OAIC Nairobi Part 1

Most of my last day in Nairobi was spent with David Warui of the Organization of African Independent Churches. OAIC is comprised of many small local and regional churches across Africa. As opposed to the large denominational churches that were mostly colonial (Presbyterian, Anglican, Methodist, etc.). OAIC has its office in Nairobi, but has regional offices throughout Africa.

OAIC, like NCCK, operates a wide variety of programs, but today we're going into the slums to visit two different micro-loan groups. I've already seen several groups, and am bit disappointed that I'll be seeing more of the same. But David proves that there are still a few new angles on this model.

David picked me up at the AACC guest house and we head for Mathare, a vast slum and home to more than half-a-million people. It's a city unto itself, with the gleaming buildings of the downtown Nairobi a world away. The streets are teeming with pedestrians, cars, trucks, handcarts, hawkers, bicycles, motorcycles, and matatus. The pedestrians make the best time, since they simply step around all the other congestion. David obviously knows the area well, and pulls into a gas station, pays the owner for parking, and we dodge the traffic as we cross the muddy street.

We enter an unmarked metal shack -- the Free Pentecostal Church of Mathare -- and are greeted by Naomi, Rehab, and Rosemary. The church doubles as a school, with plain wooden benches, a raggy sofa, and a small table that is the teacher's desk and the altar. In the back corner the 'music system' hangs on the wall, consisting of two drums. Leaning against the wall below the drums is the pastor's bike. The earthen floor is pounded hard, and the light comes from the open door.



At first there's a bit of awkwardness, as we shake hands and exchange the peace of Christ; it's clear this group is here to build their business and deepen their faith. We sing a hymn (rather they sing and I hum, since I don't know the words), have a short prayer led by Naomi, and settle in to talk.

The name of the group is Mwiyukirie, meaning 'let us stand,' expressing the desire to stand together in solidarity with each other against the turmoil, oppression, and politics of Kenyan life, and to stand on their own feet, seeking independence. As Naomi, pointed out, "instead of getting a hand out, we got a hand-up to get out of the troubles." The 'troubles' are the gangs, tribal fights, destruction, and displacement over the last decade or more as violence swept across Kenya. This upheaval wasn't limited to the capital -- we heard of the same problems in Nyeri and Kisumu. As a result, many women were compelled to support themselves and their children, and to build new lives and new homes often in a different part of the city or country.

Rosemary is recent member of the group. At her kiosk she makes and sells mandazi, deep-fried bread dough -- sort of like doughnuts. Her original loan was 20,000 Ksh, or about $225 Cdn to get some utensils, flour, baking supplies, oil, and pay the initial rent for her kiosk. On a good day, she sells 3,000 Ksh worth of mandazi, and clears about 800 Ksh or a little less than $10 Cdn, on which she supports herself and her two children. Rosemary insists on giving us some mandazi and drinks, and steadfastly refuses payment. The mandazi are hot and sweet and taste of coconut milk.





Naomi runs a hotel -- selling prepared food for eat-in at a counter, or for take away. It's one of the larger businesses, housed in a concrete building with running water and electricity. Despite the size of the slum, people live in tight-knit communities; as we head back to the car, two young mechanics at the garage greet us. They're regulars at Naomi's "Mama Safi Hotel," and want to meet us.

Both Rosemary and Naomi employ a couple of people to help out in their kiosks, so the benefits of the loans reach further than just Naomi's and Rosemary's immediate families.

Charity of the best sort is part of the purpose of the Mwiyukirie group. All the members contribute every week to support Wangui, their adopted grandmother. I never did get Wangui's story -- she spoke no English and was incredibly shy -- but, I did learn that she was quite alone in the world, had limited mobility (arthritis?), and was virtually destitute. The women of Mwiyukirie keep her fed, clothed, and with a roof over her head, otherwise she would be on the street.

Just before leaving, I asked is there was any message I could take back to Canada for them. Naomi paused for a moment and then replied: "We are honoured by your visit, and we ask that you continue to pray for us, as we will continue to pray for you and for your church in Canada." We then sing a hymn -- one they're sure I know, "Jesus loves me."

