“Shirt On My Back” Ch. 14 Trampled Grass
A word from Curt Homeless. It’s a word we’ve come to fully realize in Africa. There’s much more to homelessness than just being displaced. For refugees, it signifies the complete loss of all things material. Often, everything but the shirt on your back. Daily, we’re posting chapters from our new ebook, Trampled Grass. If you enjoy the stories, please pass them on. You can download the entire book in the following ways: Purchase as a Amazon Kindle ebo Download as a PDF at www.creekbank.net. As a Snippet App for easy reading on your tablet or phone. All proceeds from Trampled Grass go to our mission organisation’s funding offering, The Lottie Moon Offering. We encourage you to learn more and give at www.imb.org. Gratefully, Curt Iles If you’d like to be notified of future blog posts, sign up here. Chapter 14 “Shirt on my Back” There’s plenty of sadness in the camps. Then again, if you look and listen,you can find treasures of love, laughter, and kindness. There’s also plenty of humor. It says a lot about the resilience of the human spirit how people have the ability to laugh in the midst of even terrible circumstances. The older man came around a tukul (hut), scattering chickens in his midst. He was impossible to miss in his silk pajamas. He had on silk pajamas. I’m talking about a long-sleeved shirt, buttoned to the neck. Pajama bottoms dragging in the dirt with a knee in need of patching. It was mid-afternoon. A long time since morning; a good while until dark. He was dressed for either. We stopped and gawked. One of the Americans in our group said, “I wonder how much those silk pajamas cost new?” I have no idea. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen them in a store back home. At least not in places I shop: like WalMart, Target, or Academy. Glen Hickey, a Kentucky volunteer, hit the nail on the head as we watched the pajama-clad refugee swish by. “Now, I know where Hugh Hefner sends his hand-me-downs.” We laughed until we cried. It wasn’t the first time we’d had tears this day. It was just the first time it included laughter. The silk pajamas were probably all this man had. He looked pleased to have them. They did look comfortable. I recalled the common expression, “We got out with just our shirt on our back.” You hear that after house fires, tornadoes, and hurricanes in America. It’s true also in war zones. Armed men burst into a village in the dead of night. Dead of night. For many it will be the night they die. For some, especially women and children, it may be a fate seemingly worse than death. People don’t stop to gather possessions. The ones who survive run and never look back. Often with just the shirt on their back. Pencil sketch of the Pajama Man. Africa is an environment that allows plenty of tears as well as smiles and laughter. It seems you cannot have one without the others. We greet strangers with smiles. It translates well in any language. We laugh with Africans. We laugh at Africans. They laugh a great deal at us. I seem to really entertain them with my twisted tongue, bald head, and hairy arms. As my friend Moses Yaka says, “You Mzungu’s are unique!” We smile. We laugh and often weep without shame. Dr. Tim Patrick and admirers at Waju Kakwa Camp West Nile, Uganda Follow us on Curt’s Facebook Enjoy our Boards on Pinterest Twitter: @curtiles #UpCountry #goChadan #TGrass The Creekbank Amazon Page Subscribe here if you’d like to be notified of future blog posts. Q. Will you pray for the displaced folks like the Pajama Man? We love to hear from our readers. What is a prayer need in your life? [gravityform id=”1″ name=”Contact Us!”]
‘Lost In Translation’ from Trampled Grass Ch. 13
We are excited about our new ebook, Trampled Grass. Scroll down to learn how you can have a copy. A word from Curt Translation. Of all my African regrets, not becoming fluent in any language has been the largest. It has humbled me like nothing else. However, my stumbling around with my tongue has created lots of good stories . . . and new friends. “Lost in Translation” tells about a memorable translation faux pas. Daily, we’re posting chapters from our new ebook, Trampled Grass. If you enjoy the stories, please pass them on. You can download the entire book as a PDF at www.creekbank.net or as the Snippet App for easy reading on your tablet or phone. Trampled Grass will be available soon on Amazon. Our companion video, “We’re All in This Together” is available for viewing at our You Tube Channel. Blessings on your journey. Curt Iles Anakula mbuzi ambako ni amefungwa (Swahili) “The goat eats where it is tied.” -Sudanese Proverb [/tweetthis] Shelter from the storm: Goats in Nimule, South Sudan I hopped in the back seat of the Land Cruiser as I told Joseph Anyovi, “You sit up front and ride shotgun.” He turned. “Ride what?” “Ride shotgun. It means to . . .” Our driver, team leader Bob Calvert, shook his head. “Don’t even try to explain it. You’ll never get it across.” Bob nodded at Joseph. “You sit up front beside me.” Once again, something I said was lost in translation. Joseph and Jessica Anyovi on the day before the birth of their first child. I learned early on: don’t try to tell a joke to Africans. It just doesn’t translate well. So I should’ve known better . . . known better than to play a Jerry Clower story in a car of Madi tribesmen. One of my heroes, Jerry Clower Three young African friends were riding with me after a full day in the Bush. As we headed back to town, a big goat bounded across the road. That’s when the plan was hatched. I knew they’d enjoy Jerry Clower’s “Big Red Goat.” It’s one of Clower’s shortest (2-minute) tales. My colleague David Crane had nearly choked on a piece of chicken when I played it for him. It’s a story that always draws a burst of laughter at the punch line. That is if the listeners understand. With little introduction, I played “Big Red Goat” for my African friends. They listened with polite attention. A glance in the rearview mirror assured me they weren’t getting