walking around in raw sewage, eating one meal a day, and watching all their country’s wealth be stolen and sent to far off lands that they’ll never see? Why are preachers still talking about heaven and the after life?” Anyway, I digress, I enjoyed my time and was happy to have kept my word to Mary.

On the ride home, I recorded a short clip and then I told Michael that I disobeyed his wishes and rode what my daddy used to call a “death trap” to church. I figured, since I was going to pray for others and spend some time with the Lord, he would spare me this one time.

After my ride back to the hotel, I enjoyed my typical breakfast of champions; an ice cold Tusker. I shared my boda-boda experience with Michael, changed clothes and set out to find Achut. I walked around the corner to her place and waited for her to finish getting dressed so we could go to the market place.

We couldn’t find a mini-bus taxi fast enough (the head has turned me two shades darker than I was before leaving the States) so, we got a motor rickshaw. Once we arrived at Konyokonyo, another outdoor flea market-style shopping area, we began looking at everything that was up for sale: knives, pots, pans, chickens, fruits, vegetables, underwear…you name it and it can be found at Konykonyo.

I was able to stop into the shops owned by West Africans and spy the printed textiles I love so much. I was also able to get a sense of where to buy the best food items for cooking once we get our own spot. While searching for some fresh fruit, I saw a woman about to butcher a live chicken in the middle of the market. She commenced to sharpening her knife on an outcropped stone but, I took the knife from her and picked up a better stone and showed her how I’d sharpen the knife. Another women sitting nearby and weaving a basket looked at the lady with disgust as she prepared to kill the chicken where people were walking.

I left the chicken killing lady and found some super sweet pineapple and watermelon for sale out of a wheel-barrel. I told Achut that I was also looking for mangoes and avocados so she took me to the furthest end of the market where there was much much more fruits and vegetables for sale. I bought two ginormous avocados but, when I began to talk with the mango/lime vendor, she had an attitude. It was then I realized why some people are more successful than others. Customer services is everything!

We left Konyokonyo with a bag full of fruit and made our way back to the hotel on a different motor rickshaw. The driver was from Kenya or Uganda and had an excellent grasp of English so, instead of trying to make Dinka baby talk with Achut, I chatted with the guy for the entire ride. He shared a lot about how to drive in South Sudan and found it funny that I knew so much about driving. Which leads me to the last part of the day.

After making it back to the hotel, Uncle Arkangelou stopped by and picked us up. He wanted to show us more of Juba partly because we’d been stranded the day before and partly because he was bored and tired of driving his Toyota Land Cruiser. “MonMalou, you’re an American and I know you know how to drive a stick shift so, come on…you drive!” I’d been promoted to Driver!

I could not say no and jumped at the opportunity to feel the wind blow through my hair. I was able to handle the vehicle just like my daddy taught me and never once did the engine stall. We were cruising around Juba and I was the driver! Feeling proud of my skills and happy to be out and about, I found myself wishing there were a radio so I could blast Smokey Robinson’s “Cruising Together”.

We visited Nickola Bol’s wife, stopped by a house Uncle is looking to rent, went back to the Konyokonyo area for a few items, and landed at Mango Camp; a riverside cafe. The music blasted from the disco-tech and kids as young as ten where on the dance floor shaking their groove-thangs! Then I heard…”panda, panda, panda, panda” and I could not help but show them a few of my own moves to a song I once despised! Thank you ShooShoo for helping me learn how to “cut it”!

Partying with the kids, taking in the view from the river, and doing all that driving had us fairly tired. We eventually found our way back to Uncle’s place where he poured me a glass of wine. I had my fill, we got a ride back to the hotel, and as I lay my head down, I heard Ice Cube’s refrain, “Today was a good day.”