Gift of Revelation (14 page)

Three days after the newspaper article was published, Elsa suddenly appeared while I walked through the tents to the loading area. The heat was sapping all the energy of the foreigners, who seemed to sag in their sweat-drenched clothes under the searing summer sun. Nevertheless, Elsa looked refreshed and eager to chat. I was trying to make it from point A to point B, as I wanted to discuss with someone how I could get a ride to Juba, the capital of South Sudan. There was a fully operational airport from Juba. I was thinking of throwing in the towel.

“Read your interview, Reverend,” Elsa chirped. “So you use your head for more than a hat rack. I didn't know you're on top of the things here. They'll be talking about your interview all over.”

I wiped my forehead, mumbling. “I didn't do it to get publicity. I hoped only to get some of my opinions across to the African spiritual community. I'm not a tourist here.”

She laughed out loud. “Good for you. Reverend, you tell them what you think. However, it might get you into trouble with Khartoum. They don't like to be double-crossed. They figure they gave you free rein, and you do something like this interview.”

“Khartoum can take a flying leap,” I growled. “I just wanted to get on the record about how I felt about this madness. The government has declared war on the Christian community, and I don't like it.”

Elsa became stern and irritated. “Reverend, you're going to make it very tough for us in the media to get access to the government for our stories. Some of the guys, especially the folks at Reuters and the
Guardian,
were barking at me because I brought you with me. The security forces have already contacted us to lodge a complaint.”

“Nobody has called me or contacted me,” I admitted.

Elsa grinned. “And they wouldn't. They think we can keep you on a short leash. They told us that we were responsible for you.”

“I didn't know that,” I said, moving into the shade.

“Also, did you know that Addie has been playing cozy with this big Dinka guard,” she said. “She should be careful with him. We think this guy plays for the other team, the government. The doctors and the staff steer clear of him.”

I thought for a moment.
What can a naive country girl do to ruin herself in a strange land with a double agent who would kiss her rather than kill her?
Maybe she was thinking she was getting back at me. Maybe she was imagining that Elsa and I had a hot thing going, and she was trying to protect herself.

“That's nuts,” I said. “I should warn her.”

Elsa was adamant in her opinion. “Don't. Let her grow up. She feels she's above all this. She needs to get her feet wet. I don't like her. She's a real phony. She loves everybody.”

“I don't know what she's trying to prove,” I said.

“When we came back from the massacre, I saw her drinking with the guys, chugging the stuff,” she said. “She was pals with everyone. They treated her like one of the guys. And then she went off with this big native, who, I know, means her no good.”

I didn't know what to make of this new Addie. “I've got to warn her. She could really get hurt. She doesn't know the rules in this game.”

“The Africans think she's easy, because she lacks formality,” she added. “They like rules and regulations. A little distance. That is when they are at their best. She's easy and loose. She's hugging everybody as the men smell the liquor on her breath. I tried to say something to her, and she got real snippy.”

“The other night she couldn't look me in the eye,” I said. “She thinks we're an item. I told her no. Everything's sex with her lately.”

“Reverend, have you slept with her?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Are you serious about her?” she asked.

“I was, but I've had to rethink that,” I confessed. “She's very confused. She doesn't know what she wants. I think she's depressed. Sometimes when a woman is the saddest, there can be trouble.”

“That's why you need to let her alone,” she said firmly. “Let her learn for herself. Don't act like her father. She needs a man, not a daddy.”

“We'll see, Elsa,” I said. “Still, I'm worried about her.”

Elsa suddenly brightened up, her voice hitting new high notes. “Guess what? One of the warlords, one of the guys who directed the raid on the village the other night, turned himself in to the authorities. He had one of his representatives try to negotiate a deal of safe passage with the Americans. The Yanks said, ‘No dice.' They said they are going to turn him over to the International Criminal Court so it can charge him with crimes against humanity.”

“Oh, man, I prayed for him,” I said. “I think I saw him, the one with the thick arms and the red scarf. He had two automatics tucked in his waist.”

“That was him,” she said.

“That's great news,” I said. “How are the locals responding?”

Elsa smiled slyly. “The people in the camps, the human rights groups, the spiritual community, and the UN are loving it. They're cheering the move. This is one bad guy out of the way.”

“Do you feel safe here?” I asked her, looking at the barbed-wire perimeter ringing the camp.

“It's as safe as any camp along the border,” she replied.

“Did you know we have a cholera epidemic in the camp, Elsa?” I asked. “Dr. Arriale says the refugees are infected with an unusual cholera strain. He didn't want to tell me about the outbreak.”