much of Jerry’s strong Southern accent. They laughed at Clower’s sound effects but the end of the story left them shrugging at each other. I should’ve known they’d have difficulty. Africans have lots of trouble with American accents, especially the more Southern-fried varieties (like mine and Jerry’s). That’s why most Americans over here acquire a fake-sounding British English accent. It’s not showing off but an attempt to be understood. I decided Jerry’s story needed translating. “Guys, let me tell you the background of the story and then I’ll play it again.” I pull off to the roadside. “It’s the story of two men who are deer hunting. They come upon a deep hole in the field. Not being able to see the bottom, they throw a stick in. There’s no sound, so they get a stump and chunk it in. Still no sound. One of the men sees an eight foot section of railroad track nearby. ‘Let’s throw it in there and I bet we’ll hear when it hits the bottom.’ The two men manhandle the heavy piece before sliding it in the hole. As they wait, a big red goat jumps into the hole. One of them says, ‘Did you see that?’ ‘Yep, it was a big red goat!’ Just then a man came walking out of the woods. He asks the hunters, ‘Hey fellows, have you seen my big red goat?’ The hunters looked at each other and one answered, ‘Yep, he just jumped into this hole.’ The man said, ‘That’s strange. I don’t see how he could’ve done that when I had him tied to an eight-foot piece of railroad track.’” I can hear y’all laughing all the way from Doodlefork to Deweyville. My African friends also laughed. We’ve spent enough time together that they’ve deciphered and decoded my Dry Creek dialect. I re-played Jerry’s “Big Red Goat” and they seemed to really enjoy it. I think they pieced together the story from Jerry and me. At least they were polite enough to laugh at the right spots. If you’re ready for a good laugh (and who isn’t) you can hear Jerry’s version of Big Red Goat. Learn more about my hero Jerry Clower. One Last Story on the perils of a Southern Accent in Africa: Two days ago I went into a northern Ugandan duka(store) to buy a tub of butter. The dominant brand is called “Blue Band.” I asked the middle-aged clerk, “Dada (Sister), I’d like a container of Blue Band.” She dutifully returned with a blue ink pen. At least she understood part of my request. “No. I mean Blue Band.” I used both hands to frame an imaginary butter tub. “Blue- Band-Butter.” She twirled the pen in her hand. “BlueBlandButter. I mean, BooBandButter.” An Ugandan standing beside me said, “He wants Blue Band.” The clerk went straight to the shelf and returned with my butter. Blue Band and a Blue Pen The three of us had a good laugh.
“E’s Sat Phone” Chapter 12 from Trampled Grass
INTRO A word from Curt Communication. It’s a good word and part of all of our daily lives. I believe you’ll enjoy the story below about communicating on the Continent of Africa. Daily, we’re posting chapters from our new ebook, Trampled Grass. If you enjoy the stories, please pass them on. You can download the entire book as a PDF at www.creekbank.net or as a Snippet App for easy reading on your tablet or phone. Trampled Grass will be available soon on Amazon. Our companion video, “We’re All in This Together” is available for viewing at our You Tube Channel. Blessings on your journey. Curt Iles Subscribe to our monthly StoryLetters. (Above) A traditional Murle hut. E’S PHONE Connecting across the Atlantic The crowd at Boroli Camp was growing and they weren’t happy. Ethan Bossier and I were the only whites within twenty kilometers and their initial hope at seeing us was cooled by our explanation that we had nothing to give. The Camp Chairman explained, through a young interpreter, that Boroli Camp had several thousand residents from twelve tribes in South Sudan. Most of the refugees, including him, were Murle from Jonglei State. As you learned in the previous chapter, the Murle have a unique reputation among the South Sudanese. All of my dealings with Murle had been good up to this point. Up to this point. But this crowd is suspicious. There is an edge to this crowd. Our appearance has been akin to a red cape flapped in front of a bull. The chairman’s name is Daniel. His interpreter, Ronald, is the camp youth chairman. Mr. Chairman continues to inform us that the Murle feel marginalized. “The other majority tribes have been favored. They have more boreholes, larger food rations, and better shelter supplies.” Joseph, a local Madi pastor, is with us. I can tell he’s getting nervous. When an African gets jumpy, it’s time for the Mzungu to pay attention. I slip out of the crowd and retreat to a nearby tree. We need something to break the tension that is building. I say a short Nehemiah-like “Flare Prayer” as in “Lord, help us.” I believe God answers in the form of a simple reminder. Get out your satellite phone. In the outlying camps as well as rural roads we travel, cell phone reception is poor or non-existent. I’m used to it: I come from the Bermuda Triangle of cell phone reception: Dry Creek, Louisiana. We recently purchased a satellite phone for situations in the Bush where we need to make contact but have no cell service. We used funds from a special friend who has chosen to support Open Hands Africa since we’ve been here. That’s why I call our satellite phone “E’s Phone.” E’s real name is Elizabeth or Beth. She is a dear friend who shares a mutual love with me: a place called Dry Creek Baptist Camp. Our satellite phone is a new model called a Sat Sleeve. I insert my iPhone into a slot on the larger phone and now I’ve connected to three satellites hovering over Africa. I can now call most of the world from the spot I’m standing. Our Thuraya Sat Sleeve Satellite phone I motion Ronald, the youth chair, out of the crowd. As I dial John’s number, I tell him, “Ronald, I have a Murle friend on the line. I’d like you to talk with him.” I pray for John to answer. John is a new friend who is a Murle church planter. He’s started churches in Pibor, Bor, and Juba. Each