Tales from the African bush: My adventure in South Sudan
- Carson Speight
- Aug 14
- 11 min read
It turns out Africa is as wild and wonderful as I imagined it.
Since I was a boy in grade school, the lessons of African culture and geography have captivated me. It was that faraway land, to me the ends of the earth, where the wildest creatures roamed, where ancient tribes still existed, where foreign tongues reigned and sang melodies I wanted to understand.
Africa was a land a grandeur, of massive mountains, deserts, rivers, and waterfalls. It was the world before there was a world, a land of mysterious civilizations that constructed their own wonders. It was a continent and a culture that stirred my heart, and made me excited for my future life, when one day I would experience it.
That "one day" was last week, as I had the joy of traveling to Uganda and South Sudan on a mission trip with my church. Sometimes your childish hopes and dreams are just that, and all the reverie you conjured up doesn't meet expectations. But on this trip, I experienced the adventure of a lifetime, one that exceeded what I thought was possible. Here are a few snapshots and stories from my trip.
The allure of a foreign world
Traveling to new places has become a passion of mine, though I couldn't say I'd ever traveled to a foreign place. Is Canada foreign? Nah, the only difference there is how they pronounce their "ou" words. Maybe Puerto Rico? Many more Latinos, but most I encountered spoke English. I went to Italy, but its people look largely like me and spoke English to make me feel comfortable.
The long and cultured flight
But when I took a flight from Philadelphia to Doha, Qatar, the diversity and punch of a foreign world emerged. The plane carried an eclectic mix of passengers in all tones, tongues, and togs. On one hand, we didn't know each other and all had our own interests for arriving at our destination. On the other hand, being an individual is somewhat interrupted on a plane. In these small spaces, you're forced to be in community. You wait to use the restroom, you get up when others have to get up, you're quiet so your neighbor can sleep, you grab someone's bag when they can't reach it, and you smile to appease the child peeking over the seat in front of you.
On a 12-hour plane ride, you get a taste of others' lives and you get to be a part of it. I spoke to a woman traveling to see her extended family in India. We learned our kids are around the same age and our lives share a season. An Arab man in front of me was traveling to Jordan, where he hadn't visited friends and family in 18 years. His daughter was giggly and beautiful and did amazingly well on the flight. All cultures share a commonality of cute, curious kids who like to be noticed for a moment, then shyly duck into their parents' arms. I was happy to play the part of a friendly stranger.
Doha
The foreign mural extended when we landed in Doha. The airport is a luxurious, accommodating corridor of eye candy, its array of people groups suggesting it's the world's nexus. Among things I didn't know existed were a 32-foot KAWS statue and, adjacent to the restrooms, dedicated prayer rooms with colorful rugs and stacks of the Koran. (I couldn't resist taking a peek inside and praying a little prayer of my own.)
My first lesson—or affirmation—of this trip was that foreign is beautiful. Our tongues and tones may suggest separation, yet we are all people crafted in the image of our Maker, with our shared smiles and laughs as the evidence.
The lovely land and people of Africa
After a short 5-hour flight from Doha, we landed in Entebbe, Uganda. Finally, Africa! My first impression was long immigration lines and countless signs reminding us we were in the land of the gorillas. From the airport, we settled at the beautiful Anderita Beach Hotel, nestled up to the lapping waves of Lake Victoria.
In the morning, we boarded a 10-passenger plane that took us across Uganda to the South Sudanese border. We flew over Lake Victoria, then the grand River Nile, another landmark I marveled over, a life source for civilization and the birthplace of Moses's plagues. At only 10,000 feet, we could see the lush green land and red dirt roads splayed about the country. We landed in Moyo and were greeted by a mass of African schoolchildren, as well as Taylor and Sunday, our generous hostess and steady driver to Kajo Keji.
The terrain of South Sudan is picturesque. It's a verdant landscape of farmlands, fruit trees, and rolling hillsides. Along the road walked women with baskets and water jugs on their heads and schoolchildren with wide smiles, keen to wave and giggle at us white men! Within 20 minutes of crossing the border, we arrived at the NEATS (North East Africa Theological Seminary) compound in Kajo Keji. It is a haven tucked into the South Sudanese bushlands, with smiling, joyful people to greet us.
We arrived in the evening as the bright African sun set, highlighting a large field of kids playing soccer and casting a white glow on the large church building across from it. Though we were more than 7,000 miles from our houses, it felt like we'd made it home.
