The creative side of this blog

I write this blog not only to provide the occasional commentary on world events pertaining to Darfur, but also to share the stories of life in Darfur as I knew it before the genocide began. My hope is that these creative pieces will grab your attention and make you want to learn more about this region and its wonderful people. They are all based on real life events or people I knew as I lived and played in Eastern Chad.

To save you the trouble of scrolling through years of posts, here is a list of some of my more creative pieces:
How to eat a Mango
Arrival: Part 1
Arrival: Part 2
A Night Without Gunfire
Nighttime Ritual
Evacuation Is Not An Option
The Water Boys
When Is A Chicken Worth Its Weight In Gold?
A Tale of Two Girls
How To Catch A Bat

Arrival: Part One

Africa hits me like a wave on the beach the moment I step out of the airplane.  The oppressive heat washes over me despite the midnight hour. My first breath of African air leaves my teeth feeling gritty and my throat dry.  I make my way down the shaky steps that lead not to an air-conditioned terminal with a smiling airline employee, but rather to the broken black asphalt of the airport tarmac with a rigid solder staring at me with his machine gun casually draped across his shoulder.  Ahh, I'm home.

As the other passengers pause to adjust their luggage and strip layers of clothing, my sisters and I begin sprinting.  We run because we know.  We know that on the other side of this dark expanse of pavement lies the cattle stable known as the international arrival room.  Shuffling lines of tired, hungry and dazed passengers await the slow; the speedy might get out before the mosquitoes start biting.  It's a mad dash I've performed each time arriving back to this desolate country and no strange look from an already-exhausted aid worker will change my mind. 

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the fluorescent light flooding the brown cement "welcome" building. It's almost as if the Chadian government set it up to give people one last chance to change their minds. The cracks in the wall whisper doubts: are you sure you want to come to Chad? This is your last chance to turn back, murmurs the rusted ceiling fan swirling weakly overhead.  Moving into a line, the room quickly fills up behind me.   Peering past the kiosks where grumpy men look for every excuse to stall our progress with pointless passport inquiries, I see my parents.  Thin, dusty and radiant – excited that their children are back safe from a semester at boarding school. 

The soldier looks up and motions me forward across the yellow line.  I step forward and hand him my passport, but I pause right before it lands in his hands.  "Asalam Alek," I say in the local Arabic dialect, greeting him in is native tongue.  A smile breaks the rough surface of the face and he responds, intrigued by the white teenager who knows the language.  I eagerly chat with him to let him know that I am different, that I care and that I know his country well.  Hope that this will give me the upper hand becomes true as the words work their magic. After a cursory glance at my paperwork he waves me through, past another rigid guard and into the chaos that waits me on the other side of the blue boundary line.  Victory; I am back in the land I love.

Interfaith action

I have been fortunate to participate in two interfaith events recently in Raleigh, N.C. The first was a wonderful "Tents of Hope" event held at Meredith College and the second was a meaningful "Peace Vigil" held at NC State University. The "Tents" event brought together a local muslim school, jewish senagogue and area christians to paint three tents, which will be sent to join hundreds of others in a major awareness campaign in Washington, D.C. The vigil included members of the Presbyterian, Episcopal, Methodist and Muslim student groups singing and reading well-written prayers. It also included a poignant candlelight circle. Both events were well organized and I deeply appreciate everyone who participated.

There are two main reasons I enjoy interfaith events:

1. I lived an interfaith life. Although I am, and my family is, evangelical christian, growing up in Chad we lived in a predominantly muslim area that had pockets of tribal religions dotting the landscape like swiss cheese. Every day I would come into contact with someone of a different faith, as I played with muslims, sang with christians and went mango-hunting with animists. This world taught me the value of respecting others and broadened my worldview. Unfortunately, interfaith mingling is not very common in the U.S., as we tend to surround ourselves with those like us and shun those who aren't. I miss living in that interfaith community where we could disagree, but still enjoy life together.