time fighting has forced him to evacuate. He is currently living between our town of Entebbe and Juba, the capital of South Sudan. John has a heart as big as Nairobi and a desire to see his people know Jesus Christ. “Hello. Who is this?” I explain who I am, trying every alias and description I have: “This is Mzee Curt . . . Mzungu in Entebbe . . . met you at Calvary Chapel Church . . .” Thankfully our game of charades ends with him connecting who I am. He’s in Juba and we have a clear signal. “John, I want . . . I need . . . you to talk to one of my Murle friends.” I hand Beth’s Phone to him. I can only hear one end and its in staccato Murle, but Ronald’s smile tells me much. I glance back at the crowd and can easily hear the chairman’s strident voice. Ronald hands me the phone and I wade through the crowd to the Chairman. I hand him the phone. “My friend John, who is a Murle, is on the line.” The camp chairman takes the phone and within half a minute, I realise several things: He knows my friend John and he is smiling. When the call ends, the chairman’s entire attitude has changed. We’ve been stood for. It’s a common term in Africa. It’s nearly a legal or ethical statement. “I know this man or woman and will stand good for them.” It’s like a legal bail: I’m standing for him and will take responsibility for him. Murle John has vouched for us. And he has saved the day. It has opened a relationship door for us with Boroli Camp. A door that we strive to continue to walk through in wisdom and compassion. And I’m convinced the door opener was Beth’s phone. We purchased it for our vehicle and long trips: breakdowns, getting hopelessly stuck, having two flats at once. However, the first time it was used was a different type of emergency: a relationship builder in an atmosphere of muted hostility. Thank you Lord for how you can use anything for your glory. Including a Thuraya Sat Sleeve Satellite Phone aka “E’s Phone.” Thank you Lord that you choose to use simple folks like us. Like DeDe and I. We are privileged to be on this journey at this season of our lives. And thank you Lord for praying
“Wow” Chapter 11 Trampled Grass
INTRO A word from Curt Marginalized. It’s a word we hear often among refugees. It’s the feeling that you (and your people group) don’t matter. You’re overlooked. Forgotten. Today’s post is about a group that feels very marginalized. They are called the Murle and they are one of South Sudan’s most interesting tribes. Daily, we’re posting chapters from our new ebook, Trampled Grass. If you enjoy the stories, please pass them on. You can download the entire book as a PDF at www.creekbank.net or as a Snippet App for easy reading on your tablet or phone. Trampled Grass will be available soon on Amazon. Our companion video, “We’re All in This Together” is available for viewing at our You Tube Channel. Blessings on your journey. Curt Iles Subscribe to the Creekbank Blog and receive notice of new blogs. Jovan and Jonah We climbed out of the Land Cruiser as the red Ugandan dust rolled past. In the distance, about three kilometers away, was Boroli refugee camp. I turned to Jovan, one of our young church leaders, “Jovan, that’s Boroli Camp. The Lord may send you to be pastor of that camp.” He stared a while before cutting his eyes at me. “Wow!” I wonder if that was Jonah’s response when God told him to go to Nineveh. “Wow!” As in “God, I can’t believe you want me to do that.” Now Boroli Camp isn’t Nineveh but it stirred the same emotion of fear in Jovan. “Wow!” Here’s why: Boroli is the most unique of the clusters that make up what is called Adjumani Camp. It consists of twelve tribes, with the Murle being in the majority. All of the other camps are mainly Dinka. The UN wisely knows to separate the Dinka from the others. They don’t play well together. Their main tribal rivals, the Nuer, are across the Nile at Rhino Camp. Refugee Camp experts understand that the world’s greatest river is needed to separate the Dinka and Nuer. But there are no Dinka or Nuer at Boroli Camp. The Murle are capable of creating enough trouble on their own. I love the Murle but they are South Sudan’s most misunderstood and feared tribe. They have an unfair reputation as baby-stealers and always ready for a fight. This week had been a tragic one at Boroli Camp. Several Murle refugees and local Madi had been killed in clashes. It began over a football (soccer) game that went awry. You could sense the tension in the local community. Boroli Camp was off limits during that time. That’s why my statement that God might send Jovan (a Madi) to a Murle camp elicited that one-word response that spoke volumes. “Wow!” We are asking you to place Boroli on your prayer list: Pray for peace in the camp. Pray that Jovan will be faithful to however God leads his life. My statement was in jest but I’m serious in about how obedience to God may lead us anywhere. Need I say, “Dry Creek to South Sudan?” I express it this way: Ready to Go/Content to Stay. It’s all about following Him. Everything else is just geography . . . and a willing heart. 2. Pray for Augustin and Mario who have started a Baptist preaching point in Boroli 1 and its sister camp, Boroli 2. These two young men are living in the Camp. On a recent visit, one of the Murle told us, “These men have come to live with us. They are drinking the same water we are.” 3. Pray for Juliet, a friend of DeDe’s who is a person of peace in Boroli. Pray also for positive tribal leadership and inclusion in the Camp. 4. Pray for our Chadan Engagement Team that we’ll wisely know when and if to work in 5. Pray for Albert, a Madi who oversees the camp on behalf of the Ugandan government. He emotionally shared about that week’s killing, “They killed one of my refugees.” This Madi bureaucrat took it personally that a Murle under his watch care had died. 6. Pray for John K., a Murle church planter I’ve come to know. He’s starting a new church in Juba, the capital of South Sudan. John is very concerned about his mother and family who are stranded in a refugee camp in Ethiopia. You’re invited to hear an inspiring message on Jonah by my Dry Creek pastor, Charlie Bailey. All I can say is “Wow!” Pray daily. Pray deeply. Pray for Boroli Camp. Parting Question: What “People Group” in your part of the world are stereotyped and marginalized? [gravityform id=”1″ name=”Contact Us!”] Follow us on Curt’s Facebook Enjoy our Boards on Pinterest Twitter: @curtiles #UpCountry The Creekbank Amazon Page Subscribe to the Creekbank Blog
