Home on the Range
There’s no signage driving into Jalle. The rusted out Russian MIG to your left lets you know you’re close. A moment later, graceful crested cranes dart across your path and a few corrugated metal sheds appear along the road. Pieces of broken concrete keep the roof from blowing away in these high winds. This is the business district. Beyond that, goats roam between clusters of mud and thatch huts. Clearly I have been traveling in a space ship – time machine.
Out on our expansive, featureless building site, a distant dust devil offers the context my disoriented brain sought. Hot, dry and flat? Sounds like the plains of West Texas where I did my undergrad. This particular resemblance is thanks to the nearby dike that keeps the endless marshlands at bay during the dry season. As the wind whipped up the loose dirt, I could almost imagine that I was walking to class in a Lubbock dust storm. Except for instead of windmills on the horizon, there are tukuls. And while there isnt any cotton, there are cows and there is oil, both in the ground and in consumption. South Sudan is entirely oil dependent and runs on noisy diesel generators. You know the commercial where the guy cranks up a smokey, sputtering lawn mower motor attached to his computer? That’s pretty much urban South Sudan in a nutshell. Though oil exploration in the rural Jalle region was abandoned at the onset of the war, the legendary White Nile Oil Company is rumored to return at any moment to resume the search. Traces of their infrastructure remain.
Cows, on the other hand, can be seen everywhere. A family’s wealth in Jalle is measured in cattle. South Sudan’s version of cowboys are young men in a second-hand clothes with automatic rifles – but no horses. They protect the cattle from thieves but don’t really have to herd them. Apparently South Sudanese cattle know when to come home and which home is theirs. Blake and I were dumbfounded by the idea of a cow with a built-in nav system. But sure enough, when the sun sank low, the cows crossed back over the dike where they’d been enjoying the green grass and lumbered toward their barns. We’ve decided that African cows are infinitely smarter than American cows.
People in Jalle laugh when I describe longhorn steers. Their bulls have horns that sweep straight up. The residents of Jalle aren’t so different from small-town West Texans. They are an incredibly friendly, tight-knit community where word travels fast. When an overheated Blake declined to dig in at the bishop’s luncheon, our concerned chaperone came to inquire after his health the next day. ‘Nothing worries them like when you dont eat,’ Blake explained. As for me, being the woman with the camera, everyone knew my adjusted name (Mary) by day 2. Strangers greeted me with an enthusiastic and bemused tone of recognition, the same tone you use in the states when you greet your buddy who did something hilariously stupid the night before. Having no idea what they were actually saying, all I could gather about my budding renown was one man who referred to me in English as ‘Mary, the mother of aaaall the children’. I’m assuming this was in reference to the comet-tail of kids that trailed me everywhere. I did have a number of women mistake blemishes for mosquitos bites (the Dinka all have perfect, even skin) and were particularly concerned by the bugs’ apparent affinity for my face. I found it was less embarrassing to simply nod in agreement.
Finding these similarities dispelled my short-lived belief in space ship – time machines. Just like in West Texas, a long, hot day is rewarded with hazy swaths of color across the sky as the sun sets. However, I think African sunrises are my favorite. For those of you who know me and my distain for any hour before noon, I’m actually not lying. That first morning I stumbled sleepily out of the compound to find the village emerging from layers of golden haze. The sights and sounds of the village coming to life – the chorus of roosters, the tiny bleats of baby goats, the echoey calls of hawks – is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
Marianne Nepsund, Rebuid Sudan Intern
Breaking Ground if not Groundbreaking
Forgive our silence on the blog for the last couple of days. Part of this was due to lack of communication with Blake and Marianne in the out of pocket location of Jalle, the other part was due to difficulties we were having onsite which Blake will explain below. Thankfully, this doesn’t change our project’s budget, but it does require us to spend $20,000 now instead of in a few months from now. If you were planing on giving any time soon, please consider an immediate gift to reBuild Sudan to ensure we can cover these costs and keep this project moving forward. We’ll give a more thorough report of our Plan B which is now in action when Blake returns and we can strategize with our manufacturing partners, HeliPiles. We are so glad to have your help and support in this! – Jill, Board President
I’m pretty certain God did not put me on Earth to prove to me my genius. More likely, humility and gratitude is more His agenda. Years of planning, progress, mishaps and setbacks has brought us to breaking ground for the primary school in Jalle Payam. We hoped that our project could become a showcase for advancing building science in East Africa with the use of a helical pier foundation. We wanted to break ground with groundbreaking technology that didn’t, in actually, break the ground. This didn’t come to pass. The technology is sound, but our experience and our installation techniques proved not enough to overcome the challenges of our site. Without going into too much detail, we simply could not install the piers to the manufacturer’s spec to insure a safe and lasting building.
