art days

It’s good to be able to answer the question “What can I do or bring that another person (another intern?) can not?” with an action that you really enjoy. It’s also really great to feel experiences transforming your understandings, in real time, on a day-to-day basis.

I find it rather amazing that my experiences with Sudanese youth are coming full circle through markers and cameras, despite the fact that I’m a terrible artist. In January of 2003 the youth program coordinator of Refugee Family Services told me that once I began working with refugees I wouldn’t ever stop. New to Atlanta, finding that my new University lacked both fine arts and communications departments, I was seeking some way to get my feet on the ground. I never though a monster-track advert for judging a children’s art contest would lead me to where I am, but as per her predictions (and after two years volunteering as an art teacher, then a year of research looking at refugees’ art and photography as a tool for community building, followed by teaching art in refugee and IDP camps in Uganda), here I am in Sudan teaching art to returning refugees.

Over the past week and a half, I’ve been holding daily sessions with anywhere from 10 to 25 adolescents. The objective of the engagement has evolved in parallel to their expressiveness and excitement. What began as an activity to get me out of the compound for a bit in the afternoon has grown into a support structure for our social marketing agenda for the early-childhood education work and community mobilization ideology.

Self-portraits were the first step in getting these ‘kids’ – some former soldiers, some orphaned, some attending school, all survivors of war and returning refugees – to open up and think about how visuals and pictures can help us share ideas and feelings with other people.

Experience has shown me that it’s best to embarrass myself before expecting others to do the same:






I initially found myself feeling intimidated by the age of these participants – in the past I’ve worked almost exclusively with young people between the ages of 8 and 13. Despite being much closer to me in age – ranging between 15 and 28 – the image quality and sophistication was quite similar to that of previous students. My guess is that extremely limited exposure to visual arts as well as limited participatory involvement in the arts are to blame. The biggest difference however was the sense of humour and intellectual engagement with the workshop’s agenda.





Over the next few days our subject matter evolved. The following assignment was a depiction of our respective experiences of education. For many this meant formal school buildings in Ethiopia, for others, images depicted where they found themselves before being in school, and accordingly, what school/formal education had brought to their life. Following this, we focused on how to represent the ideal school, and what educational institutions should look like. Some of these pictures really impressed me – ranging from students aspiring for masters degrees, which represent the epitome of educational attainment (snarky har har from me on this one), to images of diverse student bodies, indicating a sense of cross-cultural acceptance, unity through the equalizing structure of education, and progress over tribal differences that abound here.

If nothing else, the kids like me and it’s good to make some friends here:






Diversity at school:




We next explored how the community can support the educational development of youth – the crux of my research and interests for my summer stint in Sudan. The images and dialogue, masterfully recorded/transcribed by Bret, were nothing short of awesome; the ideas and vision that these ‘youth’ have is incredible. It’s great when you approach something thinking that you have to explain it, slowly, and repeatedly through haphazard translation, but people actually get it. Like, really, truly, get it.




They told me how the parents must come together and meet to plan how to physically support (build) the schools, provide the food at the schools, and make demands of the government for trained teachers. The images showed people coming together through opportunities like sporting events, which could also serve as a forum to resolve conflicts and disputes. I was told that the community must demand the schools be located close to homes/villages so people can attend (there is only a primary school system here; students aspiring to attend school after grade six must either return to Ethiopia – a financial impossibility for most – or attend secondary school in neighbouring Maiwut town (22 km away) - a logistical impossibility for the others). Some pictures showed the lifestyle before school in which children found themselves sitting and eating mangoes all day; with school to attend for the children, parents must take responsibility for some of the work, such as firewood collection, fishing, digging, to maintain the way of life in the community, that the youth otherwise take responsibility for.

I find myself continually humbled by the simple privilege of education.