Elsa shrugged. “He told me too. He says it got into the water supply and was hard to contain. Over three hundred people have died so far, and about fifteen hundred have been infected with this bug.”

“It's a horrible death,” I told her. “I've seen it.”

Elsa nudged me in the arm and whispered, “These are not the cleanest people on the planet. If they would wash their hands after they squatted in the bush or in the water, cholera would vanish overnight. You know it's true, Reverend.”

“Elsa, you sound like some of these white folks around here who think all Africans are savages,” I said curtly. “Some of the disasters that have befallen them are not their doing. The doctor was telling me about Haiti's cholera epidemic that started in two thousand ten, after the earthquake. It was brought to the island by Nepalese peacekeepers who were based by a river. It killed over eighty-five hundred locals, and more than seven hundred thousand were infected. I think this is the case here.”

“Huh? There are no Nepalese troops here.”

I stared at her. “The doctors told me that the cholera outbreak worsened during the rainy season, when water got into the latrines and the bad bacteria overflowed into the water supply. Before that, there was only a small number of cases.”

“I don't believe that,” Elsa said.

“Dr. Bromberg said lab tests confirmed that only two people living in another section of the camp have cholera, but he fears the disease will spread rapidly because of the poor living conditions,” I explained. “Other than washing hands, he wanted water shipments chlorinated to kill cholera bacteria.”

“How many people are they seeing in the other area of the camp?”

“Elsa, the staff says they're seeing forty patients,” I said. “Dr. Bromberg said he has put in for more supplies, including doses of vaccine, water pumps, mobile latrines, and water purification tablets. The staff has started a cholera elimination campaign, promoting boiling water for at least ten minutes before drinking it or cooking with it.”

“Reverend, that's not going to help,” Elsa said snidely. “They are filthy people, and they are living in filthy conditions. They are so hungry that they can barely eat. The food given to some of them is killing them, because their bodies cannot stand the shock. These people are some of the refugees who were starving and ate leaves. It's not going to help. If you get water, you drink, period.”

“You sound so negative,” I told her.

“There is no hope here,” she replied. “Just like in Rwanda, Biafra, the Congo, and Angola. Africans love to suffer. They simply love it. Ever been to the other side of the camp, with its all dirt, filth, and tiny makeshift tents? A large number of the people there are sleeping on the ground. I bet the doctors haven't taken you there. They don't want you to see it.”

Just then, a supply truck rumbled up, dust flying up to engulf it, and parked before the garage. We looked on as two Dinka guards dragged a body, the head thrown back and the arms dangling at its sides. I stepped away from Elsa to get a closer look. The guards held up a drunk Addie, her front covered with puke, her legs dragging on the ground like those of a rag doll.

“That's the fellow there, the dark purple one,” Elsa said. “Seems like she had herself a time. A grand old time.”

We watched them struggle to get Addie up the steps, one at a time. She was not a lightweight. If I knew anything about drunken people who had passed out, it was that they usually were not as light as a feather. I broke away from the reporter and followed the men inside the main building.

“Addie, how are you feeling?” I asked her as they laid her gingerly on a moth-eaten sofa.

Addie's breath was very sour. “These men say they've got the plague in the camp. They say . . . they say . . . it'll kill you. The plague . . . the plague is out of control. Is that true, Clint?”

I patted her damp forehead. “No, it's not out of control.”

Addie raised her throbbing head, then rasped, “You're lying. The plague . . . the plague . . . is killing people. I don't want to die. I don't want it to kill me.”

Over my shoulder, I heard Elsa's voice. “There's nothing like a panicky bird to upset things. I told you she was just a country bumpkin, a dull country lass.”

I turned to face Elsa, my voice hard. “She's no such thing. She just needs some rest. She's had too much to drink. When she awakens, she'll be all right. Wait and see.”

“I don't think so,” Elsa said. “She'll get you in trouble, and herself as well. I find her cheeky, very cheeky, indeed.”

The group of us, the reporter, the Dinka gentlemen, and I, stood around Addie as she lay there, snoring, with the rank vomit all over her chest. I closed her blouse and fastened a few buttons so her breasts would not flow out. Elsa got a big kick out of that and winked at me.

A religious delegation, a collection of church officials from all faiths, came down to the camp, accompanied by two human rights representatives. The doctors suggested a meeting with them to air some of the pressing issues inside the camp. Reluctantly, I decided to talk with them. However, Addie kept out of sight, sending word to me that she was all right but didn't want to see me. That was fine with me.

The camp administrators ushered the church officials through the camp, pointing out its improvements and flaws, trying to put the bite on them for donations. Partnered with reporters and cameramen, the spokesmen for the various faiths set up shop in the main building, where the doctors resided and held meetings with officials.

