Strangers

When was the last time a stranger looked you in the eyes, truly into your soul, and welcomed you completely, into their life?

To be in South Sudan, Africa is to have this experience every time a new person greets you, whether it is from the side of the dirt road as you drive by or as you arrive at their home unannounced. A simple wave is all it takes for the most sincere and vibrant smiles to erupt as people wave emphatically back to you. There are no strangers here.

Volunteering with the nonprofit organization Water for South Sudan, I have had the most incredible experience living in this country for the past week, spending four of my nine days in small villages in the heart of the bush.

I started in Panthou Village in Warrup State, where one of our borehole wells has served the community since 2020. This also happens to be one of the wells my students at Greece Athena Middle School helped sponsor, making it extra meaningful to me.

We arrived around dusk, and villagers immediately surrounded us, offering to let us set up camp at their homes. The women gathered to cook our dinner, and the children all rushed to see if it was really true that a khawaja (white person) had come to their village. Many spoke in the Dinka language about wanting to touch my skin, while a few brave souls pretended to accidentally brush against me in order to do so. I held out my arm and invited them, which at first created uneasy giggles, but after the first few people accepted my offering, they all rushed in excitedly. It is important to emphasize that despite the difference in our skin, there was no fear or distrust—only curiosity and intrigue. Eventually, after shaking nearly every hand in the village, I had to tear myself away to set up my tent, but my new friends did not leave.

When it was time for bed, the woman whose home we camped at brought her mattress outside of her tukul, saying she could not sleep inside while we were outside. The rest of her family did the same, setting up their straw mats and mosquito nets nearby.

Waking the next morning to a peaceful symphony of roosters crowing, chirping insects, and doves cooing, I was greeted with breakfast and a visit from the Chief of the village, who apologized for having been away the previous night. When it came time to leave, I was asked when I would return. Music began playing on a small solar-powered radio, and a few young girls danced ceremoniously. One of them, Ajok, requested a picture with me, whispering afterward, “We shall meet another time.”

Fourteen hours before, no one in this remote village in Panthou had ever seen me. Now, simply because I had come to their village, we were family. This is how it works here in South Sudan—I can share many more examples. There simply are no strangers here. Imagine if we carried that message everywhere and all lived our lives as brothers and sisters with a shared humanity. If we all gave selflessly, whatever we had to offer. Even if it starts with just a smile and a wave to a stranger.

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