The foundation tool worked perfectly in Colorado but not so perfectly on our site…
Lesson one: Humility. Check.
I can’t say enough for our contractor. Denis with GDC South Sudan was not only willing to attempt to build with new technology he was able to change gears quickly and without any blame and propose a plan B. We will still use deep footings as required by our soil and flooding conditions. Though instead of steel piers, his crew will hand dig fifty-two 2 meter deep holes with pickax and pry bar. Shovels? Are you kidding me? An elephant stepping on an shovel couldn’t penetrate this soil in the dry season. From an engineering perspective, it is very sound. Within 24 hours of our failed tests, workers were literally breaking the ground for a school that will serve the people of Jalle for decades.
Less two: Gratitude. Check.
We have not abandoned the helical pier technology, nor written off what we have invested in it. The piers that we purchased for Phase I will hopefully now be incorporated in Phase II which includes installing the flooring system. We have time now to figure out what went wrong and try to come up with solutions. Thank you so much to all of you who have supported this effort. Everyone is doing their best to see Michael’s dream a reality. Within 6 weeks, the horizon in Jalle Payam will have a symbol of hope and peace for all to see.
- Blake, Executive Director
Just another day (and night) in Jalle
(Marianne) South Sudan is a beguiling contradiction. Hash and unyeilding, joyful and inclusive. Today, we saw the extremes of both sides. Today really began with last night with the all-night preparations for our clerical guests. As we sat in the courtyard under the full moon, villagers entered one by one, depositing sleepy-looking chickens in a pile nearby. Blake theorized that the chickens had perhaps been hypnotized and proceeded to explain how you hypnotize a chicken. One villager led a goat in and took it beyond where I could see. As Blake and I continued to discuss the fate of the growing pile of chickens, I stiffened at a bleating sound followed by something that distinctly silenced the bleating. Looks like Bishop would be enjoying goat AND chicken for lunch tomorrow. My attempts to fall asleep were interrupted by a periodic sqawk and thud. When I woke in the middle of the night, the preparations were going on and continued straight through until morning.
I’ll let Blake add his voice in laying out the day that followed:
(Blake) The first night we woke up to a chorus of roosters. This morning it was drums. And roosters. And a megaphone. I swear he was saying “abroche su cituron.” Early. In our compound. Now, our kind hosts are Episcopalian, so we’re not worried about voo-doo or anything, its just really loud. The early morning is cool with a light breeze. Later, on the building site, it was hot with blast furnace dust-laden winds. My mouth was dry within minutes. Marianne shrugs. ‘This is exactly like Lubbock.’ We are finally installing our first test pier on site. The installation tool resembles a giant tinkertoy spool with 6 long spokes sticking out perpendicular to the pier shaft. It takes 6 grown men turning like a merry-go-round to drive the pier into the ground. The first pier is a comedy of errors. Once installed to depth it listed about 30 degrees to the southeast. We would need to see some significant improvement for our second try.
Our second pier (did I mention our car went back to the compound with our water in it?) was much better. The team really took ownership and were quick studies. It went down straight and relatively quickly. Then a setback… the tool we use to determine if the pier is set correctly indicated we were only at 25 percent strength. We had used two out of a maximum of three plates at the base of the pier. We had yet to try the biggest one in our inventory.
Before we could do that we had to get back to the compound to welcome the Arch Bishop of Brazil. We arrived to find the entire village packed into our compound and – surpirse! our mud hut was headquarters. The Bishop’s name is Morice and he seemed quite nice. We didn’t have much time to talk to him because apparently we had also unwittingly “invited” about thirty area clergy and dignitaries into our 300 square foot home. Marianne bee-lined for the corner of her mosquito net where her laundry hung and shoved those items she deemed inappropriate for display under the pillow. Dirt-streaked and disoriented, we shook innumerable hands, watched the hands heartily enjoy lunch, and then shook them all again in farewell. After the hut had emptied, Marianne and I remained in our freshly polished lawn chairs, too dazed to move.
I did meet a very nice deacon from Indianna who was interested in discussing possible funding for our project. I got his card. Outside the hut were a couple hundred people waiting to see the Bishop before he drove off back to Bor for the night. One look at Marianne with the camera, though, and the crowd ditched the Bishop and went straight for fame and fortune in front of the lens. The fame and fortune comes instantly as Marianne shows them their picture on the viewscreen. With triple the usual number of people clamoring for the camera’s attention, the situation becomes too much and Marianne retires the camera to our hut. A small army followed her in to clean up after lunch, put our beds back in place and thank us for our hospitality.
I think I forgot to mention, except for the thinnest of details, we had no idea any of this was going to happen.
