Written By: John Jefferson
We bedded down at the
last bore hole on the border before continuing our journey northward. We were not able to get an accurate reading
on how far it would be to get to the foothills of the Nuba Mountains, whether there
would be water along the way, or exactly what the road conditions were. We did know we would have to rely on the ATV
and a couple of intrepid bicyclists to carry the food. We’d also be challenged by muddy, sandy,
tire-grooved, winding trails through thick brush and tall grasses combined with
high heat and still higher humidity.
After about an hour of
walking, we became keenly aware of just how uninformed we were about the length
of road before us. Most Nubans don’t
carry watches or time pieces, and they have walked all their lives. So the correlation between walking, time and
distance is not the same for them as it is for us.
(They are also in incredible
shape and probably wouldn’t ask the question the same way…we ask in
desperation: “Please, how far is it? I’m
dying here and need to know precisely how far to xyz and how long will it
take!?!”)
We were told different time frames up to 4 or 5 hours and calculated about 8, which turned out to be about right unfortunately. The other unfortunate thing was that water was scarce beyond the border checkpoint where we spent the night, so we essentially ran out of water just shy of the next source. Our 60lb packs loaded with food, rain gear we ended up not needing, and supplies for the trek and stay, were taking their toll. Fleet footed soldiers helped us keep pace for a time, then passed us with ease as they walked in their flip-flops with their boots and light gear strung across their shoulders.
We passed 10s of families going the opposite
way carrying what little they had and hoping for food and security in Yida some
30 miles south. Young childrens walked
or those too young to walk were carried.
It was rare to see a person older than say mid-50s for obvious reason.
(We even passed a young family of brothers and sisters that left their parents
in the mountains, something unheard of in that culture under normal
circumstances)
The
heat of the day no doubt surpassed 100 degrees as we moved through the swampy, steamy
back country. At one point we stopped
and rung out our “dry fit” shirts yielding enough “Gatorade” for a nice warm
drink!
Soaked with sweat, our
boots caked with mud making a nice clay oven effect, blisters, sun burn,
dehydration and eventually signs of fatigue were taking their toll by the time
the sun started to take a downward trajectory on the horizon.
The ATV that had shuttled the food back and
forth between different stopping points had completed moving the food after 6 ½
hours, and the bicyclists that were carrying about 150 lbs of rice were coming
close to completing their arduous journey. (They had offered to help for 150
Sudanese pounds a piece, so we agreed given it was only $30 and would give them
much needed funds)
As we approached the
last five miles or so the ATV returned to pick up some of our gear and give a
ride to one particularly exhausted team member, which was indeed a blessing for
him and alleviated concerns about him succumbing to heat exhaustion. Eventually, we all made it to the final
checkpoint before getting to the mountains, at one point even passing a vehicle
that was sent to pick us up and got stuck in the mud!
The elation of standing at the foot of the
mountains and looking at our precious cargo which took so much time and effort
to bring was indescribable. Even more
powerful was the feeling of anticipation as I thought about finally getting the
opportunity to actually give it to the Nuban people . As the sun set over the mountains, the
painful walk and all the pressure of entering aa war zone without knowing
exactly how our plan would be executed faded with the light of day. We knew the day was ending, and the cool of
the evening would soon be replacing it, just as the light of a new day would
come….very soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment