South Sudan Journal, Part 29 (of 29)

Message 29 September 19th, 2004
Soesterberg, The Netherlands


Hello Mom and Dad,

I have awakened from my dream in South Sudan. I am out of Sudan, out of Africa, and back in Western Life; home of cold beer, soft cushions on seats, lanes for vehicle traffic, and ever-so-fresh food. I am on my way home, but staying in the Netherlands another week to attend a Logistic Coordinators meeting in Soesterberg.

So how did it end? Anything funny happen on my way out? How does it feel to be out? What future plans await me? For these and other questions/curiosities, see below.

After I last wrote, things continued along. More training, more building, more training, more hiring, more training, more rain, more training, etc. As my week was ending, get­ting closer to my leaving date, I told more people about my end of contract. Many people were not happy, and some even were angry at the prospect that I would leave.

"Maybe we can tell MSF that you are doing a good job here, and they will then let you keep your job then?" "Actually, they would be happy if I stayed. I am choosing to go home." "If there is something we did wrong to make you want to go home, let us know, you don't have to leave." "You did nothing wrong, I'm just tired and would like to rest and see my family." "Okay, that is good, rest and see your family, then come back in maybe 8-10 days." "We see."

"She says you can't leave now, this is the worst time to leave the project."
"Three months ago Lankien was just looted and we came here with nothing, no shelters, no food, and few medicines. Three months before that, we had the fire and lost every­thing. Three months before that, Commander ____ was coming through and we just evacuated. Three months before that I just arrived. This is the best I have seen the pro­ject, this is the best time to leave." "She says good point, but still maybe you can extend." "I extended already. I was suppose to leave in June." "She says ..." and on it went.

I had many discussions with patients and staff about my leaving. When people are leav­ing, emotions run wild. I never thought I would be THAT emotional at my end of mis­sion, but these damn human emotions hit me again. Once people agreed that now was a good time for me to leave, they would give me, my family, my future wife (or wives, since a smart man like me should have 3 or 4 wives) and children their biggest blessings. Mom and Dad, the Head Chief, the Commissioner, the SRRC Secretary, the Police Commissioner and many of the staff and patients that I have known, give you their big­gest greetings.

And so, I spent much time in meeting with each person of authority and patients and staff members that I have known and grown fond of. I would explain my upcoming plans, thanking them for the time I spent with them, receive their permission/blessings to leave, and then I packed up to leave, the night before the plane would arrive.

Packing to leave was easy; there was no clothing I wanted to bring home with me. It was obvious to any eye I couldn't need it more than people there. Some books, some little gear, some water and that's all.

A goat was given for a big dinner with the team. Sammy and Charlie put their efforts to the meal. BBQ goat, with fried goat stew and goat liver stew is about as good as it gets! So, we ate the great meal, talked of the good times, the not-so good times, the times we stole victory from South Sudan, and the times we didn't come out so well off. I was given a couple of things to remember South Sudan by, a spoon and pipe; both made locally. Some tobacco was produced and so we passed the pipe, played our card game (called Kala Azar) and drank some wine into the evening.

The next day (Sunday the 5th) the Casa arrived in Pieri to drop off cargo, and take me out. Since there was no other routing for the Casa that day, the pilots, (Shane and Nirav) came in for some tea and coffee. Together we talked of recent politics, proposed involvements that the US government may want to reconsider, and generally enjoyed the Sunday morning.

I had some time to say some more goodbyes, and then we headed back to the plane. Nirav started one engine, and a crowd gathered. Looking around the crowd, my eyes glazed over. There was "Not-so-well-Old-Man" (as he became known for his near death condition early in his treatment), alive and well, with the biggest two-toothed smile, smiling and waving. There was little Michael; he got the shirt, but not the pants today. There was John Lul; we kicked down fences together during the fire. There was an ex-patient, Choul Lul, he ordered me around, as he did everyone else, and got things done, (I recently hired him because of his abilities to make people work). There was David the very good, but alcoholic carpenter that carried bags of sorghum with me all through a Sunday in October when no one else would/could carry anymore. There was Old Rebecca, our cleaner from Lankien who took care of us like a Mother. There was Simon the Guard who I taught how to throw a frisbee, and he taught me how to play the 4X13 holes in the ground game. There was a year of people I met, worked with, worked for, laughed with and cried with. Smiling and waving, wet in the eyes too.

