Stormy road

Clement asked me to mass and I didn't want to be rude for a second week, so steeled myself for a 7.45am start. The service was lively, musical and fun in contrast to Catholic weddings I've attended in the UK, which are dry, long and not fun. I'm not a Christian and I don't profess to know much about religion but when I say to people here that I don't attend Catholic services at home they immediately search for my denomination: Protestant, episcopal; one suggested born again.

The human emotions that resonate with me in a church relate to the grandeur and atmosphere of the building, the power of music and the collective solidarity of people being together, usually in celebration of something, whether happy or sad.

I saw a very old lady, possibly a nun, older than anyone I've seen here, returning from the communion line, hobbling using a wooden cross decorated with tinsel, overtaken by everyone behind her. Life is communal here but not cushioned or comfortable in any way. Respect for elders is shown with words but I wouldn't expect to see an old person extended an elbow for steadiness or to avoid danger when crossing a road. I imagine I was the only one in a congregation of over a thousand feeling moved by the unshakeable look of determination and faith she was wearing.

After church a highly productive final full day in Yambio (for now) of letter and report writing and money counting. It was broken up by various sobering conversations, a category of chitchat common here, with people who know Yambio much better than I.

Over beef and chapatis at lunch, Brother Dennis told me about a shocking event eighteen months ago when rebels from rural areas were threatening the town; now under control. An elderly American nun was raped during a break-in, causing mass outrage in a population that is highly devout. The nature and timing of spikes in the conflict change throughout the country but this has similarities with an horrific mid-2016 compound attack on humanitarian workers in Juba. Both of these events, perpetrated by drugged up rebels or rebelling soldiers, crossed boundaries that are normally extremely clear, even in conflict situations.

I saw Eva in the evening, the sister of the former governor whose compound we rent, who has quit her job at the State Ministry of Health for various reasons: non-payment of salaries, delays of five months, the drop in the value of the South Sudanese pound which makes her 1900 pounds per month, even if it was provided, now worth around $13.50. When the rebel threat was highest, Eva told of retreating to her brother's compound in our absence, a relative safe space and low target as foreigners are known to use it, and because it belongs to the well respected former governor, to sleep petrified in the shadows as rebels prowled around town just over the perimeter fence.

Batista in the Wildlife Service, who is an excellent field ranger, with good literacy, has a relatively junior rank of Private and his 700 pounds per month are worth less than $5 at the current exchange rate. Before the currency depreciated this would have been a much more respectable $250.

It's Batista whose mother died the last time I was here and I gave him money so he could take her home to Ezo County, several hours away. One of his children also died last year, Bennett told me. Batista came around for a cup of tea today after being granted home leave by state headquarters, but with no funds to travel, he was stuck in Yambio. I covered his return transport cost from the project, at about four times the value of his government salary, as he is keen to work with us and can add lots of value.

As I fall asleep on this thought-provoking day, a bat has become trapped in my room and has hung itself to roost on the mosquito net. Unless it's carrying the Marburg virus this is better than cozying up to the opposite corner where a mean-looking spider has spun its web.