After scrubbing up with a sponge and soap, I changed clothes. I'd lost weight with the food rationing and the restrictions on water. Sometimes I could hold my food down. Sometimes I was sick and had to hold my face in a pail kept just for that purpose. My belt was tight enough, inches less than my usual waistline, and I could feel my ribs poking through my flesh. Maybe it was parasites.

My meeting with the church officials was less than fruitful. Bishop Loso, originally from the border town of Nimule, did most of the talking. The rest of the elders watched my every move, hung on my every word, attempting to determine whether I had bad motives.

“We have a team of missionaries and representatives weighing the situation in South Sudan, assessing the need for supplies and funding,” the bishop said. “I assured the camp administrators that we will help in any way we can. We're representing all of the parties involved here.”

I nodded. “As far as I can see, these people are really in need of help. Not just more supplies, more food, more funds, but more staff. It's wonderful that the church is there for those in need.”

“Praise be unto the Lord,” Bishop Obote said.

Bishop Loso leaned forward and stared at me. “It's also the work to give comfort and hope to these poor, displaced people. These are our people. We have to make sure they don't give up hope.”

“I understand that,” I replied. “But sometimes when you have known so much suffering, your faith and commitment come into question. Most of these people have lost husbands and wives, children, homes, and now their identity. We must make them feel important and significant in the Kingdom of God.”

“Very beautifully said,” Bishop Obote said, glancing around at the other elders. The administrators, the doctors, and the media stood in the corners of the room, just out of earshot.

Bishop Loso, adjusting his tie, walked into the center of the space, smiling widely. “This is history, remarkable history,” he said, striding proudly. “South Sudan is the world's youngest country. I've got roots in this region. It's celebrating its third birthday, and we have to expect some challenges in its infancy.”

I rolled my eyes, thinking of the wretched people in the camp.

The arms of Bishop Loso went up theatrically as he recited some of the glorious moments in the fledgling country's past. “Reverend Winwood, you weren't here for the long, bitter struggle of this nation,” he said. “There was no finer event than when the two opposing sides signed the peace deal in two thousand five, ending more than twenty years of civil war. Everybody in the south raised their hands to vote yes on the referendum splitting Sudan into two countries, one Christian and the other Islamic. The conflict is not only in the southern part of Sudan but in South Sudan. The violence has spilled over. The people started coming back from neighboring countries and this fighting and famine took root.”

“And it's becoming very ugly,” I said to no one in particular.

Bishop Obote, wiping a thin film of sweat from his collar, glared at the white men and their local staff across the room. “The government seems to think we can get along fairly well without the assistance of foreign aid organizations. Several attacks by the rebels have claimed the lives of European and American aid workers. However, some officials think the UN is a farce, sidestepping the crisis areas, where the need is the greatest. It always praises itself for its fine work.”

“Do you feel that way?” I asked. “I disagree, because I see the staff of this agency risking their lives for people and countries without proper appreciation for their courage. I don't see them avoiding risk. They put their lives at risk every day.”

“Maybe so, but these organizations are making a lot of money on our misery,” Bishop Obote snapped, noticing one of the staff members physically restraining an agitated doctor.

Bishop Loso grinned deceptively. “Why are you here, Reverend Winwood? What purpose are you serving here?”

I glared at him, words failing me for an instant.

“Maybe I should ask, why are
you
here?” I retorted. “It seems that the regional church has failed these people, who are suffering mightily. The government doesn't care about them. Still, you seem pretty self-righteous about your role as a church in this country, as you call it.”

Almost on cue, the bishops sat down and stood up like jack-in-the-boxes. They shouted at me as if I were a sinner, calling me blistering names in their native tongues and in English. They blasted me as a meddling outsider, a scoundrel for Satan, and an undercover agent for the murderers of Allah. Everybody hated Americans. They criticized me for being American as well.

Afterward, the church officials discussed with the doctors the need for more funding and supplies, and the medical team explained that two more isolation wards should be constructed to house the cholera patients. I noticed the church officials' affluence, their nice suits and shoes, the fact that they were traveling with security. One member of the medical team quietly pointed out to me that nearly half of the population lived in poverty, but because these guys had ties with President al-Bashir's National Congress Party, they lived much better.

“I would not doubt some of these church officials are spies, collecting information for the government,” the medical team member said in a low voice. “Their positions are assured and protected. None of their churches have been touched.”

I realized why the church officials had been hard on me. If outside aid organizations left and went home, the churches, established with the government, would have more clout and influence with the government.

“That's why the church officials resent you,” explained the medical team member, a man from the Nuba Mountains who had joined the fight against the north. “You're a threat, as are all of us. They really would like us to surrender.”

