A Day in Our Lives in Juba

Though we have patterns and structure, life in Juba is fluid. Last Saturday our alarm sounded at 5:20am, as usual. At 5:30am the local church bells sounded, as usual. We got up, exercised, watered the plants, showered, ate breakfast, and did our devotions, as usual. That day I would be hosting a friend in the morning and doing some work in the afternoon. Kristi had a 10am meeting at the office, and then would attend the Juba Women’s Bible Study in the afternoon, as usual. Our compound was a bit raucous that morning as neighbors and friends were hosting a birthday party for fifty children from a nearby orphanage, a bit unusual.

Not too long after Kristi left, she called me. Almost sheepishly she mentioned that she had just spoken with our friend Omot who told her that today would be “final prayers,” the end of several days of the funeral service of the father of our mutual friend Ajullu Susan. Kristi said me, “I am thinking of going. Do you want to go?” Though I had some work to do, I remembered how important it is to visit people here and be with them in times of loss. “Yes. I think it’s a good idea,” I said. “Let’s go.” I called Juma, our rickshaw driver, asking him to pick me up at 12:30pm; we would then pick up Kristi at her office across town. In a moment, the complexion of our day changed.

After a nice morning of fellowship, food, and prayer with my friend Albino, Juma came to pick me up. Picking up Kristi, however, turned into a complicated affair. A high-ranking government official had recently died, and the president was attending the funeral at the large field across from Kristi’s office, which meant that roads would be blocked, and military presence would be pronounced. With creative communication efforts between Kristi and myself, outstanding driving techniques and “heads up” thinking from Juma, we found Kristi and then propelled ourselves out to the outskirts of Juba to Lologo 2, near the Nile River, where Ajullu lives and where the ‘final prayers’ were being offered.

With Albino, outside our home

With Juma, our trusted, faithful, and beloved 
rickshaw driver

Upon arrival, family and friends were busily preparing. Four large tents were erected and chairs for about five hundred people set up. After we sat down, two former students greeted me. What a gift it was to see Alfred and Peter! They are both members of the Anyuwa tribe, hailing from the same region as Ajullu and her family. The service began. Choirs sang, family members and friends spoke, and then community leaders and elders had their turn. We were struck by the impact of the life of Ajullu’s father. We were also struck by Ajullu’s commitment to him during his time of sickness. The service was conducted in three languages, Anyuwa, Arabic, and English. Like most funerals and final prayers here, the service was long. At the very end, Omot, who was leading the service, invited me to come and say a final prayer. Though I was not expecting to offer the final prayer, I went to the front, prayed in English, and then I prayed in Arabic. People were pleased. Afterward, as usual, everyone was invited for a sumptuous and large meal. We stayed to eat, yet Juma was on his way. At around 5:30pm, Juma picked us up along with our friend Rev. Paska who was the preacher that day. We had just been with Rev. Paska in her home a few days previous as she had just lost her nephew to sickness.

A choir sings at the funeral of the father of Ajullu Suan
(his photo above the choir)

When Juma dropped us home, the colors of the fading sun in the west were brilliant, a glorious mixture of orange and receding red. It was a typical day in Juba, given that life here is fluid, and plans can change in an instant!