Sunday in the South

It is just a beautiful day today. I took a long walk with two colleagues, one Sudanese and one Ugandan. There was concern whether or not an American would be able to walk for up to a half an hour. I guess we don't have a very solid reputation for physical fitness. Maybe it's because my face is always flushed or because we're only seen bouncing through in our land crusers. In just a few minutes of walking on the main road through town, 9 land crusers passed us, all of them white with the NGO's bumper sticker pasted on the driver and passenger doors.

This bridge marks the halfway point between our compound and the town. Surprisingly, this bridge, and the road it connects, brings a good percentage of the goods that fuel the Sudanese economy. Almost nothing is produced in the south and most goods come from Uganda and Kenya. Big trucks like the one below barrel into town, way too fast, swaying between chunky potholes (do you call them potholes if it's a dirt road?) and bicyclists. The bridge looks like it might not survive another truck and the road seems worse each day. This is the infrastructure sustaining southern Sudan's economy.

With more and more conversations, the shock continues about what is not here. I've been on one of the two or three tarmac roads in the south. They've had higher education available for about 2 or 3 years in about 2 or 3 cities.

In the late afternoon, young boys bring cows with enormous horns into town on the main road. They tie a rope to a stick as a handle and the other end to a rear leg. The cows are anxious and a bit wild. Ladies and children carrying grains and water home scurry out of their way when they make a sudden movement towards them. An unintentional and restrained "running of the bulls." I asked my friend where they bring all of these cows.

"The butcher," he said.
"The cows' behavior is understandable then," I thought.

I walked past the butcher today. He wasn't there, but you could tell from the dirty stack of lonely horns that this place, next to the river, is certainly where he does his work.


They have radio stations here. Maybe just one. [I realize you may no longer be reading, I know the horn thing is pretty gross for most of you.] And one of my favorite things is driving into town with the radio on and the windows down. As we pass peoples' huts and stands, many will have the radio playing as well from their small stereos. It's like a wonderful surround sound that kicks in and out as you try and figure out the speaker wiring. The music is upbeat Ugandan and Congolese, U.S. hip hop and R&B, and mostly Reggae Dancehall with the same pulsing Caribbean beat snaking its way through the small hills of this beautiful town. With incredible excitement, I am also happy to share that Regguetton has made its way to the very southern reaches of Sudan, Daddy Yankee and all. Who'd have known?