NCCK in Kisumu

The recurrent theme of micro-loans and fostering small entrepreneurship recurs – again. Both the visits to NCCK in Kisumu on the 18^th , and the visit to OAIC in Nairobi on the 19^th, are about the same types of projects: small groups of women (although there are a few men involved in OAIC) that manage their loans and runs small businesses: food preparation, retail, used clothing, sewing, etc.

The spirit and hospitality that these women show has been so wonderful. Each place I go, I meet people who are supporting themselves and their families, often employing one or two more people, and even extending help and charity to others. Their generosity and spirit are compelling. I don’t think I've every been a fan of so-called‘trickle-down economics,’ because it’s usually benefited the rich more than the poor; but here the benefits are often trickling down from the poor to the virtually destitute. Lives are being transformed for what many North Americans would drop on a pair of theatre tickets, Christmas gifts, or just a special dinner out.

Kennedy Olango, on staff at NCCK (National Council of Chuches in Kenya), met Lauren and me at the guest house in Kisumu. We gathered in a meeting room with some 20 women in the collective. Together, they administer loans amongst themselves to help run their micro-businesses. The diversity in their enterprises is amazing. Almost all involve retail of some sort, including eggs, potatoes, used car parts, fish, 'hotel' (cooked food), hairdressing, second hand clothes, handbags, trousers, sandals and shoes, and general stores.

Over tea we share stories of the hard work and challenges of making a living under tough conditions. There are thousands of kiosks, street vendors, stores, and hawkers in this small city, so the competition can be pretty stiff. And there's not much money to be made for a lot of hard work. That doesn't seem to dampen their enthusiasm, however; they're full of confidence in their businesses and their futures. As the cups of sweet, hot tea are drunk, a mix of English, Swahili, and laughter fills the air.

Only a few of the women are actually from Kisumu; most are displaced from their homes and traditional tribal lands, and therefore have settled here in the city. Tribal loyalties are still evident in the melting-pot of the city, but the collaboration amongst these business women helps to overcome some of those barriers.

Lucy Nanjiru is the chair of the group and runs a 'hotel.' Hotels offer cooked food for take-away or eat-in, although the eat-in space is pretty small. Lucy's place is strategically placed outside a real hotel that doesn't have a restaurant, so there's lots of traffic. It's close to the market, but also on a dead-end street, so there's space for plastic tables and chairs for customers. Started with a loan (now repaid) of close to $1,000, Lucy now employs two others and sells more than fifty pounds of grilled meat each day. The kitchen is primitive and cramped but the food smells good.

Down in the market, Joyce sells used clothes. Every two to four weeks Joyce gets on the bus for the six hour ride to Nairobi to buy a bale of clothes. Weighing well over 100 pounds, the bales are densely compressed bundles of clothes that won't sell at places like Goodwill or Value Village in Canada. Some bales are better than others -- they are sold 'as-is,' without the chance to unpack and see what's inside. Joyce almost always makes a profit, but sometimes it's pretty slim. Because the profit is small and unpredictable, Joyce can't afford a real kiosk, so she pays a very small rental for a place in the market floor -- her store is a tarpaulin spread over the bare ground. Customers and friends come buy and barter for tea-towels, shirts, dresses, pants, drapes, or whatever Joyce has on offer.

Even with the slim profits that they make, each entrepreneur pays back their loans with interest, so that the fund can grow and others can join. As Joyce noted, "If we have the good fortune to be helped by others like the United Church of Canada, then we can give a hand-up to others, so they can have a better life, too."

The last week or so in Kenya proved a bit challenging technologically. A power problem at the AACC guest house in Nairobi meant there was no internet connection. I then went on my safari, and there was no internet connection there either, so I got thoroughly behind in posting even before I left Kenya. The return trip, getting caught up with work, finishing my last papers for my course, topped with jet lag, have all conspired to make it the best part of two weeks before I've finally been able to get back to this. Thanks for your patience, and continued interest in following my blog!

It tends to be one of the rules in church-land that when money has been spent getting people somewhere, you should work them hard to justify the expense. We do this at national meetings a lot (although we’re getting better). I’m only here for about eight days on the ground, so we’re trying to make the most of it, but another 5:00 a.m. taxi to the airport is, well, ‘a challenge.’ Still, I’m up and ready when Lauren and James, her favourite cabbie arrives.

