The Masses
(Flight out of Juba to the field.)
Today, I am on a flight to the field. I'm noticing a trend of writing blogs while on airplanes. It must spark new, clearer perspective. The airport was a new experience I have only ever heard tales about. The line: something we are oh so used to in the states, does not exist there, only an ocean of people pushing and elbowing and smashing and smacking you with their bags no matter your age or status. Not to mention, it is hot, and everyone is sweating on one other. It was a rough experience and I might just have a couple bruises from it, but somehow, I found that I was smiling the whole time. In the mass chaos, God sent a few kind men who helped lift my bag and decided we were stronger as a group, and to make a way for us to creep ever so slowly through the pressing mass. We snuck by those who my supervisor knew to be the more grumpy workers in their highlighter yellow vests, and we were welcomed by kind men instead. I am so thankful for her. Not only today, but also the way she advises me, encourages me, and checks on me throughout each day. I feel like she really cares for me, and we've only known each other for a week. I'm also praising God our bags made it here and I watched men load them into our plane.
Last weekend, I went with the guys to the local market. It was huge and overwhelming! Between watching my bag for pickpockets, trying to look around at what was for sale, being bombarded by someone trying to sell me something (much worse than a car salesman in the states, I will tell you that!), bargaining prices, and smelling some interesting smells in the hot meat market we came away with only a 25cent bag of sugar cane. But I intend to improve my market skills. I'm confident we’ll all get better.
We also visited a large island on the Nile. It was beautifully cultivated and it turned out to have a ton of people living on it in mud, thatched-roof homes. We adventured through neighborhoods, and fields, and gardens of okra and papaya and corn. We dodged motorcycles, I chased baby goats for a picture—to no avail— and many little kids yelled and laughed at us, calling us "KAWAJA!" Foreigner. It was a gorgeous day and we managed to get a selfie of the three of us on the Nile.
We also visited a large island on the Nile. It was beautifully cultivated and it turned out to have a ton of people living on it in mud, thatched-roof homes. We adventured through neighborhoods, and fields, and gardens of okra and papaya and corn. We dodged motorcycles, I chased baby goats for a picture—to no avail— and many little kids yelled and laughed at us, calling us "KAWAJA!" Foreigner. It was a gorgeous day and we managed to get a selfie of the three of us on the Nile.
Today, I am on a flight to the field. I'm noticing a trend of writing blogs while on airplanes. It must spark new, clearer perspective. The airport was a new experience I have only ever heard tales about. The line: something we are oh so used to in the states, does not exist there, only an ocean of people pushing and elbowing and smashing and smacking you with their bags no matter your age or status. Not to mention, it is hot, and everyone is sweating on one other. It was a rough experience and I might just have a couple bruises from it, but somehow, I found that I was smiling the whole time. In the mass chaos, God sent a few kind men who helped lift my bag and decided we were stronger as a group, and to make a way for us to creep ever so slowly through the pressing mass. We snuck by those who my supervisor knew to be the more grumpy workers in their highlighter yellow vests, and we were welcomed by kind men instead. I am so thankful for her. Not only today, but also the way she advises me, encourages me, and checks on me throughout each day. I feel like she really cares for me, and we've only known each other for a week. I'm also praising God our bags made it here and I watched men load them into our plane.
We're flying on a small, 18-passenger flight. It was a bumpy ride down the tarmac—we might have hit a pothole or two—and we hit a little exciting turbulence in the air, but all that was forgotten once we landed on the red dirt air strip. Sadly, I was not able to make it onto an SP plane and see the pilots I met previously in Boone, NC, but hopefully, one day I will have the opportunity. The UN and their affiliates have their own planes as well and so we fly with them if we cannot get on an SP rotation flight. SP often uses our planes to fly cargo rather than people, but I'm keeping my hopes up that I’ll get my chance in one.
Soon, I will be in my first refugee camp. I am praying Jesus would prepare my heart and mind—and also those of the people I will meet—for the things I'll be experiencing this week. I'm amazed at how different Africa is than I could have imagined, and yet how God has mentally prepared me. Nothing really takes me by surprise anymore. Every day, every moment is fluid and I take the moments as they come. Like a wind, things can suddenly pick up and change direction completely, whether that is a project at work, the time of a flight, or the room you stay in. You can only prepare for so much. Throughout my life, my dad has always said, prepare for the worst and hope for the best. That's really all you can do here.
I am excited for the opportunity to see the projects Samaritans Purse is doing in the field, rather than just reading and writing stats about them. I will also be able to take real pictures. So far I've only taken a few passport photos within the walls of our compound.
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