Rich lessons, new friendships
Our task on this trip was to teach and encourage the pastors and staff who’d come to the seminary's conference. Each of us Americans was given a topic to prepare for and deliver a one-hour session on. I was assigned the topic of biblical theology, which I admit I didn’t have a definition for, though it sounded dense.
Discussion groups
On the first day, three of us gave our presentations, which were followed by discussion groups. The discussion groups were for reviewing what we’d just learned, but I saw later on they were really for building relationships.
One of the men in my group was Moses, a South Sudanese man who was the student teacher at the seminary. I learned quickly that he knew his Bible, as he spouted off verses like his ABCs in his pronounced oration. Even better than his Bible reciting was his smile, an enduring image for me on the trip.
One night at dinner, Moses shared his story with me. Like many of us, he’d come from a life of worldliness. His past featured drinking and fighting. He was even the leader of his gang, but that all changed when a faithful man shared the Gospel with him. Moses left that life and believed in Jesus. I shared my story, as well, relating to the worldliness and emptiness I felt in my mid-teens. The LORD had renewed us and connected us, though our lives to this point were thousands of miles apart. We had a good hug to end the evening.
Friendships
Moses was one of many men I had the pleasure of meeting and becoming friends with. There was Bullen, who helped me navigate the market in Kajo Keji, and held a disposition suggesting he was always ready to crack a joke. There was Adam, who gave good words in our discussion group, and an even better word when he looked at my new local attire and said, “This man is from Africa!” There was Samuel, a young pastor who shared with me his ups and downs of family and ministry on a long, sunset walk to town and back. There was Favour, stylish and joyful, who had a love for preaching and a disdain for the mere thought of eating crabs.
There were many more men, women, and stories. In a week, we became friends. In a deeper sense, we had met new members of our global church family, brothers and sisters forever united by Christ.
The joy of worship
While I had few expectations of what I'd experience in Africa, I knew I'd love the music. As a boy, I recall an African choir coming to our school and teaching us "Funga Alafia," an African nursery rhyme song. One of my favorite albums is Paul Simon's "Graceland," which features rich African instrumentation and mellifluous tribal vocals. Even the chants of The Lion King's "The Circle of Life" still give me goosebumps. What would worship music be like in Africa?
Kuku hymns
I soon discovered live African worship on our first day. As we walked into the building we'd be training in, beats from a keyboard were already blaring, with two of the lead pastors on microphones directing the crowd. Several of the songs were in the local dialect, Kuku. I hummed along, but also closed my eyes and listened to the Africans soothe my soul.
Jesus Number 1
Then they turned things up a notch with the rambunctious "Jesus Number 1" (this struck me as a rather American song title). One can't help but jitter and jig with this one, and we soon found ourselves dancing with the African women who grabbed our hands. The good news for us was it was more of a bouncing dance with no fancy footwork, twirling, or steps. This was good for us uncoordinated white men, who discovered we had to travel across the world to find a dance we could execute.
The Africans know that worship can be fun, and that singing to God together is a celebration. As my friend Julian said, he's certain "Jesus Number 1" will be the style of worship in Heaven.
Adventure in the bush
When I first heard about the trip, a spark flickered in my heart. I sensed the call to a great adventure. To travel to a foreign land with a purpose, and to travel far out of my comfort zone.
Sunrise runs
Adventure abounded, starting with the 45-hour trip across the Atlantic, across Europe, Asia, and Africa, landing in a remote part of our planet. It continued the first morning on a run, where some schoolboys joined us briefly. Briefly, because they were small and carrying bricks, and their grunts and giggles trailed off after a tiring minute.
Sunset futbol
There was more adventure on the compound in the form of futbol, where a pickup game took place every night at sunset. I made a habit of going over to the field at that time, watching the action and taking pictures, while quietly hoping someone would ask me to play. On the last night of the trip, I got my wish, and played the beautiful game with the Africans until dark. I even scored two goals, some evidence that the oldest person on the field still had something to offer.
Outreach in the wild
The greatest adventure came on our last day in Africa. We'd spent five days training, fellowshipping, and worshipping. Now it was time to take all that goodness outside our cozy compound to the mission field. And quite a literal field it was—the thick, lush, African bush, stretching to the horizon.
This vast field was foreign to me, but my South Sudanese brothers knew it intimately. I only knew its beauty and wonder, but they knew its pain. They knew it was once home to many who were displaced from it by recent civil war. They knew of the atrocities that took place there. They knew of the bloodshed and death. They knew a land they lovingly called home, which they longed to be restored.
