Middle of Everywhere - Mary Bray Pipher [106]
I said he would feel better with time. I reminded him that he was safe now. I showed him how to breathe deeply. I hugged him.
All of the Kakuma refugees had supercharged arousal systems. In a new place they had trouble knowing what was dangerous and what wasn't. Martha and Paul were especially afraid of animals. In the spring when the tornado watches and warnings came, the family were alarmed. They called tornadoes, "the big wind." We would call them and say, "Don't worry. What you see on television is just a watch for a county far from us."
On one visit we taught the family to play slapjack and solitaire. We showed them how to put a jigsaw puzzle together. These gifts seemed like a good idea because it was twenty below outside and they had no car. They needed ways to fill their time until they went to work or school. But I wasn't sure how much they enjoyed the gifts and how much they were just being polite to us. I worried that we were "inflicting help" on them, that when we left they were asking each other, "How do we get rid of these nutty Americans?"
One afternoon I asked the brothers to read to me. Joseph and Abraham could read well. Joseph had actually taught English in the camp and had read many African and European novels. Abraham read softly, but with confidence. Paul refused to read alone, but when I read to him, he repeated exactly what I read. I learned later that the Kakuma kids hadn't been taught any phonics, only to repeat in rote fashion what the teacher had read.
That day Jim taught them how to change the burned-out lightbulbs in their living room. I showed Martha how to cook a frozen pizza and peel an orange, which she called a lemon. When we left, we gave them good-bye hugs.
Later at our three-story house filled with books and CDs, with our two cars in the driveway and our well-stocked refrigerator, I thought about the Kakuma refugees' humble situation. They had endured hardships I couldn't even imagine and, in our state, they were facing difficulties that they surely couldn't imagine—difficulties with education, work, money, culture shock, and prejudice. I truly hoped they would let us help them and that our help would be of some genuine use.
Before we met the family, we'd read Jon Holtzman's monograph, Nuer Journeys, Nuer Lives. Holtzman wrote that in Nuer culture, which is similar to Dinka culture, time is structured by seasons, births, and deaths. There are no calendars or clocks. In feet, there is no word for time or any sense of abstract time. The family didn't set up appointments to see friends. They did whatever came up next. When I asked Joseph if I could come by at eleven on Sunday, he said, "Come over anytime. You are always welcome." This meant I could drop by anytime, but it also meant he might not be there if I came at eleven on Sunday.
As we struggled to teach them the American view of time, I pondered what Joseph would teach me about time if I showed up on the southern Nile. No doubt he would tell me to throw away my watch, alarm clock, personal planner, and calendar. He would encourage me to watch the sun, the stars, the flow of rivers, and maybe the colors of grasses for information. He'd tell me to eat when there was food or when my stomach was empty. He would help me learn to be where I was for as long as I wanted. He would mentor me on not leaving a party because I had something else scheduled.
Over the next few weeks we checked on the family frequently. We took them clothes and articles about Sudan. We played cards and visited the natural history museum. We taught them how to put on a seat belt and count out money. We showed Joseph how to keep his bankbook and write a check.
America, with its ice and snow, its stores and machines, was clearly confusing