How Far Would You Jump To

Further Your Writing Dreams?

 

To our surprise, the president of South Sudan just confirmed the schedule and has been preparing for the occasion (both the interview and graduation commencement) in the background. He even has invited the president of Ethiopia to attend the commencement ceremony. 

 

I know, this gets very tight for you to reconsider to travel.  Can you somehow find a way to travel? If you leave Sunday, you can make it Tuesday to Juba.

 

Three months ago, I was asked to fly to South Sudan to interview their president for a book, and while I was there, participate in an honorary doctorate ceremony in his honor.

 

But due to a variety of factors, the trip was called off...

 

Until I received this message in an email on Friday morning, June 17, which gave me less than 48 hours to prepare to travel to a developing country.

 

My schedule for the following week was packed solid—but an opportunity to meet the president of South Sudan??? There was no way I’d pass it up.

 

It was the craziest week of my life, which taught me an important lesson that I’d like to share with you today.

 

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I Almost Didn't Get Out Of The Denver Airport!!

That Friday and Saturday were a blur:

• Round up a graduation gown (thanks, Larry Yoder!)
• Reschedule the next week’s appointments
• Run to the travel clinic for some anti-malaria pills
• Pack my suitcase, knowing if I forgot anything, I likely wouldn’t be able to purchase it at my destination

And find a gift for the president.

 

We decided on a black belt and western belt buckle to match his signature black cowboy hat, a gift from George Bush, Jr.

 

Sunday morning, my alarm failed to sound at 2:30 am. Fortunately, my body woke me up at 2:45 and I was on my way.

 

I arrived at the United Airlines check-in at 4:00. When I approached the desk, the agent looked at her computer monitor and then asked me a question I wasn’t expecting.

 

“May I see your negative covid test?”

 

“I didn’t see anything about a negative covid test,” I replied. “I researched this earlier and read it wasn’t required.”

 

“South Sudan requires a negative covid test in order to enter the country. We can’t let you on the plane without it.”

 

So I stepped away and called Badeg, my contact in Ethiopia, explaining my situation. “Let me think about it,” he said.

 

And the clock ticked.

 

I explored the possibility of catching a later flight to Newark, but was told that every seat was booked. If I didn’t get on this flight, my trip was off.

 

And the clock ticked.

 

I spoke with United Airlines management, begging them to let me on the plane, but they told me their hands were tied.

 

And the clock ticked.

 

The doors to the plane were closing at 5:40 am and it was now 5:15. I peeked at the security line, and it looked like it would take 30 minutes just to get through.

 

Again, if I didn’t catch this plane, my trip was off.

 

Then Badeg called me.

 

“Michael, I’m sending you something on WhatsApp right now. This should get you through.”

 

At 5:17 am, I received a letter written by the SOUTH SUDAN AMBASSADOR TO ETHIOPIA AND DJIBOUTI.

 

The letter read:

Michael J. Klassen will be able to enter the Republic of South Sudan without the required Covid test document.

 

I was in!

 

They checked my bags and I was off and running. Literally. At 5:20 am, a United Airlines agent escorted me to the front of the security line. Fifteen minutes later I arrived by train to my concourse.

 

That meant I had 5 minutes before the doors to the plane closed. Of course, my gate was at the end of the concourse.

 

So I ran. Hard. Harder than I’ve run in ten years and arrived with two minutes to spare.

 

When I entered the plane, I was hot, sweaty, and relieved.

 

I Was Warned Not To Go

We landed in Newark and then I waited for my connecting flight. A good friend called me at the airport and urged me not to go.

 

“Mike, I just don’t feel good about this. South Sudan is a third-world country. The state department discourages any American to travel there. You could be kidnapped.”

 

My son-in-law, who works with a non-profit organization supplying developing countries with medical supplies agreed. He emailed me, “My organization won’t even send supplies there because it’s so corrupt.”

 

I assured both of them and then boarded my plane.

 

That week I spent 70 hours in airplanes and airports—including one night sleeping on a hard bench in Addis Ababa.

 

Tuesday, mid-morning, I landed in Juba, South Sudan.

 

Getting past the health ministry people was yet another challenge. I showed him my covid test letter, but he wanted a hard copy.

 

“In America, they accept digital copies,” I insisted.

 

After about 10 minutes, he let me through.

 

The Corruption Was Mind-Boggling

When I approached customs, they asked for my visa.

 

At that point, Abraham, my escort for the week, waved at me and then joined me.

 

The security people pointed us to a desk, where they asked for $160 in US currency. I handed it to the lady behind the desk.

 

“I’m sorry, I can only accept half of the money you gave me.”

 

“Why?” Abraham asked.

 

“Some of the money has small markings and tears, which we cannot accept.”

 

She showed me little errant pen marks on some of the 20s and then held up a perfect 20 dollar bill.

 

“This one has a small tear. See it??”

 

Then she tore the bill just a little bit.

 

I’m not making this up.

 

Abraham told them we’d get money. So I left my passport at the airport (might have been a bad idea) and we drove the dusty streets of Juba.

 

Within the first five minutes on the road, police stopped us twice, asking to see our papers (insurance, license, etc.).

 

They were just looking for a bribe. Abraham seemed comfortable accommodating them.

 

After the second stop, I asked Abraham, “How much are you giving them???”

 

He smiled and said, “Two dollars.”

 

Life in a developing country!

 

We stopped at a dumpy seamstress shop who exchanged $80 of my money for $80 of American currency in mint condition.

 

Then we returned to the airport. Only got stopped once by the police.

 

I arrived at the hotel and met the rest of our party.

 

We spent the remainder of the day resting and hoping I’d be able to interview the president on Wednesday.

