It is still here in the morning. Still both in terms of the silence and still in terms of the weather. No electricity this morning, so where you want to be is definitely outside, because inside without the fan and the light working is both dark and humid. The drums beat half an hour before and at the start of morning prayer in the Cathedral. While there are the sounds of the drums and of the women cooking and cleaning, sounds seem muted and distant. There is a peace here that is, I think, beyond description—or maybe just beyond my description. Maybe I will be aware of the competing noises of our Western culture when I get back.
I wonder what will be sacrificed as we bring "progress" to this land. I put "progress" in quotes because I am keenly aware the older I get that every step forward also takes something away. Sentina recently lost her father and she was telling us yesterday of Zande customs when a husband dies. Her mother loses everything—not just her home and all her possessions, but her clothes as well. They even shaved her head. She said it used to be that widows were not allowed to see their husband's grave or to walk on or cross a road that he had traveled. Sentina spent the day yesterday in Yambio purchasing some canvas to make a tent for her mother, getting her some new clothes and some things to cook and eat with.
All of that surely sounds barbaric to us, but it is part and parcel of the close-knit culture that binds these people together. As we lighten the restrictions, we also loosen the bonds, do we not? At least to some degree.
We head into Yambio this morning, to drop off Bob North for his UN flight to Juba, to see the markets in Yambio, and to visit with Bishop Samuel's mother and father.
More later when we return!
Jeanie Smith
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