What is a “Heart-Gift”? Chapter 9 Trampled Grass
A word from Curt Daily, we’re posting chapters from our new ebook, Trampled Grass. If you enjoy the stories, please pass them on. You can download the entire book as a PDF at www.creekbank.net or as a Snippet App for easy reading on your tablet or phone. Trampled Grass will be available soon on Amazon. Our companion video, “We’re All in This Together” is available for viewing at our You Tube Channel. We’ll be posting about this week’s journey on Facebook/Twitter at #goChadan/#UpCountry Blessings on your journey. Curt Iles HEART-GIFTS Imported Cheese and Rojo the Rooster You never know what a day in Africa may bring. It often involves surprising and delightful gifts. Last month featured two surprising gifts: Imported cheese. And a rooster named Rojo. Pascal and Juliet with his sister and her husband at Seminary graduation I drove to Jinja, Uganda, last week for a seminary graduation. My friend Pascal Ndihokubwimana had finished seminary. Pascal is a brave pastor with a long last name. I’d like to have been there on the first day of seminary when Dr. Sivage called roll. Pascal persevered to graduate. Eleven long road trips over three years. Making the bus journey through a war zone in eastern Congo, through Rwanda and across Uganda.His wife Juliet, whom I’d met in Congo, came to his graduation. She doesn’t speak English and my French and Swahili are poor. She smiled as she handed me a plastic bag. I peeked in at two perfect rounds of yellow cheese. “You made it?” Pascal answered, “She made it for you.” I cut a slice off. It was wonderful. “Thank you . . . or merci beaucoup.” I proudly brought the cheese home to DeDe. A recent volunteer team had left behind a can of Spam. There’s not much I like better than fried spam. Go ahead and laugh and shake your finger. I know it’s bad for you. And I don’t want to know what it’s really made of. It’s a comfort food for this redneck man. DeDe made a toasted spam and cheese sandwich. She slathered on the mayo and mustard. I sat down with a cold coke and a dripping spam sandwich. Not just any sandwich but one made with imported cheese and imported spam. Cheese from the Democratic Republic of Congo. And Spam brought with care from Frankfurt, Kentucky. As that commercial used to say, “It doesn’t get any better than this.” Timekeeper Chicken roundabout in Adjumani, Uganda. My second gift started out as a Coca-Cola. Ethan Bossier (known in Dry Creek as Big E) and I were on our last day in the refugee camps of Adjumani, Uganda. Our friend Joseph said, “Before you leave, Mildred wants to see you.” “Mildred?” “Yes, you met her at church yesterday. She wants to give you a Coke.” We drove to Mildred’s roadside market store. She greeted us with the warm African hospitality I’ve come to take for granted, sharing hot fried cassava hush puppies from a plastic bucket. I’m not crazy about cassava. It’s a sweet potato-like tuber that’s neither bad nor good. It’s tasteless. But fried it’s not bad. (I come from a culture where a fried piece of leather shoe would be eaten with relish if you had a little Tabasco and Tony’s.) Mildred excused herself, presumably to retrieve my Coke. I hoped it might be cold but knew better than to get my hopes up. Africa’s the home of cold showers and hot cokes. Mildred returned at a trot, with a big smile and a red rooster tucked under her arm. I’m slow sometimes but it quickly dawned: she wasn’t giving me a Coke. It was a cock. She handed me the rooster and a small plastic bag of grain. Its legs were tied and it nestled in the crook of my arm. Big E laughed so hard I believe he peed in his pants. Big E with Rojo. (E’s the one with the cap .) I held back my laughter. I’ve been on the Continent long enough to know this was a serious sacrificial gift. Africans seldom eat meat with a meal. The gift of a chicken is a sacrifice. A sacrificial gift of love. The plastic bag contained sim-sim, a sesame seed-like grain that makes great honey cakes. I handed the bag and rooster to Big E. Mildred gave us instructions on how to keep the rooster well on our long journey across the Nile. “A little water. A little sim-sim. Keep the windows rolled down.” It was as if she was sending one of her children off to boarding school. We began our drive to the Laropi Ferry on the Nile. On our ferry crossing four days earlier, Big E and I had sat by a tied goat on the boat. This time we had our own chicken. I named him Rojo after a nearly forgotten song of my childhood about a Mexican rooster of the same name. Big E named him Kojak. I had no problem with that. Everyone in Africa has multiple names spelled in multiple ways. Rojo/Kojak was a fine-looking rooster. A healthy Rhode Island Red. Big E kind of wrested ownership of Rojo from me, talking to it all the way along the bumpy road. It sat contentedly on the floorboard pecking at sim-sim seed. He (Rojo not Big E) was pretty docile on the entire three-hour ride to Koboko Town. “What are we going to do with him, Bro. Curt?” “I don’t know. We’ll decide when we get there.” It was nearly dark when we reunited with our other team members. I got Rojo out of the truck and took him behind the guesthouse where the chickens roost. They were a sorry-looking lot and I knew my rooster could whip anyone in the yard. Market chickens on Ssesee Island ferry. I untied his legs and Rojo strutted through the yard, wings a-flapping. Big E grimaced. “You don’t think anyone will steal him, do you?” “Nah, he’ll be here
“All Together!” Trampled Grass Chapter 7