I boarded the plane, and Shane let me sit up forward just behind the cockpit for the take-off. He leaned back and asked, "End of Mission, right?" I nodded acknowledgement and he smiled back. After we took off he put the Casa in a tight turn to the left, tight, tight, tight, turn. We spun around then straightened out heading straight back towards Pieri. This was an "End Of Mission, Fly-By!" Many times I had been on the ground for this. As the expat is leaving the project, the crowds gather by the airstrip to wish them well, and then the plane takes off then comes back for a flyover. The airstrip ignites in cheers and shouts as the plane flies over. So there we were, heading back to Pieri, low in the sky, right for the crowd. For that silent split second when people are close enough to see, they are in the air, arms up, and cheering, as I was back right back at them. We pulled up, and set a course for Loki. Shane leaned back and reminded me that I could stop shouting, since we were now a mile away, and at 150 knots they could probably not hear me anymore, if at all.

In the casa, we climbed to the 10,000-foot cruising height, and then leveled off. I asked if I could fly for a bit, and with some instruction I took over the controls. That was nice; I'd like to do that more often. The Casa is an older plane, and probably one of the bigger ones that doesn't have an autopilot. The way the pilots describe this non-auto pilot flying as, "real flying" reminded me very much of the sailing I have done, without auto-helm, "real sailing". All done by feel, (with minor references to the instruments) this was enjoyable.

We arrived back in Loki, where another set of recounting the good times, and making the good-byes went on. Also, I stayed there for a night, to properly say good-bye to the peo­ple here, along with my favourite Kenyan drink, a Dawa.

After some de-briefings and other goodbyes, I headed to Nairobi to continue the goodbye tour. There, I visited the office, showed some photos, shared some stories and enjoyed more comforts.

I also went to Mombasa one last time by train. I traveled with Marjan, a nurse from the project, and we met up with Liz, the Medical Coordinator from the Somalia mission. There we had a small cottage on the beach where we could cook seafood bought on the beach, (straight from the ocean), chilled tonic water and ice, and generally try our hardest to adjust back to life back home.

From there, I had another couple of days in Nairobi, (cooking my favourite Ostrich steaks), and eating at my favourite restaurants in Nairobi. Then, one clear Wednesday evening, I headed to the airport for my night departure, and off to Amsterdam I went.

I have been in Holland for a couple days now, enjoying these comforts quite nicely. The last three months in the field were much more rough (physically) than the first part of my mission. In Pieri, we only had tents to live in, the doorways were all very low, the more exposure to the sun, the rains and the winds weathered our bodies more than before too. As such, getting to the hotel in Amsterdam, I couldn't sleep even after an all-night flight, because the bed, the sheets and pillow were so-damn-soft! The next night I was fully able to get over this handicap, but I am aware that there will be an adjustment period ahead of me.

I'm not too impressed with the prices here. I had dinner one night and spent the same amount as I would in half a week vacation, food and accommodation. (It was really good though.)

So now I am in Soesterberg, attending a Logistic meeting. This is a meeting of all the Logistic Coordinators from all the MSF Holland projects in the world. My Logco could not attend, so I am here for him, representing South Sudan. After this, I'll be heading home.

At home, there is much to do, namely see my family and friends. I plan to be home for some months, and only consider going out again after New Year's. What I'll be doing, where I'll be going, etc, I only have ideas now, no plans.

So, to use the wonderful Nuer term, "Calhas" to mean 'finished', or 'no more'; used to close meetings, used to end arguments, used to described abandoned places like Lankien, and used to dismiss work-crews at the end of a long day, this chapter is "Calhas" thank you for joining me on this journey.

Love,
Steve