Loud Loft

Fridge door art . . .

Okay, here's the deal. As most of you dear readers know, Lisa and I don't have kids. It never came up so we never went that route. It's never really been a big deal to either one of us . . . so there.

Still, I have recently faced the reality that being a Father or Grandfather is a door that has essentially closed and facts are facts. I will never experience the joys of being a parent (or the not so joyfull  . . . ummmm,  non-joys of being a parent). So I had to face that emotion, experience that emotion and ether kick that emotion's ass or get mine kicked. Actually, it was touch and go on who's ass was getting kicked for awhile there - but I eventually prevailed.

But (and there's always a big but isn't there), Lisa and I sponsor a child, Angillo Joseph. I first met Angillo in June of 2006 in Yei Sudan at the Harvester's Orphanage. I didn't pick him so much as he picked me. He was only a couple of years old at the time (if that) and he came up to me, reached out his little arms, wrapped them around my leg and marked me with his little snotty nose. Touching, yes? I wrote about it HERE

When I got back to Texas, Lisa and I talked about "sponsoring" him and decided that somehow we would be able to make do with $1 a day less so that we could send $30 a month to the orphanage to help provide for Angillo and the others. A real a big sacrifice on our part, right?

Over the next few years we would get a little card from Harvesters updating us about Angillo. There was always something specific about his attitude and what kind of little boy he was becoming. A year later I was back in the neighborhood one day (?) and was able to drop by for about ten minutes to see him as I was on my way to the airstrip to fly back to Nairobi. He was taking a nap but Mama Lilly woke him up and she took a picture of me and him. Of course, he had no idea who I was other than a strange white man holding him on his lap  . . . and he's was still not quite awake. Here's that picture.

So a few weeks ago a large envelope arrives from Harvesters. I figure it's either a promotional flyer or some other sort of informational material.

When I opened it up there was a blue colored sheet of construction paper covered in crayon scribblings. It was from Angillo . . .

Here's a picture of it hanging on our fridge door.

I had put to rest the idea of not having a child and not being a father. That was a very selfish act on my part. Making a difference in a child's life isn't limited to being linked by biology or sometimes even by proximity. I may never see Angillo. If civil war returns to Sudan, as many think it will in the next few years, pretty much all bets are off. If not, Yei Sudan is still a long way from Texas.

But, I've been there twice. I have friends who would put me up for a couple of nights and I have a reason to care about what happens in Yei, Sudan beyond the abstract. There's a little boy sleeping in a dorm, eating in a kitchen, going to school and playing with his friends. I know his name. It's Angillo and he's put his mark on me . . .

As close to an epilogue as you'll get

This will have to do for an epilogue I suppose . . . though you will find it less of an epilogue and more of an admission that such a literary device is quite inappropriate for this topic . . .

BTW - if you grew up watching Jack Webb TV shows - you at least know that an epilogue comes at the end. Click HERE if you have no idea what I’m talking about - or HERE if you don't know about Jack Webb or HERE if you don't know about Mark VII Limited.

I've struggled with the question "how did this trip change you?" or "how have you been changed by this experience?" or even "how has Africa changed you?" and I finally figured out why I was having such a time coming up with an answer . . . it's because the tense of the question is all wrong. The question implies that something "has happened" in the past . . . that it had a beginning, middle and an end with the implication that there has been some sort of conclusion or resolution.

The question that I can answer is "how is Africa changing you? and my answer is “it is changing me everyday" and then I toss back the question (and it's directed at myself more so than at the person who asked me the first question) is "how am I changing Africa?".

The answers to the last question is "one life at a time, one step at a time, one action at a time".

Africa will likely never stop “changing me” and long after I'm gone there will be plenty of things still left to do. It's a bigger job . . . and a bigger solution than can ever be resolved this side of heaven. Just take it a step at a time and do something, anything, anyhow.

I encourage people to not think too hard about "what" to do.

I encourage them to not spend too much time developing a grand agenda, an action plan or calculating the steps to success

I encourage them to not worry much about metrics of success or strategic/tactical objectives . . .

I encourage them to get off their #$%&@!! lazy ass and ponder the thought that just maybe the whole freakin’ world doesn’t revolve around them and their needs (which are mostly wants masquerading as needs) and just possibly you live in one of the most blessed and prosperous countries on the face of the earth and there might be a reason you’ve got more than you need and it might be a good thing to give some of it to somebody who has less than they need and just possibly you might bring some light into a dark world . . . well, ok, that might not be considered encouragement but you get my drift.

So let me end with this, Bishop Taban, Harvesters, ALARM, Angelo . . . Martha Kathleen. If you’ve read the posts up to this point - I don’t need to say anymore. You know the need - what are you going to do? Epilogue that . . .

