The Child in Me at the GFD

 Sunrise on the General Food Distribution 

Being the only white person an a food distribution is an experience you can only live for yourself. I stood out in the sea of food sacks and brightly dressed African people. I was a foreigner, and no one was afraid to let me know. Little babies cried and were scared of me because they thought, from my white skin, that I was a ghost. Children and adults both laughed at the way I interacted with them, using sign language, and how I  spoke in Arabic half-sentences. Kawaja is the word used for Westerner. One of the staff members told me that no matter how many white people these kids have seen drive by, they will always run out of their homes yelling, “KAWAJA! KAWAJA!”

I was photographing some children in a red dirt lot that was becoming dusty with all of the movement of people carrying food to the sharing area. The children were waiting on their families to split up the oil, sorghum, soap, and other provisions they had just received. They were subsequently posing and erupting into laughter when I showed them the photos I'd taken. With my little bit of broken Arabic I was trying to communicate with the kids, but you can only do so much with “Good morning.” “How are you?” and “What is your name?” Moments like these, throughout the morning, often resulted in sign language and odd smiling silence. This is when I met Isaac. He approached me, “Hello, do you know what they are saying?” He spoke English well. We were able to have a long conversation with only a few misunderstanding that we mutually laughed off.

He explained that he had been in the refugee camp for three years now. He left to escape the fighting in the Nuba Mountains. He lives here with his two younger brothers, but his parents are still back at home in the mountains. Isaac attends one of the schools here in the settlement. In the morning he goes to classes and in the afternoon he teaches English. Currently, they are learning grammar in his classes. “You must have gramma in orda to speak good English.” He then told me how much he wished for better books and exercises. If the students want school books, they must use their own money to buy them in the market. School is too expensive for most of these young people in the camp. Isaac explained that there are many who want to learn, but they cannot afford to go. "Please tell them we need better exercise and books."  Thankfully,  the classes Samaritan's Purse teaches: English and Biblical Literacy, the lesson books are provided for the students.

Through our conversation, Isaac revealed that he wanted to work for Samaritans Purse in the food distributions, but that when he asked, there were never job openings. Many of the refugees come daily, looking for work from Samaritan's Purse. They know we have been there for them since refugees first began coming to the area, and we are, therefore, reliable. I encouraged him not to give up because they might just have an opening one day. A job could mean money for school, books, clothing, and food. Many of the teachers in this area have either been hired by NGOs, or they moved on to a place with better opportunities. There as a great need for them at the schools within this camp.

Isaac was clever, and had a wide smile. He was very humorous and we had many moments that we burst into laughter as we spoke. One of those moments was when Isaac tried to strike a deal with me to get him clothing from the US to bring back for him and the other teachers. The conversation then took a more serious turn. They wear the same clothes every day. They want to look professional for school, and are unable. Sadly, I had to inform him that US dollars and South Sudanese pounds have very different values, and that I could not take his money, for there was no way to get the clothing back to him. Our conversation ended on a solemn note. I struggled internally on what was right and what Jesus might do in the same situation… We wished God's blessings on each other before I walked into the rushing traffic of men, women, children, jugs, cans, sacks, and encircling dust.

I'm not sure I can ever completely understand Isaac and what he has been through. I don't know what living through a war is like. I've never known homelessness, hunger, or years of separation from my family. But, I am thankful for the compassionate spirit God gave me; because that is the closest thing I have to feel the things he has. It brought me to tears as I turned away and walked past countless faces that were so much more than deep brown eyes. They had stories just like Isaac's. They were forced to flee from the vicious fighting of a civil war. I can not imagine what those eyes have seen. But I am thankful for my conversation with Isaac, for I recognized amidst his extreme trials, his faith remains. His ROCK remains. I rode back to the base hoping my faith was that strong.

When riding on the back of a four-wheeler through the camp, which really feels more like neighborhoods than a camp full of refugees, I felt like I never wanted to leave. A weight in my stomach lifted despite the dense heat and humidity. I wanted to stay on this land forever. Walking through the red sand, sipping scalding ginger coffee in the market, listening to the thick accents of the people, making the children giggle, shaking hands with every person I pass ... But that must we the child in me. These people are hurting, and it hurts me to see it somehow.  I think I'd love to live and to interact with them every day. I'd love to help them and show them Christ's love. Samaritan's Purse is doing some amazing work to support them. They are providing programs for food, clean water, nutrition, ministry, and also training in the areas of livelihood, literacy, and nutrition. The staff is large, and the amount of work in numbers they are producing is incredible. People are impacted for the better each day. I can see that God is blessing and filling the settlement through one person at a time.