Let it rain, let it rain.

So it's the rainy season here, which is an understatement. For the deep south of Sudan, it doesn't just mean water falling from the sky. Rain makes everything so pretty and green but it also causes problems along the way. For one the roads become somewhat like driving on. . . . . .I don't know. . . . . . Vaseline? Especially on a quad (sorry a four wheeler, I'm still southern) the word "steering" doesn't exist. It's more like you are just moving in a direction and you hope you continue that way. The rain can also create a bit of a problem for my work, doing research, in that no one will show up to the appointments if it's raining. Since virtually no one owns a car here, and for some reason everyone is terrified of rain, when it does rain life seems to stop in Sudan. This is just one of many things that have become part of my everyday life, and I guess in a way, part of who I am.
This week has involved a lot of traveling back and forth for me, but I can't complain. Riding around in the bush here on a four wheeler is like every guy's dream come true. Back in the day we used to look for cool and adventurous places to take our four wheelers, especially where there's lots of mud, and now everyday on the road is one of those places I used to dream of. I'm learning to find huge appreciations in small things. For me, it's made my life simple and I love that about me right now. I've seen some bad things and heard some even worse stories, but there are those times when something small happens and you hear that voice in your soul say, "This is what it's all about."
Let me give you a couple examples. Just the other day I was driving back to Yei from an assessment in the bush and as always I was passing by many people walking, riding bicycles, motorbikes etc. You always see kids along the road, and they usually just stare in amazement and slowly lift their hand to wave. The sight of a white person on this strange looking thing that's not a motor bike, and it's not a car, baffles them. I always try to appreciate seeing the children here, because I know one day when/if I leave Sudan I will miss seeing their bright smiles. As I approached a group of children I noticed right away that they had stopped dead in their tracks along the muddy road to see just what the heck was coming at them. As I got closer I noticed one little boy, probably 8 or 9 years old laughing. He threw his hand up as if it might be the last time he got a chance to wave. As soon as I waved back he began jumping up and down and laughing like I had just made him the happiest he would ever be in his life. This entire galaxy could not contain his excitement. I don't think I've smiled that wide ever in my life. I wanted so badly to stop and just hang out with those kids for a while. The sight of me and that I had acknowledged him had made his entire day. But his reaction to me made my entire time here. For the next several kilometers of my drive, with Dave Matthews playing on my IPod, I was as content as a person could be. The road sucked and so did getting sun burned, but that little kid, who I'll probably never see again had an impact on me. I don't know his name, or even what village he's from, but his smiling face, and him jumping up and down, is permanently etched in my mind.
Example two happened today at one of my assessments. I was greeted warmly by roughly 80 people or so singing and dancing. The assessment went very well, and I felt great about the meeting. As it usually happens, we were presented with a soda, and a bottle of water. The village I was in is very deep in the bush, so I know the trip to get the soda and water was probably taken yesterday or the day before, just so me and my translator could have a soda. As we wrapped up the assessment I opened my water and began to drink it while I made small talk in broken Arabic with the pastor. As normal everyone in the congregation had their eyes locked on me, because I am so different looking basically. I noticed a small boy near the front that looked so freakin' cool. Like that kid is going to be the man when he gets older. He was probably around 5. I feel a bit shameful saying this, but up until now I've never done what I decided to do. I said to myself, ya know what, I'm gonna give that kid my soda. I had my translator call him up to me and he began to make his way up to the front where I was sitting. He seemed a bit nervous and hesitant, but as he reached my translator told him in Arabic what I wanted to give him. He lit up like a Christmas tree. As I opened the soda (Mirinda, which is my favorite drink in Africa) and handed it to him, he strutted back to his seat like he had just won a Grammy. I noticed him looking at all of the other kids with a look on his face as to say, "Yeah, check me out, the white man gave me a soda, you all know you're jealous." It was priceless, and yet another person God has used to show himself to me. I think God hides himself in the innocence of children hoping that we will see it. Usually we don't, we have too much going on and the children are always pushed to the side at a function like the one we had today. But on the road the other day, and under those enormous mango trees where that church meets, I caught a glimpse of God in those children.