2. The violence in Darfur is not based on religion. Although most of the tribes involved in the current crisis are muslim, the fighting is not based in religious bigotry. The catastrophe in Darfur is fueled by decades of oppression, poverty, lack of natural resources and just plain evil. Men, women and children of all religions are suffering and enduring this evil. Any person of faith should be rocked to their core at the destruction in Darfur and be urged to action by their beliefs. We are stronger together when fighting evil and are ineffective if we get sidetracked by inter-faith bickering.

For more ways you can help out and raise awareness and action for Darfur, check out my 20 WAYS I CAN HELP link on the right.

How to Eat a Mango

You always know the whereabouts of the riverbeds. You can see them coming, still far off in the distance as you make your way forward on your bone-jarring journey across Eastern Chad. The rivers – dry, of course – are highlighted on the horizon by the long line of lush green mango trees that seem to rise out of nowhere. Sucking sustenance from some deep water table lying dormant under the earth’s sandy floor, they grow together in mighty groves stretching as far as the eye can see. Once among them, the air changes and you can sense it. It gets cooler, fresher and is laced with a sweet fragrance that lingers above the carpet of dried leaves. You can raise your eyes without squinting and listen to the foreign sounds of monkeys rustling in treetops. Up above, you hear the creaking of a limb straining under the weight of its treasure – mangos!

These plump, juicy and fibrous fruits have been called many things throughout the ages, including such portentous titles as “fruit of the gods.” I don’t doubt that ancient mythological creatures would treasure the sweetness and sense of fulfillment one gets from devouring a ripe mango, but I am skeptical that they would actually eat one for fear of getting their hands sticky and staining their white robes.

After personally enjoying mangos on four different continents, I have come to the conclusion that the world lacks some serious mango know-how. I have seen people try to peel it, chop it, rip into it and all have managed to get themselves incredibly messy. Please, allow me to explain the best way to eat a mango, learned from the experts themselves in the dry riverbeds of Eastern Chad.

Step 1: Get a mango. Big, juicy and ripe (otherwise they are kind of sour). Look for the ones that are starting to turn reddish or yellow and not just solid green. Avoid the ones with maggots.

Step 2: Get a knife. Doesn’t have to be big, just effective.

Step 3: Stand the mango upright on a hard surface. Each mango has a broad side and a narrow side – point the narrow side towards you.

Step 4: Carefully cut off one entire broad side of the fruit. Position the knife just off-center (to avoid the hard inner core) and in one clean stroke, go from top to bottom.

Step 5: Cut the half of mango by making deep cuts in a criss-cross pattern (like tic-tac-toe). Don’t cut the skin, but go deep enough to separate the “meat” into little squares.

Step 6: Grab the cut half and flip it inside-out. Push the outer edges back and the center toward you. This will make the squares “pop out” and stand ready to be eaten. Enjoy.

Step 7: Repeat steps 3 through 6 with the other side of the mango. Enjoy again.

Step 8: With the knife, carefully peel off the skin from the remaining core.

Step 9: Hold the core in the middle with your hand and eat the fruit around the edge, similar to biting the crust off a piece of bread. Now, you have eaten an entire mango with very little mess.

Step 10: Get out the dental floss and remove the hundreds of fibers stuck between your teeth, rinse your hands and wipe your smiling face.

These 10 steps have provided many hours of succulent bliss in my life and I am glad to share them here. Unfortunately, with the current chaos and violence wreaking havoc on the areas of Eastern Chad and Darfur, there is little time to enjoy the simply pleasures provided by the mango. These lands are embroiled in what the UN calls the “world’s worst humanitarian crisis" and all food is now scarily scarce. More than 200,000 people have already died and millions more are on the verge.

We can help. We can restore peace, justice and hope to this land and its beautiful people. We can assist my friends and their families return to enjoying the simple fruits of life. For a list of things you can do, check out the 20 WAYS I CAN HELP link on the right side of this page.

Our great big world...

One of my most memorable New Year’s Eve celebrations in my young life was the one at the turn of the millennium. While the rest of the world was trying to outdo their neighbors in either Y2K panic or frenzied jubilation, my family was packing our bags for a special, one-night vacation.