As we piled into trucks to head out into the wild, it was clear this wasn't a perfunctory outreach trip. These men had a deep sense of what was at stake. They lived in a land where the basics weren't easy to come by, and hope was hard to find. They were going out to villages in the middle of nowhere to reach the unreached, to remind people they had not been forgotten.
The message they carried was one of renewal, of life after death and even life during life. It was about more than saving a few souls. It was about bringing a kernel of heaven to earth, of changing the way a people saw the world. It was about sewing seeds that would plant prosperity on a fallow ground, that could save a nation, that could literally change the world. This mission mattered.
The bigger shock was they lovingly invited us Americans along for the ride. We traveled along the red clay roads of Kajo Keji, sloshing through massive orange puddles, dipping sideways into craters, rolling farther and farther into the bush.
We turned onto a side road where the space to drive narrowed and limbs scraped the sides of our vehicles. If we were headed through fields before, now we were headed through a jungle.
After close to an hour drive, just when we may have been convinced we were going nowhere, people appeared on the road ahead of us. They had drums and were singing. They were the people of the bush, welcoming us up the road to their outdoor church.
From there we split up. Half of us would stay in the area around the church, half of us would drive farther out. I was part of the latter crew, so we hopped back into the Land Cruiser and drove another 15 minutes. We arrived at another bush church, this one tucked beneath a canopy of great trees with the South Sudanese countryside as its backdrop. It was a natural cathedral, and I marveled at its architecture.
Now it was time to walk. A local boy led the way while Denis, Ramadan, Isaac, and I followed. We stayed on a narrow dirt path, seemingly leading to somewhere. We stepped over streams, dodged puddles, and whisked through fields of tall green grass. Isaac explained that we were headed toward the village he grew up in. Though there were no signs of civilization here, I had to trust him.
I had always wanted to go on an African safari. It's the reason most Westerners come to this part of the world. But on this day, we weren't looking for animals, but people. People who could use a good story and may even be pleasantly surprised someone made their way to see them.
Sharing the story
Finally, we came to an area with a few huts. Two teenage boys were there, wearing modern clothes, one fidgeting with some kind of circuit board. We introduced ourselves and sat down. I was excited to see the Africans do ministry, to see how they shared the Gospel, and to witness the renewal of people they'd told me about at our dinner conversations. Then Ramadan grinned and looked at me. "Go ahead," he said.
Now it was clear I hadn't made this trek to be an observer. Though I had no great speech prepared, I was excited and at peace with this opportunity to share. Plus, I was confident Ramadan could smooth out my rough edges with his faithful translation.
So I shared. I told the greatest story I knew, the story that's offered to every human, young or old, Black or White, American or African. Ramadan gathered their responses and relayed to me that one boy needed time to think, but the other boy was ready to receive Christ. Friends, there's no greater outcome to an adventure than that.
Godly appointments
We visited two other homes that afternoon. The first appeared after another 10-minute walk through the bush. We came to a group of huts and a large lemon tree, serving as shade for an older man with dusty, tattered clothes, who sat on a stool and shucked peanuts from a fresh harvest, the sizable pile in front of him with two children who were helping. The matriarch gathered the rest of the family, and everyone sat under the tree.
Once again, I was invited to speak. I surveyed the family, the signs of their simple life around them, the chickens, pigs, goats, and dogs freely roaming or settling in for the story, and the beauty of the cool day in the South Sudanese countryside. Part of me was in awe that I was even there, as if I’d been sucked into a photo in National Geographic. Another part of me felt right at home, as if there was no other place I was meant to be, for who could organize such a circumstance than the God who had called me to this trip?
After this meeting and the next, we returned to the local church with threatening storm clouds closing in, but the moments for worship still available. Three people from the village professed faith in Jesus that day, including Mambo, the boy from our visit, and came forward to receive prayer. After a few more songs and the locals sharing a meal with us, we hopped back on the trucks to head home. For the entire trip back, the Africans joyfully chanted their praise songs. Indeed, this day was well with celebrating.
Mission accomplished. And to be continued.
Upon further reflection, these men taught me how to live the mission. I learned that the mission isn’t just a calling, but can be the adventure of a lifetime, if we open our hearts to it. As the days have followed from the trip, I’ve reconnected with several African friends, and am grateful to grow what I hope will be lifelong friendships.
And so, I’m excited for the day I’ll return to this amazing country and continent. Until then, I’ll pray the work God’s people are doing there continues to prosper.
