This
blog entry is not about me. This blog entry is about Nilda — a Filipina who has
lived in Juba, South Sudan, for over two decades and is married to a South
Sudanese. I am so ecstatic to meet her this morning. Another Filipina colleague
mentioned her to me this morning while having breakfast. She met Nilda
yesterday in a hospital, preparing food for some hospital
patients. My colleague visited another colleague whose daughter was down with
malaria. On our way to work, on taking our daily 15 minutes walking commute to
our office, we took a quick detour and visited her at her house since it was along
our way. Her place is not extraordinary. She lives in a compound along arrays
of tukuls (a home made of mud). A simple way of life is what she lives. She is
not married to any big shots in Sudanese society. She met her Sudanese husband
in the Philippines while both were students at UPLB. She is like Emma in the
biographical novel Emma’s War, except that Emma was married to a warlord and rather
living the high life.
We
saw her outside when she was washing her dishes. Like all the other houses
here, you have to do your dishes and laundry outside. No running water exists,
let alone a faucet attached to your kitchen sink or a pipe to your washing
machine. Let us not go into the details of how one does their morning
constitution. Sitting in a squat position while rinsing the dishes, we greeted
her. She was happy to see us. I introduced myself, and she extended her wet
hands (sans the soap suds). We shook hands, which is the customary gesture of
greeting, and no beso-beso. She said she seldom sees Filipinos, and like us,
most Filipinos she met are associated with the humanitarian sector.
I wouldn’t blame her; who wants to be here in Juba in the first place? I said it to myself quietly since this place has no amenities. We talked in Tagalog (as she prefers and calls the language given that the politically correct reference for it is Filipino). However, she gave us the option to speak in Visaya or Juba Arabic or Classical Arabic and suddenly explained the subtle differences between the two Arabic. She said she has never been back home for 22 years, although she makes regular phone calls to her brothers and sisters who still live in Manila.
Remember, this place is Juba, South Sudan. This city is not Geneva, Rome, New
York, Washington DC, or Singapore, where once you step out of your office
building, you are certain to bump into a Filipino clinging to their designer
wear. Rather, this country has been ravaged by war for the last five decades.
This country only signed its peace deal with its northern counterpart four
years ago; the situation is still volatile. Seeing the sliver of a peaceful
future still is a big question. Infrastructure is very basic. The roads are
just being constructed, and you are certain to be mudded during the rainy
season, which is now. In addition, electricity is intermittent. To work here, we must rely on our fuel generators for electrical supply. Meeting her
today was such an inspiring moment. For my ten years of working in the
international humanitarian arena, I met no other compatriot like her. I cannot
wait to see her again tonight to hear more of her stories. I want to know more
about her background, four children, life during the war, and more about her
existence in Sudan. I think I found my own Emma — a Filipina named Nilda.