We quickly loaded our clothes and toiletries, eager to get on the road and experience one of the biggest events of our lifetime - the change of the millennium. Our excitement would have you think we were headed to New York City, or Paris or Sydney to ring in the year 2000 with millions of other revelers. But this was not the case – we were going someplace better. We were headed all the way across town to the unoccupied house of an aid worker friend.

Why was this house special? For starters, the aid compound had electricity. With this privileged existence came the real prize – satellite TV. We bundled ourselves into our rough and tumble 4x4 and drove through the dusty town as evening fell. We quickly settled in to our home away from home and immediately turned on CNN International. My family gathered in front of the flickering screen, soaking up the images of the outside world and its rich diversity of celebrations. We saw amazing fireworks, huge parades and extravagant shows. Outside, the donkey started braying. We saw people dressed in their glitz and glamour braving the cold to giddily grip their microphones. Through our window came the far-off wailing of a Muslim call to prayer. As CNN’s coverage flew us around the world to witness noisy celebrations, we gathered together as a family on the concrete floors and lit a few quiet, orange candles.

As midnight struck, we sat around illuminated by the twin glows of our candles and the TV and enjoyed being a part of the great big, beautiful human race. It was fun to feel a part of something spectacular even though it stood in stark contrast to the reality of life in Chad. But despite the fun being held elsewhere, as I looked outside my screen door, I remember thinking – there is no other place I would rather be than right here, right now. I love my family and I love Africa.

Nighttime Ritual

The soft glow of the moon outlined the four beds lined up like soldiers at attention as I slowly began my nighttime ritual.
First, I walked outside my house and headed to my bed, stepping through the cool sand and avoiding a few wayward bricks. I passed the large queen-sized bed that belonged to my parents, past two identical twin beds with matching pink sheets for my sisters and continued down the line until I finally reached my own wooden frame. Once there I made sure the inch-thick wooden slats were all aligned evenly to prevent uncomfortable holes from developing in the night.

I slowly unfurled my dusty, flat mattress that had been rolled like a taco all day long to prevent the harsh sun from baking the sheets all day. The mattress, with its color faded from green to white, was long overdue for a refill of cotton and was thinning badly – leaving walnut-sized lumps eager to destroy a good night’s sleep.

A quick shake of the sheets to brush off any insects and leaves that might have accumulated during daylight was followed by a swift deployment of the overhead mosquito net. Taking great care to never lift a corner of the netting once it was unfurled, I slowly tucked it in with sheets under my bed. Now my flimsy fortress was complete.

Slipping my hand under the middle edge of the bed I undid the tucked netting and slithered my body inside, as if I was sneaking under a fence. Once my torso was inside, I spun and sat on the edge of the bed with the netting secured tightly around my legs to deny access to any adventurous bug. Lifting one foot after the other, I brushed off the sand and brought each leg into the safety of my cave.

Once safely inside, I gave a quick survey of the area and pounced upon a wayward cricket that, despite my best efforts, still had managed to sneak inside my mosquito net. Once he was put in his place (on the other side of the netting) I was finally free to relax and lay my head against my board-like pillow.

Snuggling under the sheets heated from the sun and feeling the cool African breeze against my cheeks was a great feeling. As I concluded my nighttime ritual, I gave one more look up at the brilliant night sky, said a prayer, and drifted off to sleep.

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For ways to help stop the violence in Darfur, click on the 20 WAYS I CAN HELP link to the right.

Purpose of this blog

I write this blog not only to provide the occasional commentary on world events pertaining to Darfur, but also to share the stories of life in Darfur as I knew it before the genocide began. My hope is that these creative pieces will grab your attention and make you want to learn more about this region and its wonderful people. They are all based on real life events or people I knew as I lived and played in Eastern Chad.

To save you the trouble of scrolling through months of posts, here is a list of some of my more creative pieces:
A Night Without Gunfire
Evacuation Is Not An Option
The Water Boys
When Is A Chicken Worth Its Weight In Gold?
A Tale of Two Girls
How To Catch A Bat