Lauren Hodgson is a candidate for ministry from BC Conference and is doing her student internship here in Nairobi with Kenya Association for Advancement of Children. She and I are going to Kisumu to visit KAACR (the original name was Kenya Association for Advocacy of Children’s Rights, but the government wouldn’t allow that; so, they changed the name but curiously kept the acronym). BTW, check out Lauren's blog about her internship here.

It’s a short 40 minute flight to Kisumu, where we’re met by Philip and John from KACCR. Tim Ekesa, the director, is coming on the next flight, about 30 minutes later. We end up waiting about an hour; the plane arrived on time, but the pilot ditched the plane into the field (instead of Lake Victoria) when he ran out of runway. Tim got some great pics of it, as everybody disembarked and milled around the plane waiting for buses to take them to the terminal.

KACCR represents 12 different organizations that work with children across the country. They’ve been instrumental in getting children’s rights enshrined into the Kenyan constitution and legal system. Tim says “Our motto is ‘Nothing for the Children Without the Children,’” referring to the importance of including children in the process of developing legislation and programs for children. “Our main purpose is to get children’s participation in every forum that discusses children’s issues.” KACCR has worked in Kenya and beyond, including at the U.N., helping form the declaration of the Rights of the Child.

Working directly with children, KACCR’s main program is children’s rights clubs in schools. This struck me as quite odd, as I can’t imagine what the attraction would be for children and youth to join a rights club instead of soccer or drama or music. Nevertheless, there are about 200 clubs in primary and secondary schools throughout Kenya. The clubs focus on learning their rights, promoting those rights, and peer support. The clubs often have other activities as well, such as food drives, hospital and orphanage visits, and environmental days (cleaning up litter in Kenya could be a full-time program).

Lauren and I met with three clubs that represented different stages of the children’s rights clubs: primary, secondary, and ambassadors (club members who have graduated from high school, but maintain a relationship to the clubs).

Friendship Gavula Primary School, in Wedenga is tucked away in the hills about an hour outside of Kisumu, and draws students from a wide surrounding rural area. The teachers are very positive about the influence of the clubs, how the students are focused and dedicated to the rights movement, but also how they’re more disciplined and achieving better marks. I get the impression that order is very important here and part of the perceived value of the clubs is in how it contributes to school discipline.

After talking with the teachers we get to meet the students; about 30 are gathered in a classroom and seem eager to talk to the visitors. The children are soft-spoken, extremely polite, and deferential. They know their stuff, though, and talk about their rights, how they support each other, and have raised funds to help fellow students buy their uniforms or pay fees. Their isn’t a lot of affluence here, but they’re dedicated to sharing what they have – this is a recurrent theme at all our meetings with groups here in Kenya.

I invite them to ask questions of us. They're hesitant and shy, but after the first one, the questions come thick and fast. What’s our church like? What rights do Canadian children have? What are Canadian schools like? Is it really cold all the time in Canada? Are boys circumcised in Canada (that, in fact, was the first question!)?

Lauren and I do our best to answer, and then suggest we go outside for some pictures. The formal order of the classroom gives way to total mayhem in the schoolyard, as everyone wants their picture taken and to see their image on the camera’s LCD display. I hear ‘What about me?’ – code for ‘take my picture’ – over and over as I rapidly snap away, spawning gales of laughter amongst the kids. Just before we leave, the children offer us a gift of fresh-laid eggs to send us on our way.

The Kisumu Girls’ High School is on the main road in Kisumu, opposite western Kenya’s largest open-air market. Everything from cauliflower to coffins is sold at the open-air kiosks, and the banter of business penetrates the school walls. Most of the girls are gathering in the courtyard for assembly as we meet the members of the club. I’m unsure whether the formality and order arises out of the nature of the club, or is just simply normal in Kenyan schools (I’m inclined toward the latter), but we’re introduced to the chairman, vice-chairman, secretary, and treasurer, and a very sincere and earnest presentation about the club – its history, values, purpose, mission statement, goals, and achievements-to-date – ensues.

It’s obvious this is important stuff for these kids. Cynthia, the chairman, says the club’s goal is “creating an environment for children’s rights to be recognized around the world.” Although nervous about speaking in front of an audience, her enthusiasm comes through as she describes the weekly meetings, visiting orphanages and children in hospital, organizing clean-up days. The club, she says, has also changed its name from the Children’s Rights Club, to the Children’s Rights Movement, a significant choice, we all applaud.

