Living in a place of war...part 3.
...to be continued...
Most of my time in South Sudan in 2014 was spent without a
missionary team, as I was the sole representative of my organization, so when
evaluating circumstances and situations, I relied heavily on local friends and
community leaders. I also relied heavily on the support and information of
fellow missionary colleagues from Maridi, a town nearly 100 miles away and
several hours travel by car on often mind-boggling bad dirt and mud and
cavernous roads. Twice in a seven-month period the missionary team from Maridi
had to evacuate. The dominant tribe where I lived was the Moru people, also a
dominant tribe in Maridi. So whenever something happened with Moru people in my
community, I could anticipate a call from the missionaries in Maridi, “So, we
heard something happened near Mundri???” and they could expect the same from me
when I got wind of events happening closer to them. The young, talented, and
smart missionaries in Maridi were an invaluable asset to me in ascertaining
information and generally providing great fellowship whenever our paths
crossed.
Earlier in the year, during the month of June tensions were
at an all-time high in Mundri, at least compared to my previous time there.
Local people literally had plans made to run to the bush. Every family was
preparing themselves for what seemed the most realistic outcome, fighting in Mundri.
I too, along with the help of local friends and family, was graciously included
in all their plans. They considered me part of their families now. “Ok, Joseph,
this is what we will do if this happens….and this is what we will do if that
happens…we will all run to here…..we will meet up there….if that path is not an
option then we will go here….we have food saved up here….there are sources of
water there…..” All this was confounded by the fact that I had previously
scheduled a regular out-of-country break starting in mid-June. But just prior
to my scheduled departure, as in the morning I am supposed to fly, I get a call
from Mission Aviation Fellowship (MAF) that runs the small airplane shuttle
into South Sudan and out to Uganda, telling me that the plane would not be
coming that day. And it would possibly not be coming any time soon. Something
happened with the Ugandan Central Aviation Authority, so all Ugandan registered
planes were not allowed to fly across international borders. Indefinitely.
(Seven months later, at the time of this writing, January 2015, Ugandan
registered planes have still not been cleared to fly internationally. Air
Uganda, the countries largest airline carrier has subsequently gone out of
business. MAF Uganda has since partnered with MAF South Sudan and has come up
with a system, though not ideal, that has allowed us to still travel to Uganda
from South Sudan.)
Around the same time as the increased tensions in Mundri and
the greater surrounding area, I was becoming increasingly frustrated with the
local medical situation. The staff morale was at an all-time low at the local
government run health center where I was working, the new administration was
proving worse than anyone could have imagined, and the staff absentee rate was
sky rocketing. At the same time, the number of patients was increasing. June
and July are in the heart of rainy season, so the number of malaria cases
always increases during that time of year. Internally displaced people were
also pouring into Mundri, so the number of sick people waiting to be seen
everyday was higher than I had ever seen. On most working days I was easily
seeing 70+ sick children and their parents, and sometimes I saw over 80
patients, all in just a few hours! To top it all off, the man in charge of
supervising the medication supplies for the county health care system, whom had
been arrested several months earlier for selling out medication and supplies that
were intended for the general population, was immediately hired back after
release from the prison system into a position that gave him even more
oversight and access to medications and supplies. I had always known the county
medical system was corrupt, but now they did not even try to hide it!
As June was quickly racing into July, 2014, the tension
continued to increase. People were legitimately scared that fighting was going
to happen in or around Mundri. My frustration at the health center came to a
head when the local administrator told me he did not care if a patient lived or
died, it was not his responsibility. This comment came on the tale of me asking
him what I thought was a simple request for some help that would have had a
direct impact on the patients’ outcome, to which he immediately declined even
though I knew he had the capacity and resources to help. His comments led to
my resignation from all duties at the health center for at least a two-month
period. (I am happy to say that I did indeed return after two months, and even
though the situation did not improve at the health center, and likely continued
to decline, God was able to provide me with renewed focus and energy to impact
and change the things I could and to let go of the things I could not.)
As tensions were at their peak in Mundri, and I was becoming
unraveled with all that was happening at the health center in culmination with
seeing the stress and fear in the faces of friends and family within the
community, added to the fact that I was now two weeks beyond my expected break
away from South Sudan, having spent 14 continuous weeks in a country at war
without any teammates, God graciously provided in the form of an unexpected
phone call.
“Hello, is this Scott?”
“Yes, it is.”
“This is MAF. We have a pilot from Tanzania, with a
Tanzanian plane, that will be in South Sudan tomorrow, and tomorrow only. Would
you like him to pick you up and take you back to Uganda. You need to let me
know right now so we can arrange accordingly. And I have no idea when or if we
will be able to bring you back to South Sudan. Would you still like to go?”
“YES!” I replied. And 18 hours later I was on a small plane
headed to Uganda with no idea how or when I was going to come back to South
Sudan. But I knew I needed a break, probably more so than ever before in my
life, and I figured God would work out the rest of the details. I ended up
staying in Uganda for 16 days, during which time I spent over a $100 USD making
phone calls to South Sudan. My motorcycle was stolen a few days after I left,
my roommate/younger South Sudanese brother was admitted to the hospital,
another South Sudanese friend had a seizure, and tensions remained extremely
high, but fighting never did break out in Mundri. However, a few days after I
arrived in Uganda, I saw my missionary friends from Maridi, as they had to be
evacuated from South Sudan, again.
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