After a precious few minutes to ourselves we headed back to the site. This time we went full up, installing the “cornerpier” with every plate we had. Our tests still indicated that we were at 25 percent strength. Another pier confirmed this measurement. Marianne and I sat staring at the stubborn soil rechecking calculations. It’s not yet the end of the world as I’m waiting for more information from the pier manufacturer in Colorado. A rousing success would have been much better. At least we know how to get them in straight now.
(Marianne) After a totally exahausting day, I sat jotting down notes on my iphone. Naturally this attracted attention. A shy, intelligent boy named Bol came to explore the iphone’s camera capability and in no time had figured it out and was snapping pictures of his friends. He began to flip through the photos stored on my phone and paused at one of sunset. ‘That’s Juba,’ I explained. He touched the sunset over a mountain. The world through his eyes is an incredible place; you can tell he has so much potential. I watched him transfixed. It occurred to me that he’d probably never seen Sudan’s capital city, never looked out from a building more than 15 feet tall or watched a sunset over a mountain. You can tell he has so much potential. After the whirlwind of today, this moment brought me back down to earth. This boy. This school.
- Blake and Marianne
A Square Rectangle
The meeting with the elders to finalize the school placement wasn’t quite what I expected. A village elder approached Denis shaking his head. We had just begun measuring our baseline. He told Denis that a new road was planned and that the school needed to be moved some distance. This news was followed by uproarious laughter by all around. A very funny joke, it turns out, was good news for us. The school is now laid out. A bright red string marks the square and level rectangle that will hopefully soon become a foundation, columns and a roof.
We were not able to set a pier, however. The installation tool and a few test piers were brought to the site. We only have the SUV since the truck is on its way back from Juba with more supplies. The driver overloaded the vehicle and the fuel tank was ruptured during one of the runs to the site. This pretty much shut us down for the rest of the day. It’s not a big leak, but it’s going to cause additional hassle and more delays.
In other news, a new cell phone tower is going up in Jalle. This is big, big deal once it is on-line. Never before in the history of the world has this area had instant communication with the outside world. I dare say in the short term this is likely to have a much larger impact on the community than our school will. It certainly makes Rebuild Sudan’s mission easier. I can’t even imagine being able to call up the contractor and ask, “How’s it going?”
Mariann (aka Mary): Our site attracts a steady stream of visitors from the village across road, so we have shaken many, many hands. I’ve been advised to introduce myself as Mary because Marianne is too complicated. My lapses are rewarded with confused faces, but thanks to a lot of repetition, I’m pretty sure I’ve at least got the standard greeting down (kudwahl). But today I learned that there is a particular motion that can go along with it – a secret handshake if you will. The emphatic form of kudwahl is ‘kudwahl arate’. At ‘kudwahl’, you shake hands at a normal height, at ‘arate’ you shake hands as high as you possibly can. My instructor in this particular tradition drew immense amusement from the up-down-up-down and made sure that we photographed the passing-on of his expertise. Beyond that initial greeting all I can really do is smile and make apologetic faces for having no idea to say next. The Dinka also find this highly amusing. I like to tell myself they are complimenting my fluid grace of motion and fashionable attire. Though tripping over the flat ground doesn’t do much for my case.
Bats in the belfry
Hopefully, my posts don’t sound like I’m whining. Life here is so different that it seems like describing the most visceral experiences we’re having might sound like complaining. I prefer the term “coping” or perhaps, “coming to terms.”
Marianne and I are sharing a hut at the Grace Chapel Church compound about 6 miles from our school site. We have dubbed our home “The Bat Cave.” The roof peak is home to a very well fed colony of fruit bats. Though we didn’t experience any close encounters, the noise in an otherwise quiet room was really loud as they squeaked, landed and clawed the tin roof. The bed slats are spaced about 1 foot apart and the mattress is about 2 inches thick. This creates rock hard pressure points and bottomless sagging all at the same time! By all accounts, we have the best accommodations in Jalle.
We attended a small church service this morning. We greeted the community and were thanked for our work here. We were also told that the Arch Bishop of Brazil is coming tomorrow. I’m pretty sure I’m going to meet the Arch Bishop of Brazil in Jalle Payam tomorrow. Would not have planned that. I’m thinking I should bathe…
We woke up this morning and all of the workers had already started walking to the site. Denis and our driver, James, had to drive to Bor for more supplies so we’re here with our cook and security guards and about 14 kids that watch our moves with endless fascination. We have yet to meet with the community elders who will all need to voice there opinion as to where exactly the school should sit. This is important because if anyone asks someone can say, “go ask that guy” and not be pointing at me. Not sure when this is going to happen, so until then, we sit and wait and learn how not to think so linearly.
-Blake Clark, Executive Director