When you cry, I taste the salt in your tears. It’s a statement of empathy
Independence!
A word from Curt Independence. Such a sweet word. We Americans cherish it. Still celebrate it as a fire-cracking holiday each July. The Independence story in South Sudan is bittersweet. The following story shares why. We spend about half of our time on The Journey. Our Journey takes us into northern Uganda, South Sudan, and Kenya. We are currently on a trip with our home church (Dry Creek Baptist LA) to their people group, the Kakwa. We’re posting chapters from our new ebook, Trampled Grass. If you enjoy the stories, please pass them on. You can download the entire book at www.creekbank.net. We’ll be posting about this week’s journey on Facebook/Twitter at #goChadan/#UpCountry Blessings on your journey. Curt Iles Chapter 6 INDEPENDENCE A New Nation. A New Baby There is no love quite like a mother for her child. His name was Independence. A new child born on the new country’s first day. The first child born at South Sudan’s Juba Hospital shortly after midnight. 9 July 2011. The happy birth of Baby Moses. Full of hope and promise. His parents gave him the full name of Moses Independence. The mother, Josephine, shared of her high hopes (http://www.unicef.org/southsudan/reallives_birth_of_a_new_nation.html) for both her new son and the new country. In fact, many South Sudanese referred to their nation as New Sudan. New Sudan. A fresh start. A new beginning. Sadly, three years later, war has broken out in New Sudan. The future is uncertain. It’s a tragic story of dashed hope. Baby Independence’s story is even sadder. He died before his first birthday. Details are sketchy. (http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/world-news/south-sudan-one-year-on-864311) He became ill, got sicker, and the doctors and hospitals couldn’t help him. Baby Independence will never see his country grow into a true land of freedom and peace. It shouldn’t surprise us. Infant mortality is high. The average life span of a man is slightly over fifty-four. That’s what war, poverty, and famine do to the health of a nation. South Sudan is still a place where women stoically realize that pregnancy may be a terminal condition. They may die giving birth to a new life. The life span of a South Sudanese man is less than 57 years. In Africa, the stats of those dying in war zones are not limited to mortars and machine guns. Many more die from malnutrition, opportunistic diseases, and famine. Dead is dead. It doesn’t have to be by a bullet. Since the December (2013) fighting broke out between the rebels and government, many have written the obituary of New Sudan. “If they can’t get along for more than two years, what hope is there for this country?€ They fought the Arab north, where thousands died to bring this opportunity to become a new free nation, and now the selfishness of power-hungry leaders, has resulted in this ongoing war. My home country, America, is known as the “Midwife of South Sudan.” Our government and aid organizations worked hard to broker the peace deal that created the world’s newest nation. The United States has poured millions of dollars into South Sudan. America the Midwife is now watching its baby on life support. Probably like the midwives who delivered Baby Moses Independence felt as sickness sapped his young life. Helpless. Wondering what went wrong. What could have been done differently? South Sudan is on life support. Her breathing is shallow. But where there is breath, there’s life. David Deng, the son of a Dinka chief and American mother, said it well, “If you’re not an optimist, you have no business being in South Sudan.” Things can change. Things can get better. Even if Africa seems cursed, things can turn around. It won’t happen overnight. It won’t be easy. Progress is seldom easy nor free. I come from the Louisiana Piney Woods. I come from Louisiana, the heart of rural United States South. It was probably the last part of America to move beyond the scourges that hold people back. In the latter nineteenth century, malaria, yellow fever, measles, and smallpox still killed people. Infant mortality was high. Once I stood in the oldest part of Dry Creek Cemetery with my mentor, Mr. Frank Miller. He pointed at the weathered headstones. “Look how every tall tombstone is surrounded by small ones.” He shook his head. “Most of the old timers buried at least one child. Some buried many.” Pointing at one grave, he said, “She died in childbirth. It was all too common back then.” The rural area that birthed me is much different now. I believe South Sudan can be also. The new country has a long list of problems and challenges to overcome. The recent conflict has set this back. But there’s still life. And hope. There’s a belief (held by those optimists like our Chadan team) that things can and will get better. I believe it’s through changed hearts and minds that the nation can step beyond the present despair. Without apology, I believe hearts and minds are only changed by the Spirit of God coming into a person. That’s why we forge ahead with the Gospel. It has the power to change lives. And changed lives can produce a changed nation. As another tough optimist/jailbird named Paul said, “Forgetting the past and striving for the future. . . .” So, DeDe and I can honestly say that there’s no part of the world we feel that we can make a difference more than in South Sudan. It won’t be easy. Good things seldom are. South Sudan was just labeled the “World’s Most Failed State.” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_Failed_States_Index) That means there’s only one way to go. Forward. And with God’s help, Better. We cannot take our hands off the plow. We will not look back. Africa Stories (http://www.commissionstories.com/africa/stories/view/imb- missionary-reflects-on-the-third-birthday-of-south-sudan) recently featured another version of this story. Please read and pass on. (http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/world-news/south-sudan-one-year-on-864311)
“This is our Europe.”