This of course has not been problem free. The ever present ‘dependency syndrome’ I’ve written on, a somewhat natural by-product of receiving aid (i.e. living in an environment in which basic necessities - that we in the west tend to turn a blind, unappreciative eye toward – like housing, food, water, pens, soap, glasses, vitamins, can not only be obtained, but are provided for free by the humanitarian community), is making its cruel mark on this project. We’ve stalled for the past 48 hours. The participants took issue with the motive of the program; fear that I’m a researcher not offering remuneration for their service and commitment, concern that this training merits financial compensation, and general confusion as to the purpose of the work, have made me look quite critically at a multitude of factors. We met again today and I explained the voluntary nature on both of our parts, apologetically accepting the poor job of explanation I may have done, trying to justify my position by telling them of the fluid and organic development of the activity. We’re on track for a few more workshops with a big finale in the works.

Stay tuned!

another day in the life

Bret’s recent blog entry gives a lovely visual look at our life here in this compound-o-fun.

Here are a few new snaps from within and around the compound as accouterments:




Below are some neighbours and their homes; I love the decorative effect, seen clearly on the pre-roof-addition new construction, and the innovative (read: oil-can-come-bong) water pipe that Madame was so eager to have photographed:

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Minarets beautifully adorn these tukuls. I don’t know where they come from.



And finally – how I’m really spending my internship:

back to the bush

After a mere 24 hours back in Sudan, Ethiopia already feels light years away. For about an hour I was excited to be back here, happily waving to funny, excitable kids and ladies and goats as we made our parade back into town after a week away. Said excitement faded quite quickly with the news of my grandfather, the (initially) broken generator, today’s rain, irritating co-workers, spotty internet, failed project implementation in our absence, etc etc etc.

The Ethiopian respite ended in a funny fashion as well. Given our arrival mode and timing of travel – overland from Sudan with a local/domestic flight from the town of Gambella into Addis last Sunday evening (when immigration was essentially shut down) – I had some trouble securing a visa. After four days in country an Ethiopian colleague finally agreed it was important for me to get some legal documentation of my presence and took me to the immigration office in downtown Addis. We entered separately; he referred to this as Ethiopian gender sensitivity, haha! We waited in one long line and spoke to one irritated woman. We waited in a second long line, yielding the same results: scribbled Amharic across the back of my visa application, jammed into my full passport (note, must add pages, ASAP). We were shuffled off to the head of immigration, who shouted that he couldn’t believe our story and how could he know that we had in fact asked immigration for visas upon our arrival to Bole International Airport, but had been shooed away. Then he declared our options were detention or deportation (all of this was in Amharic, for the record). We scuffled quickly to the Africa Area office of Save the Children and were told that given Ethiopian sensitivity to these matters the best thing would be to send me (and one other – out of 25 of us - in a similar situation) back to Sudan overland – a three day trip - ASAP, in an SC vehicle.

While a little disturbing, this prickly situation proved to be a relatively great chance to see the resplendently beautiful countryside of Ethiopia. Our driver Salomon turned out to be a former tourist guide and avid bird-watcher – who was accordingly stoked to learn and supportive of my secret bird-nerd/ornithologist streak – and thus gave us key insights into the different towns and areas we passed through on our 800 km journey westward.

I really, really liked Ethiopia. Nearly everyone in the country is gorgeous. As a visitor it’s incredibly cheap - definitely the least expensive country I've ever been to. The roads are beautifully paved. Eating with your hands, and accordingly playing with your food, is obligatory. Addis is cool and breezy and the rains aren't accompanied by a trace of humidity.

It was hard to feel the destituteness and despair within this country, the only African nation boasting a colonialism-free history, but more renowned for starving, fly-swarmed children. Maybe the month in Sudan has hardened me; coming back here makes me wonder if there is anywhere in this world backwards and stuck as South Sudan. For the mean time, I hope you enjoy these pictures of my trip.

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).