Helen takes over, and speaks about the challenges they face as students, members of the club, and as African children. HIV-AIDS, poverty, nutrition, child-labour and abductions, drug abuse and social stigma are stories they are deeply aware of and affected by. The group is as much a social network and support system as an advocacy movement.

We’re running short on time, so when they’ve finished, I quickly turn it back to them to ask questions of us. After a round of questions about Canada and us personally, the kicker comes when Cynthia stands up and asks Tim about his absence at the club’s annual party, and whether he will be compensating the club for their disappointment. Tim’s a little taken aback and promises to ‘get back to them.’ It seems they’ve learned their lessons well – maybe too well from Tim’s point of view.

Earlier in the day we had met at KACCR’s new office; a converted house a few kilometers out of Kisumu. It’s in rough shape and needs lots of work, but they’re confident owning this is better than renting in Kisumu Town. I’m less convinced, as it’s a long way from town and the road in between is rough and steep; accessibility could be big problem. We gather there to meet with six young adults who are KACCR ambassadors.

Some of them were in clubs almost throughout their school years, and that’s left an indelible impression. They’ve all kept connections to their former clubs, and some have extended their involvement to helping to start new clubs in other schools. As mentors, they try to be supportive and helpful but also are aware that their roles are different now than before.

All six echo the values and purposes that we’ve heard from the kids at the primary and secondary schools. But, as well as being committed to children’s rights and doing good works, it’s clear these young adults are ambitious, high-achievers, and future leaders. Stella is studying business admin while working in Nairobi. Emmanuel is planning to study law, and David (the oldest in the group) has attended bible college and is now a pastor in a small church in Nairobi.

SCC / Return to Juba

Getting out of Nimule took some time. We stopped in the market for a few things before hitting the highway, not least of which was some smoked and dried fish that Gladys wanted. We kept the windows open all the way back to Juba.

We made better time heading north than we had the day before (going south), but still took over three hours without a stop. Piled along the side of the road are bundles of straw for thatching, bundles of large sticks, and sacks of charcoal. Occasionally you can see large smouldering earthen mounds where the charcoal is being made. Charcoal is made in the rural areas and is a major source of income. Today seems to be pick-up day, since the unattended sacks that were set up on the road yesterday today have people standing by them. They flag us down, mistaking us for one of the charcoal merchants. The charcoal is shipped into the city where it is the fuel of choice for cooking and heating. Simon tells me that a large sack (about four feet tall) fetches the maker about 5 Sudanese pounds, but will sell in the city for five to seven times that much. It’s also water day, as we see numerous water trucks on the road and lots more containers set out. It seems ironic that water is so scarce that it needs to be trucked in, and at the same time the road construction site is continuously being watered.

We get to Juba in time for me to interview Michael Benson – my nephew’s name sake, who is a participant in the SCC’s HIV-AIDS program. Michael has been positive for about 8 years. A trained carpenter, his employer sacked him after discovering Michael’s status. This isn't at all unusual. Michael connected twitho SCC’s program and got counseling and some financial support, as well as better access to meds. "I'm still positive, but healthy now, and would really like to work," he says. He's not been able to get work yet, because stigma is still strong, although that’s slowly becoming less of an issue. He gets some occasional carpentry work, and is now heavily involved as a volunteer himself in SCC’s programs.

I took a few pictures around the SCC offices as they are under reconstruction. Some of the workers are apprehensive, a cautious response given the government’s practice of documenting and harassing civilians. A few other workers are more receptive, and I capture them as they are building concrete block walls or parging the surfaces. The SCC offices are in rough shape in a few places, and they are now able to make some repairs.

Getting out of Juba is almost hysterical. There is no line up at the check-in counter, just a wild crush of people at the desk thrusting their documents at the clerk who randomly chooses one. Eventually ours get selected (thanks to Gladys’ pushiness), and we get checked in. It’s all manually done with pen and paper. Next we have to clear exit control, where we fill in a long form. Fee: $45.00. The form and our passports need to be photocopied, so we’re sent to the photocopy desk, where photocopies are made for us at the price of a few Sudanese pounds. Back to the exit desk where our passports are stamped, and we go to security check. A perfunctory glimpse in our carry-ons, and we’re into the departure lounge. It's hot and crowded, and there is no signs or boards that say what the flight status is. Eventually, someone hollers "Nairobi" and there's a dash for the door.

