Ticket to Ride

Gach told me to be there at one. I thought the executive director of our implementing partner was finally giving me some time to talk with him about my community mobilization ideas and the work I’ve been doing this week. This, of course, did not pan out. Following our 2:30 arrival and a couple of revolting photos of our impending lunch, the reason for the visit arrived around 3:30; Commander, “the big man” as they called him, of all the military of Upper Nile state (one of the ten states of South Sudan) came. It was unclear to me, as we used our fingers to slop goat, ugali, and breadsticks for lunch, the real reason for our inclusion at the function.


We doted around. I listened to stories of ostrich slaughtering. For the majority of the time, I was one of two women present in the crowd of 20 or 30 guys, half with guns. After having two stucks that morning – we attempted to use the hardtop (landcruiser) despite last night’s rain, and lo and behold, we made it about 50 yards outside the front gates of the compound before getting stuck in the mud, and then had ‘the tow’ stuck subsequently – and a few lengthy planning discussions with both my newly returned education-program officer and new arrival intern Bret, I was getting itchy to leave. I nudged and hinted. Imagine a case of Judy restaurant anxiety to the max extreme. Gach disappeared and returned to make our introductions to the Commander (though we’d been sitting adjacent to each other for what felt like hours at this point). I was presented as an American intern who would be traveling to Ethiopia tomorrow and returning the following week. Jimmy was presented as another great intern who would be traveling to Ethiopia, but onwards and home to Kenya. The commander smiled and wished us well, jesting over the two others sharing names beginning over the letter J. I gave my ubiquitous (at this point) smile and nod. Jimmy beamed. Jimmy’s ‘case’ was finally closed simply with the big man’s word, after being kept in Sudanese-legal-limbo for the past month, being prohibited from leaving and consistently harassed. His crime? Catching an unmarked vehicle – happening to be a military truck of ammunitions – in the background of a photo. Following his subsequent arrest, computer and camera confiscation, and the accusations of espionage, I can see why he’s ready to end this internship and get back to Nairobi. Please note my deserved timidity of street photography these days. Singing Jimmy Mack probably won’t be bringing my buddy back any time soon. Here’s to praying for no rain tonight so that Jimmy can drive me on a quad bike one last time (and so that we don’t travel the 25 kilometer distance to Kuergeng by foot).