Our new ebook, Trampled Grass, is now available. Download a copy on your phone or tablet at www.thesnippetapp.com/web or learn more at www.creekbank.net A word from Curt Journey. We spend about half of our time on The Journey. Our Journey takes us into northern Uganda, South Sudan, and Kenya. We are currently on a trip with our home church (Dry Creek Baptist LA) to their people group, the Kakwa. We’re posting chapters from our new ebook, Trampled Grass. If you enjoy the stories, please pass them on. You can download the entire book at www.creekbank.net. We’ll be posting about this week’s journey on Facebook/Twitter at #goChadan/#UpCountry Blessings on your journey. Curt Iles Chapter 5 OUR EUROPE This Dinka elder said, “It’s my first time to set my feet in Uganda.” Keri Reception Center South Sudan/Uganda border January 2014 I sat quietly with the other Mzees. “Mzee” is an African term of respect for an elder. I’ve got the gray hair to be invited into the circle. It was a meeting of South Sudan refugees who€d crossed the border north of Koboko, Uganda. They were telling their stories as they waited to learn their fate and destination. An elder cleared his throat and nodded north. “The ones who started this war: their children are not here.” The grizzled man, a veteran of a generation of civil war to free his country, continued, “Where are the children and grandchildren of our South Sudanese leaders?” He shook his head. “They are not here. The children of our leaders are in Europe in fine schools. Away from what we€re experiencing. In fact, they will never know the bitterness our children have of losing so much. They are in Europe.” Most of us will never know how it feels to lose our homes, our way of life, and our security. He took a long look around the bleak landscape that was now home for his family. “I guess for us, this is our Europe.” Everyone sat in silence. The trampled grass had spoken. No more words were spoken. The circle dispersed in a Biblical pattern of oldest to youngest. We sat there alone. What could we do about this? I did the only thing I know to do. I wrote about it. The stories of the trampled grass. Many of the photos in Trampled Grass surpass description, so we’ll let them speak for themselves.
Where is “Up Country?”
A word from Curt UpCountry We spend about half of our time Up Country. Our Journey takes us into northern Uganda, South Sudan, and Kenya. We are currently on a trip with our home church (Dry Creek Baptist LA) to their people group, the Kakwa. We’re posting chapters from our new ebook, Trampled Grass. If you enjoy the stories, please pass them on. You can download the entire book at www.creekbank.net. We’ll be posting about this week’s journey on Facebook/Twitter at #goChadan/#UpCountry Blessings on your journey. Curt Iles Chapter 4 #UP COUNTRY “I’m going up the country/Got to get away.” “Canned Heat in “Up the Country” Most of the stories in Trampled Grass take place in the part of Uganda called “Up Country.” This rural and wild part of the country is often sneered at by residents in Kampala. It’s considered backwards and unstable. It’s our favorite part of the country. Uganda isn’t a large country. Its size compares roughly to our state of Colorado. Its neighbor to the north, South Sudan, is about the size of Texas with Oklahoma thrown in. Comparison of Uganda and the United States Up Country Uganda is rural. For better or worse, it’s the real Africa. You cannot understand Uganda without a geographical understanding of its relationship to the Nile River. The Nile begins its long journey as it surges out of Lake Victoria at Jinja, Uganda. This is considered the source of the great river. This section, commonly known as the Victoria Nile, flows north then turns west across central Uganda where much of it is actually a large swampy area called Lake Kyoga. Uganda’s main north-south highway crosses the Nile at one of the country’s most beautiful spots, Karuma Falls. This is where Up Country begins. Immediately, there is a different look and ambiance. The trees thin as grasslands dotted with Palm Trees dominate the landscape. The people are different also. The Up Country tribes are primarily Nilotic while those south of the Nile are Bantu. This creates a delineation between the two regions. Until a decade ago, you crossed at Karuma Falls at the possible risk of your life. Northern Uganda was in the purview of the Lord’s Resistance Army. More on that misnamed group later. Before turning north, the Nile passes through Murchison