It's an easy flight back to Nairobi, where I have to purchase another visa: visas and immigration control seem to be a major source of revenue and employment. The drive into Nairobi from the airport takes longer than the flight from Sudan, as traffic is totally snarled. At the roundabouts the confluence of cars, trucks, buses, matatus, pedestrians, hawkers, grinds to a standstill. The air is thick with exhaust fumes – there seems to be no emission controls; cars and trucks alike belch big black clouds of diesel smoke. Some cars take to the shoulders, more aggressive drivers actually cross the median and go the wrong way in the almost-empty oncoming lanes.

Peace Work in South Sudan

After four-hours riding in the back of a safari vehicle over rough roads (sort of like off-roading, but with a destination), it takes a little while to get my land legs when we get to Nimule and St. Patrick’s. Six of us made the trip: Gladys, our trip leader and staff of SCC, Martin our driver, Pastors Simon and James who both work in Juba and Nimule, Wendy, and myself. Gladys has arranged for us to meet with a number of leaders in the peace activities in and around Nimule. They come from different backgrounds and work in the church: Christian Brotherhood, Episcopal Church of Sudan, The Sudan Gospel Mission, the Catholic church, etc. The common ground is working for peace here in Nimule and the surrounding villages.

Simon takes the lead and talks about the trauma, detentions, harassment, and violence that continued after the peace agreement was ratified. Over and over again, the issues of tribalism and how it defines land, loyalty, community, family, and prejudices. Simon explains how during the war many thousands of people were displaced, and since the war, most (but not all) of those displaced persons have tried to return to their homelands and their homes. But, there’s a huge domino problem because so many have temporarily settled someplace and someone has to move first. And, some people have decided they like where they’ve settled, and don’t want to move, even though the land, houses, and buildings aren’t theirs. Commonly known as ‘land-grabbing’ it get more complex as different tribes live amongst each other with different traditions and practices (e.g. farming versus raising cattle, versus business) which are not seen as compatible on the same land. It’s hugely frustrating and humiliating when you have to build a new house within sight of your old one on the land your family has owned for generations. The government seems to ignore the problem, and is widely assumed to be biased because of their own tribal loyalties, and doesn’t have the capacity to provide local law enforcement anyway.

I don’t venture to understand the complexities and subtleties of tribalism. As a Westerner it’s easy to think in stereotypes, and it’s difficult to make the equivalent in our own context, though the effects of it are there in different ways. Suffice to say, people in East Africa identify strongly with their tribe, their homeland (when you ask an African where he’s from, there are often two answers – the ancestral home and the present place he is living). There are strong perceptions about the characteristics, traditions, and roles of different tribes, for example the Kikuyu seem to have the reputation of being good business people, and dominating Kenyan politics.

As each person tells their story, the common theme of land-grabbing, settlement, and tribalism comes up over and over again, each person giving their personal take on it. Dealing with the IDP (internally displaced persons, to distinguish from refugees, who are typically from outside Sudan) has created a lot of division and anger. The SCC helped by sponsoring a large gathering to which hundreds of people came: chiefs, elders, politicians, pastors and imams from the various tribes, including IDPs, in an effort to get overcome some of the barriers. Out of that meeting (and several more like it) arose the local peace committees. These leaders were at that meeting, and the next step is for us to meet with some of the peace workers in the villages.

We leave St. Patrick’s to go to Olikwi, a tiny, remote village on the Ugandan border, with a peace committee. Just as we arrive, the elders are seated in a semi-circle to hear a complaint from a tribes-woman, who is sitting on the bare ground with her child. None of us know what’s going on, but the hearing is either quickly dispatched or put on hold, upon our arrival.

We squeeze into a hut with the elders and our group – about 25 of us in a rough circle, seated on plastic patio chairs. The stories are told of the upheaval during the war, the land grabbing, and the climate of suspicion. This village is within a short walk of its former site; squatters live in their old homes, on their lands. Pretty soon, it comes out that there’s one tribe – Dinka – that supposedly is the source of all the problems, since everyone else apparently gets along. The Peace Committees have brokered some deals and small wins, but it’s clear the hostility is barely under the surface and that any truce is tenuous as best.. The fundamental issue of land-grabbing has not been addressed. Chief John is pretty skeptical, noting that “there really hasn’t been much progress about getting our land back, despite promises from the politicians.” The peace committee organizers agree, but won’t give up, since the alternative, open hostility or war is unthinkable.

