09 | Juba Snow

Juba, another busy weekday, some casual craziness, nothing too disturbing. I am in the car with one of our drivers on the way to a meeting with partner NGOs and the UN. As usual, Jacob* and I started talking about things. We had a good chat about our families, the unbearable heat in South Sudan and the rather freezing temperatures in winter in Austria. I felt the urgent need to share my excitement about skiing, but I quickly realized that I had to start somewhere else: snow. 

The flaky, cold, little crystals, magically fall from the sky. Each of them is handcrafted in heaven to bring joy (among other things) to the people on earth. 

That is not exactly how I described it, but I am sure it was something along those lines. 

In any case, after I was done explaining why frozen water flakes are beautiful, I sensed that it was my turn to shut my mouth and listen to what Jacob had to say about snow. 

“In South Sudan, we also have snow. Yes, Markus, we also have snow”, he started. My mind immediately started browsing for information in the limited archives of knowledge about South Sudan I had available. But nothing I knew about geography, or climate and environmental conditions came anywhere near the possibility of a single snowflake ever having landed on the soil of this country. But I am here to learn, I told myself repeatedly. So I kept on listening, trying to ignore the fact that I must have terribly under- or misinformed myself about the place I am living in. 

“Our snow”, he continued, “is not white; only sometimes it is, but mostly it’s grey.” Jacob kept explaining that it also falls from the sky and that it eventually finds a place somewhere on the streets, a tree, a roof, your face, or anywhere else — just like snow does! “Also, the size of the snow varies, sometimes it is small, sometimes the pieces are bigger”, he goes on. Exactly how I know snow. 

At this stage, something I did know about South Sudanese culture helped me analyze the situation I am in immensely: Sarcasm or irony are neither understood, nor considered funny, and are therefore not used. So chances of Jacob keeping up a joke about snow in South Sudan for several minutes is as likely as snow in South Sudan — basically impossible. 

The conversation continued for the rest of our short drive until we arrived at the UN IOM** offices. 

Whether Jacob knows that the ashes falling from the sky to cover Juba are not actually snow will remain a mystery. I am not planning on asking him about it. In this particular case, it seems of little importance to use the right terminology to describe our worlds to one another. We shared our experience of flaky things falling from the sky, and if that’s the definition of snow for this single conversation — why not? We both navigated ourselves through this dialogue, inviting each other to swap the glasses we use to see the world ( — or snow, in this particular case). 

One thing I have learned here in South Sudan is that it is essentially about understanding each other as best as we can. There is only so much we can share, send and receive, and we should try our best to understand one another. 

My logic to map the world and get oriented often does not apply here, and that’s fine (— mostly). It is, without a doubt, difficult and challenging trying to leave your own world and enter someone else's. There will always be much to discuss and argue about, but it’s never about being right. If anything, it’s about the truth, which usually has little to do with my opinion.

Cheers, Markus

PS: This story is more about sharing life and communication than snow, yet I cannot leave the following unsaid: Juba snow is terrible. There is absolutely nothing beautiful about it. It is annoying, dirty, and quite possibly pretty bad for one's health. Also, you can’t ski in Juba snow. In short: snow ≠ snow.