Sudan Epilogue? Not epi-yet . . .

I haven't posted the epilogue just yet - for a couple of reasons. The primary reason being - it just hasn't taken form yet. I've had so many things bouncing around and I have to wait until they are ready to take form and put themselves into the shape of words . . .

I spoke at the Coppell TX Lions club meeting last night . . . yet another surreal experience associated with this trip. I cobbled together a couple of dozen photos, did some more research on Sudan . . . and winged it. Not my best work but as the farmer said to Babe . . . "that'll do pig".

I did get some good feedback and the next time around will be a bit more focused and concise. The most encouraging comment that I got was "the story is so compelling and you aren't afraid to show your emotion". Yeah, like I could tell the story without letting my emotion show . . .

This Sunday I'm speaking at Holy Covenant United Methodist Church in Carrollton TX. That will likely be the culmination of my speaking engagements but who knows . . . and add yet another chapter into my surreal life.

After the Lions Club meeting last night I swung by Hunter's house and dropped off his duffel bag with all his clothes from the trip. If you recall he flew up to Albany New York the very next day after we returned to join the rest of his family visiting his Mom's folk. His Dad and Mom were there and we talked about the trip and how it changes you . . . I'm still trying to wrap my head around those changes.

I fear that things will not be the same (well not fear like you might fear getting your ass kicked - more like a fear that what you once were is gone and something new and unfamiliar has taken it's place type of fear thingy . . . whatever).

That's not a bad thing - in fact it's a good thing - it's also a different thing - and different implies change - lots of change in this case.

So there is an epilogue to come. I owe Loud Loft one. I probably owe myself one too. If you don't mind waiting . . . neither do I.

More to come . . .

Loud Loft - It's "Googlicous"

At work today one of my coworkers said that if you google "Bill Buchanan Sudan" - Loud Loft came up as the first hit - cool.

Sudan . . . Texas?

Click HERE for a Google Map link to Sudan Texas. It's halfway between Lubbock and Texico on Hwy 84 just a few mile before Muleshoe . . . who knew?

Click HERE for a little more info about this bustlling metropolis.

and HERE for more

they even have thier own listing in wikipedia - click HERE

and HERE is an aerial photo of the town.

Download all the posts in one file

Click HERE to see a PDF of all the Sudan posts as they were created in chronolgical order.

The file will open and you should be able to save it to your computer or print it out - be careful if you decide to print it though - it's about 50 pages long . . . sorry.

Bill

Link to my Photo album

Click HERE to go to the first of three photo albums. Select from the three volumes at the top of the page when you get there to see the others. . .

Bill

Sudan post #22

It’s official now - the trip is over. At 2:58 AM as I sat downstairs in my living room, I see a red pickup truck pull to a stop at the curb in front of the house. Seconds later the phone rings and it is a women’s voice. “Mr. Buchanan? This is Amy with Bag Express. I’m so sorry to bother you at such a late hour but I have your bags.”

“No problem Amy, I see you out the window, I’ll be right there”.

I had left the front porch lights on and had kept both my cordless home phone and my cell phone next to me. Earlier that evening at 10:30 I had placed my third call of the day to United lost baggage. The bags had been located and they were on a flight to arrive in Dallas at 11:10 later that evening.

I went to bed and slept until about 2:00 when I got up. The jet lag is giving my circadian rhythms a whuppin’ (I bet a lot of you didn’t even now I was Circadian . . . ‘eh hoser) so I got online, found the United Bagtrack website, entered the baggage claim tickets. I saw that the bags were scheduled for delivery by 4:00 AM. I did a screen capture and sent the image to Hunter, Debbie and Mike to let them know that at least the bags had been found and would be brought to my house. At the time I still didn’t know if the contents were intact.

So I bring the bags in and with great excitement, fear and trepidation open them up . . . everything is there just as they were packed four days ago. All the electronic gear seems to work fine and even the most fragile of the items power up and look good.

That brings the travel home portion of this saga to a conclusion - it’s about freakin’ time, I’ve got blisters on my fingers . . .

At some point there will be an epilogue and I need to go thru all the posts and correct some spelling, punctuation and what not so that I can properly archive the saga in case I want to look back at this journey into The Heart of Lightness . . . I know I will.

Stay tuned - more to come . . .