The second site is even more remote: the new offices of the Mugali Payam, where we meet up with members of another Peace Committee. Seven members are there, a few having walked miles to join us. While land grabbing is still the dominant issue, they’ve also been trying to address social issues, such as spousal and child abuse. It’s clear they’re trying to fill the gap caused by remoteness and the lack of civil authority, while also walking a narrow line so as not to encroach on the traditional rights and authority of elders and chiefs. Paul is the most talkative of the group, and says their task is to “simply get people to talk and keep talking.” I asked Paul what SCC had done for them in all this, and he said “They gave us power and knowledge – skills to help problem-solve and mediate without getting too involved. We provide a service to the elders and chiefs without stepping on their feet.” Still, as at Olikwi, lots of problems continue to exist; while some social issues are getting better, the problems of land grabbing and settlers persist and are well entrenched.

The Peace Committees seem to be a good idea and there are legitimate, tangible results. At the same time. there are issues that are likely beyond their ability or capacity. The model of reconciliation and dialogue works best (only?) when all parties are committed. From the conversations, it seems that some are more committed than others, and some are simply not interested at all. The so-called “Comprehensive Peace Agreement” sounds like it’s more comprehensive on paper than in reality at present.

Leaving Nairobi -- Onward to the Massai Mara

I had hoped to get caught up on the blog posts last night, but internet access at the AACC guest house was not working, so I'm behind on that by several days. More will come.

In the meantime, a quick overview from the last few days: a day and a half in Kisumu to meet children and youth involved in the Kenya Association for Advancement of Children. KAAC helps organize clubs in primary and secondary schools around advocacy for rights. We met three groups: young adults, high-schoolers, and primary students. We met them in groups, which makes it really hard to get to individual stories, but so many of them, even at a young age, show signs of being strong advocates for social change.

Also, we met with three different groups of women who have set up their small businesses with loans from UCC partners orgs. Some of these give new definition to SMALL business -- talk about a shoestring. But that shoestring is often supporting a whole family as well as a couple of employees. Yesterday I visited a number of them in Nairobi's biggest slum. Operating out of closet-sized premises, the squeeze out a living in the harsh climate of the slums. It had rained (we starting the rainy season) and the streets and lanes were swamps of mud, yet people carry on. It's awesome and humbling how gracious and hospitable they are, how honoured they are to have a visitor from Canada, from their sponsoring organization's partner. The requests to carry prayers back to Canada on their behalf - that they are praying for us are sincere and profuse. And the groups are not just about taking care of business, they seems to have become extended family, and even take on charity works of their own. One group collectively supports a very elderly widow, paying her rent, buying clothes and food, and visiting her regularly. She joined us, and was bashful and excited to have a picture with the Munguzu (white person).

I'm at Wilson airport, Nairobi's small-plane airport that serves a lot of the safari traffic. Fortunately they have a free hot-spot, so I can do this quick update. I doubt there's an internet access at the safari site, so look for updates later in the week.

Lions and Tiger and Elephants, Oh My!!

Juba to Nimule

It’s about 9:00 p.m., and I’ve crashed for the evening in my room and have a chance to write. I won’t be able to post this until later, since there’s no internet connection here.

We’re at the Parish of St.Patrick’s Learning Centre is about a mile from the Uganda border in Nimule Town, and, much like the UCC learning centres, it has a couple of meeting rooms, food service, and accommodation. The bedrooms give new meaning to basic (the shipping container is looking pretty good from here), but after a long day trekking from Juba to here, and then to two small, remote villages, and back, the bed is amazingly comfortable.

The drive from Juba took almost four hours to cover about 200 kilometers. The road is the main one that runs from Juba to Kampala in Uganda, and on south through to South Africa. Much of it consists of dirt road, about two – three lanes wide, in very rough shape, and with no markings. Much of it is also under construction, and we’re simply driving right through the construction zone. Different from the trip to Nyeri, there are virtually no pedestrians on the road, and very few motorcycles. Gladys assures us the road is much improved recently, as it wasn't so long ago that the trip took a whole day.