I was miffed.
Why are you here?
I wondered.

“Also, they play both sides. They are very friendly with the South Sudanese rebel leader Riek Michar and the South Sudanese president Salva Kiir,” he said. “Last May the UN said both sides were doing war crimes and crimes against humanity. Your government has issued economic sanctions against both sides. That's why both sides do not like America and foreign criticism.”

I nodded. “I see.”

“There are a few foreigners in the camp, and I always tell them to be very careful,” the medical team member warned me. “Like your friend, the woman, she should conduct herself better. She should know better.”

“You mean Addie, right?” I asked him. I thought about Elsa's warning as well. Addie was getting in over her head. She didn't know the players or the political situation.

“Yes, the woman is playing with fire,” he answered. “She's being foolish. She thinks everybody is her friend. Not so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Reverend, she can get hurt or worse,” he replied. “Watch out for her. You're her friend. Be her friend. Warn her.”

“I have tried to warn her,” I said sadly. “She's stubborn.”

Before the medical team member turned to walk away, he reminded me of my duty as her friend and of the bad reception with the Sudanese church officials. He touched me on the shoulder and said, “Go and find her. Tell her not to play with fire. I would do that. I'd find her and give her a stern warning.”

 

 

Later that day, in my tent, I dropped to my knees and prayed. I prayed for these refugees, with their hard lives filled with suffering, I prayed for the doctors and their staff, and I prayed for us, for Addie and myself.
God, protect us.

While some in the church in Sudan worked hard for religious equality, there were those who had aligned themselves with the government. They knew their partnership would be fruitful, given the military might of the ruling government. It was like what had happened during the civil rights campaign in the United States: some of the churches, especially the black ones, had stayed out of the fight. The churches had chosen to let others do the hard work, but they had still enjoyed the benefits.

That evening, as I was walking back to my tent with my supper, I ran into Elsa, who gave me the latest on the cholera outbreak. She was considering a trip to Sierra Leone or Guinea, to check on the refugee camps there and the political mess.

“Have you seen your girl?” Elsa asked me.

“No.” I was wondering if I should tell her about the warning I had got from the staffer.

“She was out with those guys again,” Elsa reported. “She's seeing a lot of them. I don't think they mean her any good.”

“I tried to tell her about her behavior,” I said. “She's very stubborn. It goes in one ear and out the other. She tells me that she's grown and can do whatever she wants.”

Elsa lit a cigarette and frowned. “That attitude out here can get you killed. She came out here with you. You need to tell her about the possible consequences of her actions.”

“Again, I tried,” I insisted.

“Also, she cannot hold her liquor, and the guys know it,” Elsa added. “They get her drunk, and she acts like a tart. She's getting a reputation.”

“I didn't know that,” I said sadly.

“Do you want me to talk to her?” she asked.

“Elsa, do you think it'll do any good?”

She shrugged. “It might.”

“Well, I guess it can't hurt,” I concluded, worried about my friend, my formerly humble country friend. “Go easy on her, or she'll resent what you say.”

As Elsa walked with me toward my tent, she said that she would welcome a change from Sudan. Along the way, we waved to the guards who were going out to patrol the perimeter of the camp. They were armed and carrying their food.

A second later Addie strutted past us, giving us a sour face. I told Elsa that I would see her before she left the camp, and then I approached my friend.

“Addie, can I talk to you?” I said, matching her step for step.

“What do you want?” she growled.

I grabbed her hand, and she yanked it away.

“What do you want, Clint?” she repeated as she picked up her pace.

I blocked her way, bringing her to a halt. “Addie, I'm worried about you,” I said. “You're behaving quite recklessly. You're getting a bad rep around here, and you don't need that.”

Addie bristled, leering at me. “Who said that?”

“It doesn't matter who said it. I just want to warn you that your actions can get you hurt here. I care about you. I worry about you.”

“I bet the white witch told you that,” she said. “I'm an adult, and I do what I want, talk to whomever I want, drink what I want. Go do your pastoring elsewhere.”

I held her by the shoulder while others walked past us on their way to their duties. I wished I could make a dent in her stubbornness. I knew it could do her harm.

“What do you want, Addie?” I asked her tenderly.

Her eyes possessed great sadness and pain. “I want to go home. I hate this place. I wish I'd never come here.”

“I'm trying to arrange that,” I said. “It'll take a little time, but we'll get out of here. Be patient.”

She stepped back, her eyes almost brimming with tears. “I don't know if I can do that. I'm restless. I can't stand still.”

“You must. And you must behave yourself. Please, do that,” I said. And then I walked off, carrying my supper.