Falls National Park in and out of Lake Albert. This area is renowned for its animal life and beauty. Yawning Lion at Murchison Falls National Park, Uganda It’s now called the Albert Nile and crisscrosses Up Country before entering South Sudan on its continued long journey to Egypt. Most of the stories in this book take place along the Albert Nile. There are three major refugee camps along the River: Adjumani Camps, Rhino Camps, and Koboko Camps. Adjumani, which is actually a dozen clusters covering a county wide area, is where Dinka refugees have settled. Rhino Camp is primarily occupied by the Nuer tribe. Koboko Camp contains Kakwa refugees from neighboring Congo. Matrix of Koboko Camp clusters I feel much more comfortable in Up Country than on the urban shores along Lake Victoria. It’s probably because I’m from “the sticks in Louisiana.” I’m Up Country. At least that’s what the folks in Louisiana would call us. That’s all right, Jesus was Up Country as far as the Jerusalem Jews were concerned. He and his band of followers were considered “Country Bumpkins.” People from our largest city, New Orleans (http://www.creekbank.net/neworleanshearts/), sneer at our part of Louisiana as “backwards and ignorant.” That’s similar to the reaction of citified Kampalans to Uganda’s distant north. So I understand about how Up Country folks feel. Many times they use the term “marginalized.” They’re underdogs. And we Americans always love an underdog. Up Country. Like John “Karamajong” Bell, I prefer the wild part of Uganda. John Bell preferred Up Country. Bell, a British colonial administrator, so preferred northern Uganda that visitors to his Entebbe office were invariably told, “He’s not in. He’s gone to Karamajong.” That’s how he got his nickname. On our trips to the wild North, we tweet with hashtag #UpCountry In Trampled Grass, you’ll learn about the people who live Up Country, a place where you’re made to feel welcome. A place where babies often burst out crying at the sight of a white man. A place where we are showered with rural hospitality and kindness. It’s where we are often startled, surprised, and delighted. At other times, shocked, disgusted, and disappointed. It’s Up Country.
Oh my soul! Bob and Nancy Calvert
A word from Curt Dedication. We are currently on a trip with our home church (Dry Creek Baptist LA) to their people group, the Kakwa. We’re posting chapters from our new ebook, Trampled Grass. If you enjoy the stories, please pass them on. You can download the entire book at www.creekbank.net. We’ll be posting about this week’s journey on Facebook/Twitter at #goChadan/#UpCountry Blessings on your journey. Curt Iles Bob and Nancy Calvert pray with Pastor Tolbert at Faith Baptist in Nimule, South Sudan. Chapter 3 OH, MY SOUL ! Dedication. It’s the right word for a couple who’ve spent twenty-four years of their lives in Africa. Bob and Nancy Calvert are a unique couple. How else would you describe an Atlanta urbanite married to an Arkansas hillbilly who end up spending their lives in Africa? Bob and Nancy Calvert have invested their lives in God’s work in East Africa. Bob has a saying for everything: “Oh, my soul,” “Twist on the pig’s tail” and a thousand more witticisms. Nancy, his wife of over thirty years, is one of the most insightful thinkers I’ve ever known. – They have faithfully served in Africa since 1992. – Raised four children on the Continent. – Led thousands of Masai to Christ. – Mentored dozens of missionaries. – Developed a story cloth (http://historycloth.com/) that helps oral learners understand and share the Gospel. When DeDe and I arrived in January 2013, the Calverts took us under their wing and became family to us. Trampled Grass is dedicated to Bob and Nancy Calvert for their faithfulness and perseverance in following God’s call. Thanks for showing us how it’s done. We encourage you to learn more about how you can use the Story Cloth (http://www.historycloth.com/stories) right where you live. Special thanks: – Trampled Grass is possible through the encouragement of the Calvert’s, David and Renee Crane, and Tim and Charlotte Cearly. – Thanks to Kari Miller for coordinating our ministry from the U.S. – As always, we depend on the skill of Paul Conant with PWC Editing (http://www.pwc-editing.com). Many of the touching photos are from the camera of our colleague JoAnn Bradberry. Anthony Mugisha and Agatha Muhaise of Uganda’s Burt Systems (http://burtsystems.co.ug)have helped make Trampled Grass both attractive and easy to read.
A quote worth remembering
Trampled Grass Chapter 2 “When Two Elephants Fight . . . “
A word from Curt Journey. We spend about half of our time on The Journey. Our Journey takes us into northern Uganda, South Sudan, and Kenya. We are currently on a trip with our home church (Dry Creek Baptist LA) to their people group, the Kakwa. We’re posting chapters from our new ebook, Trampled Grass. If you enjoy the stories, please pass them on. You can download the entire book at www.creekbank.net. We’ll be posting about this week’s journey on Facebook/Twitter at #goChadan/#UpCountry Blessings on your journey. Curt Iles Chapter 2 TRAMPLED GRASS “When two elephants fight, it’s the grass that gets trampled. -African Proverb This collection of stories is not about the two elephants that are destroying our adopted country of South Sudan. We’ll leave that to the political experts. As we say back home, “I don€t have a dog (or elephant) in that fight.” My concern, as well as stories, is about the trampled grass: the innocent everyday citizens of South Sudan. “This war took away something we must have: our opportunity at education.” Ulua Camp School Boys. They are personally paying the price for the civil war that has gripped South Sudan since mid-December 2013. We’ve met these brave people in the refugee camps and settlements along the border of South Sudan and its neighbor, Uganda. These are their stories. The history and background of the current situation is complex and long. Here€s how it€s playing out presently: A power struggle exists between the two strongest men in South Sudan, President Salva Kiir and former Vice President Riek Machar. Their sharing of power broke in July 2013 when President Kiir fired his entire cabinet, including Machar. Kiir is from the Dinka tribe, South Sudan’s largest tribe. Machar is from its second largest, the Nuer. The cultural facial markings of the Dinka and Nuer distinguish the tribes Learn more (http://groundreport.com/south-sudan-our-cultural-marksare- killings-us) about the two tribes and how these facial markings have played a part in the violence. The fighting is not all about ethnic allegiance, but the people you’ll meet in the following stories‚Nuer, Dinka, Shilluk, or Zande‚ were trampled by soldiers, rebels, even neighbors who viewed them as the enemy. Many lost family members. Map of South Sudan and its neighbors. Many fled south to the Ugandan border. That€s where we met them in the refugee camps and villages. They are the trampled grass. These are their stories and of the heroes who’ve reached out to them. Heroes: Once refugees, Joseph and Jessica Anyovi, have used their past experiences to help others.
Sunday Prayers
A Word from Curt Prayer. What a good word. “Where do you pray?” This is the lead question many Africans ask. It’s an honest inquiry about your faith. Where do you go to pray? In our culture (here) it’s not intrusive or rude. As you go to pray on this Sunday, would you please share these three requests with your church? 1. Three men from our home church in Dry Creek (LA) began their long journey to Uganda today. Lift up Todd, Aaron, and Garrett as well as their families. We’ll be traveling Up Country (follow us on Twitter: #UpCountry) to work with their adopted people group, the Kakwa. It’ll be a rich experience as we touch Kakwa in three countries: Uganda, South Sudan, and DR Congo. Photo below is of Jombu Church where we will camp for three days. 2. That God will lead American churches to engage an unreached people group, village, or refugee camp. Engaging is the act of committing to pray for one of these groups or areas. DeDe and I are here to facilitate this process. 3. God’s blessings on the recently released ebook, Trampled Grass. Trampled Grass is a short book chock full of photos, stories, and videos about the people we’ve come to love in northern Uganda and South Sudan. All proceeds from the book will benefit our organisation’s Lottie Moon Christmas Offering. Get your copy and spread the word! Learn more at www.creekbank.net Feel free to print this and share with your church. Thanks for praying! Thanks for holding the rope for us! Curt and DeDe Iles Entebbe, Uganda www.creekbank.net
Wish you’d been there . . .
A Real Southern Gospel Quartet Flash prayer need: A team from our Louisiana home church will be working among the Kakwa during the next two weeks. Pray for Aaron, Todd, and Garrett as well as our church leaders in Uganda and South Sudan. Scroll down for other needs Nothing connects with a person quite like the truth in their heart language. I’d never seen anything like it. It was just like the Book of Acts. The service was in full swing African mode when we were ushered into the thatched roof-open sided church service. There was a radiant joy in the worship in spite of most of the worshippers being refugees Faith Baptist Church in Nimule, South Sudan. The singing ended and a young pastor began preaching in a language I didn’t know. After several sentences, he stopped. A lady to his right translated. It had the throaty sound of Arabic. She finished and a man on the far right began. I still didn’t have a clue. A fourth person, a young church leader, spoke something I could understand: English. This quadriphonic sermon continued as the pastor started the next round. later learned he was preaching in Madi, the local language. The woman on his right was translating into Arabic, the Lingua Franca or trade language of much of South Sudan. The third person was speaking Murle, the language of most of the refugees present. Madi. Arabic. Murle. English. Listeners were hearing the Gospel in their mother tongue. Once again, nothing connects with a person quite like truth in their heart language. Pastor Tolbert of Faith Baptist with his son The sermon in four languages went on (and on). I always remind my American preacher friends, “Remember that using a translator doubles the length of your sermon.” In this case, it’s times 4x. 4 times longer. Madi, then Arabic, Murle, and finally English. Spoken by four South Sudanese. The Gospel in four languages. A real Southern Gospel Quartet. The best kind of all. You can read an extended version of this story (with videos of both Southern Gospel Quarter and African swing) in Trampled Grass, our new ebook. Learn more at www.creekbank.net Prayer requests for Curt and DeDe: Dry Creek Baptist Church trip to Kakwa in South Sudan and Uganda beginning October 22, 2014 Churches to engage Unreached Unengaged People Groups Accurate research of Unreached People Groups Discipling members of Bible study groups God’s blessings on the E-Book entitled Trampled Grass by Curt (A Lottie Moon awareness book released this week.0 Thanksgiving for good health Thanksgiving for encouraging cluster meeting