As we were leaving Juba, we drove through acres of shanty-towns, constructed largely of rough wood and sheet metal. The main road is lined with tiny shops and businesses, most working out of the same sort of building – a few sticks as a framework and sides covered in corrugated sheet-metal. The fancier ones are in converted shipping containers. Garbage is everywhere, the heavy rains of last night having washed the debris into piles of plastic water bottles, bags, food wrappers, bits of clothing and shoes, and whatever (littering is common and accepted – when the buses stopped at the barrier above, the windows opened and empty bottles and garbage flew out). Even in remote places there is plastic litter everywhere, especially water bottles.

Despite it being a main arterial road, it’s quite isolated and much of the time we don’t encounter much traffic. At one point, however, we meet about a dozen big commercial tractor-trailers in a convoy racing north to Juba. Shortly after we halted at a police barrier because mines have been detected some where up ahead; not necessarily on the road itself, but close enough that they shut the road for about an hour (the picture is discreetly taken from the back seat - the green figure is the barrier guard). By the time the way is cleared, we’re at the front of a convoy of six large coaches and a number of trucks. As the barrier is removed, our driver guns it and we lead the pack. A few minutes later, horns are honking behind us, as the coach drivers want to pass. As it is, we’re barely holding the road, careening from side to side and really putting the suspension to the test. But, as we pull over to one side, the coaches sail past, taking the curve ahead almost on two wheels, and are soon out of sight. With the buses off our tail, Martin, our driver, relaxes a bit and eases back on the speed. Before we reach Nimule, we see several trucks ditched or overturned (one with bags of maize scattered all around it), but the buses obviously got at least to Nimule without incident.

Just as we passed out of Juba, we saw part of a shanty-town that had just burned to the ground – nothing left but some blackened sheet metal strewn on the scorched earth. This happens a lot – rough timber houses tightly packed and scores of charcoal cooking fires make it inevitable. The lack of infrastructure, security, and housing programs make it doubly so. I imagine the people who had lived there lost everything that terrifying night.

Just a little further on, we passed over the Nile. This branch is the White Nile, and joins the Blue Nile at Khartoum, in Northern Sudan. On the banks, there are hundreds of people loading up jerry-cans of water to take home. Many women are walking with a 5 or 10 gallon jug on their heads, others are on bicycles loaded with five or six cans, and others simply walk carrying a can in each hand. The simple task of getting water – the essential of life – is a huge undertaking. Water trucks are also filling up, and will deliver water for a price. Indeed, along the road to Nimule, there are water barrels and cans clustered along side the road, waiting for the water truck. The water is taken directly from the Nile, without any treatment, possibly explaining the proliferation of empty water bottles everywhere. Coca Cola seems to have the bottled-water business sewn-up here; the water I’m drinking is COOL brand, but the typestyle is all Coke.

Once beyond Juba, the tin shacks give way to a more traditional African construction: a circular building about 12 or 15 feet in diameter, with walls made of brick or wattle, topped with a steep thatched roof. A single door on one side, and maybe one or two very small windows or vents on the walls keep the construction simple. The outside is left plain or painted with a ziggurat or rolling wave pattern. The houses are in small family clusters, small villages, or in a fenced ‘compound,’ and are often accompanied by small outbuildings. Brick is used for alot of construction, and it’s made on site. Clay is dug and formed into standard sized bricks and stacked in a large cube with enough bricks to make whatever the project requires. Bricks are left out of the bottom several rows in places big enough to light fires in, to cure the bricks. I found a stack of them from a project at St. Patrick’s, and they’re curiously light. In every village or settlement, there seems to be at least one pile of bricks either ready to be cured or already being used for construction. The thatching is very thick and done with detail and craftsmanship.

Along the way, there are numerous schools, some in brick buildings, others in larger versions of the round houses. In many places, school takes place in the open, under the trees, each class under its own tree, complete with blackboard. Even in these isolated communities, the children wear uniforms in their school colours, many of them walking miles to get to school each day.

After a long steep climb into the hills, we come over the crest and see the valley beyond and Nimule in the distance. Clouds of dust rise from it as trucks rattle through or stop at the markets that line both sides of the road for a kilometer or two in the town. The road down into town is steeper than the climb was, and is full of switch-backs. Heavy loaded trucks labour up the hill, and those of us going down are doing our damndest not to lose control. We make it and head to St. Patrick’s to meet with the locals and learn about the peace work that’s happening on the ground.