“mystery brews interest”

In so many ways Sudan is a mysterious beast of a place. The brewing interests, stewing curiosities, and evolving complexities are forcing me to reevaluate and conceptualize things in new ways. The construction outside of my bedroom that begins at sunrise is ok, serving as an alarm clock, but an alarm clock I don’t really need, as for the first time ever, my body wants to sleep at midnight and wants to wake with the sun. Emerging at meetings caked in mud and grass isn’t a bother, as the bumpy quad-bike ride to reach said destination means a smile-and-wave, street-parade-esque, celebratory procession through town and my ego inflates beyond bother of mud. On the same note, my hair, breasts, and wardrobe have become obsolete markers of my identity, and – given that there are no mirrors here – I am ascribing very little of myself to much more than my ideas, understandings, and ability to transcend (even if only temporarily, thanks) these demarcations. I’m seeing the frog that lives in my bathing quarters as a symphonic accoutrement to the crickets, and the fireflies occasionally trapped in my mosquito net as a bit magical. Shy adolescents are opportunities to create changes – and my colleagues’ incessant, and sometimes annoying, discourse on American politics and the current campaigns as indicators of globalizing progress.

Things are still all types of screwed up, all around me, and I’ve not gone blind. But I’m easing into things, thankfully. Yesterday I visited one of the early-childhood-development centres that SC-USA has “constructed.” I use quotes as the center is little more than the fruits of an individual’s inspiration and Save has merely smacked their proverbial label on the outside. I haven’t seen much other work that can be attributed to the org on this project, aside from the construction of a latrine that I saw children urinating IN FRONT of. Accordingly, in reassessing, it would seem that I have come here in order to get the ball rolling. In a long-winded blog post I wrote in MS Word, and lost before posting when my laptop died, I examined the essential role of education in redeveloping the socio-economic fabric of communities. I don’t have time for that now, but will say that in this country, with some of the lowest social and economic indicators in the world – where a woman is more likely to die in pregnancy or childbirth than complete primary school (1:9 vs 1:100) and where there is less than a half kilometer of paved road in the entire country – and where tensions between those returning from exile and those who stayed and fought the war are rife, there is a lot to do be ‘done’ in the realm of community building and implementation of an education system.

That said, I’m working to create and empower or mobilize a group of community stakeholders (parents, teachers, religious leaders, members of the government, etc) to collectively determine the education needs and opportunities for the youngest members of society. Monday I visited the ECD centre that is currently serving hundreds of kids, without trained teachers, proper facilities, materials, or curriculum. Part of my vision for the core community group is developing the capacity of individuals to construct these elements, as well as develop their sense of ownership and responsibility concerning the education of the next generation. At the centre I was able to discuss this with the current administration and a group of parents present as volunteer child-care providers. The photos below are more telling than my words at this hour. For the record, and for those who haven’t yet realized, clicking on any of the photos will take you to my photo website where I have uploaded additional images that I’m not posting here.

I was graciously welcomed to the group with some great singing and clapping. Jimmy snapped this one:

In the center is KK, the jump-starter of the entire initiative as the ECD program founder. Following the return of so many refugees from Ethiopia, with children of all ages who had been deprived the opportunity to learn, he first began gathering children informally to sing, play, and engage with each other. Now, in partnership with a local NGO (our implementing partner, Nile Inter-Development Programme - NIP) and with SAVE, we're working to build the facility and local community at the same time. He’s a polio survivor and a dynamic guy, to say the least…


The lack of material goods is a serious barrier - one small blackboard for a group of twenty children is far from efficient. I'm working on securing educational toys, games, books, and implements in the near future…learning under a tree is fine on dry days only. Part of the goal of the parent discussion group will be to cultivate traditional toys and educational approaches and incorporate these methods into more modern practices. Likewise, I'm looking to link the education program and the local health care facilities with an efficient referral and documentation system.


A snap from the first meeting with parents, teachers, and school administration to discuss program goals... the guy in the tracksuit is the assistant headmaster. Not pictured, but essential was my translator Simon. I have no idea if he's actually translating, ftw.


Here are a few additional shots from today's visit to an adult education program – English lessons – led voluntarily by a Kenyan man working for NIP. I'm hoping to involve these parents in the community discussion group mentioned above.



Finally, in case you haven't believed me about the mud, here are some shots from first thing this morning!



So here's to this mysterious girl from NY brewing interest in Pagak. Cheers from the bush, y'all.