Sudan Post #21

Our flight to Dallas finally left Chicago at about 11:30 Sunday night. It actually turned out to be a combination of mechanical and crew issues combined that caused the delay. First there was a mechanical item that needed to be fixed which caused the crews to be shifted around. When the plane was mechanically ready to fly - the originally assigned crew was off on another plane somewhere else - so we had to wait until that flight crew made it back to Chicago . . . to take our plane to Dallas. Juggling planes and crews when there are mechanical or weather issues is probably a lot like juggling cats . . . fun and exciting to watch - but you wouldn't want to try it yourself and it has the enormous potential of ending poorly.

Sitting on the floor at the gate in O’Hare after we had left the Admiral’s lounge two terminals down and a 15 minute walk from our gate - with my legs crossed in front of me, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands . . . I fell asleep. When I woke up, my arms had fallen asleep. I thought, “great, I’ve had a stroke and I can’t feel my arms - this is a fine mess I’ve gotten myself into - maybe someone will have mercy and just shoot me”. Fortunately, the feeling soon returned and all was well.

By this time in our journey, if you had hooked sensors to our heads and looked out our brain waves on some sort of medical scope you would have seen a flat line - no measurable brain activity. I can tell that my brain stem is still functioning because for some reason I’m able to expand and contract my lungs and my heart is beating . . . but that’s about it.

I tried to add up the hours that Hunter and I have been traveling since Saturday morning in Yei when we woke up. I get up into the high 30’s and then it all begins to fall apart. For some reason I can’t accurately count higher than 40 or so. Hmmm, maybe that was a stroke after all.

Hunter and I are also starting to have trouble operating simple things like door knobs, keyboards, zippers and what not. In the Admirals lounge in O’Hare you enter the lobby and then take an elevator three flights up to the lounge itself. Hunter decided to find a McDonalds and get some real ‘merican food. He circled the lounge a half dozen times looking for the door before remembering he had to take an elevator down.

To enter the lobby of the Lounge from the terminal itself, you walk up to these heavily frosted sliding glass doors, a sensor is triggered by your movement which automatically opens the doors to let you in. However adjacent to the doors are also heavily frosted windows that look just like the glass doors. When Hunter returned, he stood in front of the windows waving his arms and gesturing like a mad man trying to get the freakin’ doors to open - this I would have liked to seen. Eventually - either he realized the error of his ways or someone else walked up to the doors, tripped the sensor and they opened.

I slept for most of the flight home - I dreamed of bats - go figure. Our flight landed about 1:30 or so and we filed out to find Mike Gwartney waiting for us in baggage claim. We had called him earlier when we found out about the flight delay and told him that we would catch a cab home. As we were taxiing to the gate after landing I thought to myself that I wouldn’t be surprised at all if Mike came to pick us up anyway - it’s what I would have done and I’ve found that Mike and I think a lot alike . . .

We speak with the United lost luggage lady who looks up our baggage numbers and sees some information that leads her to believe that at least two of the bags made it to Chicago. That is better news than we had expected. We filed a claim and got a number to call on Monday. Time will tell how that turns out. I just checked with the automated United Airlines lost luggage center and their is no new information. When I selected the option to speak to an attendant . . . I got a “your call will be answered in thirty four minutes” response - I hung up.

Ahhhh - the joy of flying on an airline that’s teetering on the verge of filing for bankruptcy. I’m sure that it seemed like a wise and prudent choice at the time and generally good stewardship of our funds to pick United to get us to and from London - but I hope I never see a United ticket in my possession again, ever, again . . .

On a different subject . . . I’m trying desperately to reconcile my feelings of being back home. I wept hard for the first time of the entire trip last night. It was about 3:30 or so and I was laying in bed and telling Lisa some of the stories. I noted that it was 11:30 in Yei and that Dennis would be working on something, Lance would be working on something else, Lilly would be walking the campus, Kelly would be attending to sick children, Christine would be dealing with students, Gunja would be doing her thing . . . and I was laying in a comfortable bed with clean sheets, air conditioning, hot and cold running water and a solid roof over my head. I would sleep soundly and awake the next morning to the same thing . . . and that finally took me over the edge.

I will look for a nice clock today - one that will be set to the local time of Yei, Sudan - this clock (there may be more than one) will sit in our house so that when I pass by I can note the time of day or night to remind me of Harvesters, EPC/CWEP, Bishop Taban and the people and places that I’ve seen in the last sixteen days.

Oh, I was finally able to add up all the hours from the time I woke up on Saturday morning at Harvesters in Yei to the time Mike dropped me off at my house and I fell into bed after taking a shower . . . 51.25 hours.

I’ve already begun planning the trip back - if there was any question in regards to my sanity this should remove all doubt.

Another Blogger from Sudan

Check out this link http://amydgillispie.blogspot.com/ to Amy Gillispie's blog. She was part of the team at Harvester's and has some wonderfull posts about her time there . . .