 

Just so you know: my colleagues, all of them either Ethiopian or Kenyan, could have interviewed the president. But being interviewed by a white person was considered more prestigious.

 

That’s why I was along for the ride.

 

Wednesday we waited for a call from the president's office. Nothing.

 

I Met The President...And More!

Thursday morning, we got dressed and drove to the commencement ceremony.

 

Salva Kiir, the president of South Sudan, was receiving an honorary doctorate because he had negotiated peace between two Sudanese tribes that had been battling for years, with many casualties.

 

To our surprise, a presidential transport awaited us outside our hotel. The president’s transport, a Toyota Landcruiser, has the license plate “001”.

 

We were driving in his second Landcruiser with the plate that reads “002”.

 

I’m not making this up.

 

Driving in a presidential transport in South Sudan is like riding in an ambulance. All the cars in both directions must move to the side of the road.

 

We arrived at the auditorium and changed into our gowns. Then I peeked at the stage. Five chairs faced the seats, with the middle chair that looked like a throne.

 

At that point, I realized I would be one of the four people sitting on the stage.

 

WITH. THE. PRESIDENT!

 

Salva Kiir arrived, all of us shook hands, and then we entered the stage. I looked into the audience of about 500 people, and realized I was the only white person presenty. Actually, I didn’t see one white person the entire week.

 

Toward the end of the ceremony, another person from our team and I walked to the president and hooded him.

 

See the photo below.

That's me on the left!

 

Everyone who approaches the president is required to wear a mask.

 

TV cameras were recording this. Photographers were clicking away. After the hooding was complete, I stood a little behind the president.

 

There’s no way I’m moving, I said to myself. I’m just going to stand here and enjoy it.

 

As the ceremony concluded, all the participants gathered for a photo and then the president left.

 

Then we drove back to our hotel and waited. Nothing.

 

Finally, Badeg received a text from the ambassador (the one who signed off on my covid test) saying that the president was thrilled with the ceremony and that he wanted to meet with us Friday morning.

 

A Last Minute Meeting Is Better Than No Meeting

My return flight was scheduled to leave at 3:00 Friday afternoon, so if we had any more delays, I would have been forced to delay my flight home.

 

Friday morning, the presidential transport picked us up and drove us to the president’s office building. After waiting about a half hour, we were told the president was ready for us.

 

Then we met the president!

 

I quickly realized I wouldn’t be interviewing the president that day. Instead, we were selling him on writing a book about the history of South Sudan. After years of civil wars, South Sudan broke away from Sudan in 2012.

 

Different people addressed the president, including me.

 

Toward the end of the meeting, I stood up.

 

“Your excellency,” I began. “Publishing the history of South Sudan will not only record the past, but it will also create the future for your people. I propose that we launch the book in July of 2023, to coincide with your Independence Day.”

 

“I agree,” the president replied. “And I will give you unlimited access to me.”

 

Bullseye!

 

It's Good To Be (With The) President

After another photo opportunity, we departed. We changed our clothes at the hotel, then the presidential transport escorted us to the presidential suite at the Juba airport. They took our bags and passports and checked us in. We didn’t even pass through security.

 

The presidential suite was lined with about twenty leather sofas. At one end were two leather chairs that only the president and his wife could use.

 

While waiting for our plane, the speaker of the house (of South Sudan) arrived at the airport. She entered our suite and greeted all of us, thanking us for our participation in the commencement ceremony. Then she left.

 

Finally, our plane arrived. One of the president’s associates walked to the runway and asked the pilot to move closer to our building so we didn’t have to walk far to board.

 

Then, after the “civilians” boarded the plane, we were escorted by the president’s people and took our seats.

 

Thirty-five hours later, I arrived at Denver International Airport.

 

Last week we confirmed that I’m going to be the lead writer of the book and Illumify will be the publisher. Sometime in the next month I'll be returning to interview the president.

 

Why This Story Matters

I share this story for two reasons:

 

First, it’s a crazy story. In many ways, I feel like it’s our story. As a recipient of the Power Writers Report—and knowing that many of you are Illumify authors—I feel like we’re all in this together.

 

Secondly, on my flight home, I realized all the risks that led to this:

 

In 1997, I agreed to ghostwrite a book for a traditional publishing company, even though I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. Because the book became a bestseller, it launched me into a writing career, something I never pursued.

 

In 1999, I temporarily left pastoral ministry and risked working as a full-time freelance writer for two years. That opened the door for multiple writing projects and publishing connections that last to this day.

 

With only two years of professional writing experience, people thought I was crazy. 

 

I made the best money of my life, to that point.

 

In 2012, I decided to go into business part-time with my college roommate, establishing The Michael Thomas Group, the predecessor of Illumify.

 

In 2015, I resigned from an almost 30-year career as a pastor to expend my energies full-time as a publisher. Four months later, I started Illumify. The first couple of years were meager and finances were tight. But somehow we struggled through.

 

This year, when I was asked to travel to South Sudan to interview the president, I said yes.

 

Writing and publishing your book is fraught with risks.

 

You risk sharing your story, which makes you vulnerable to the opinions of your readers.

 

You risk showcasing your writing to people who may be critical.

 

You risk investing hundreds, perhaps thousands, of hours writing a book that may never meet your hopes and dreams.

 

You risk investing thousands of dollars in order to release a transcendent book.

 

Risk.

 

You cannot write without it.

 

Playing it safe in your writing will take you nowhere.

 

Read that again.

 

A few years ago, a good friend (and an Illumify author) promised God he would say "yes" to every ministry opportunity that came his way.

 

Less than a year later, he was interviewing refugees in the Middle East. And he's returning there soon!

 

Yes, I know the writer's journey can be scary. You probably know my advice on how to deal with that fear.

 

GET. OVER. IT.

 

My journey to South Sudan was probably the highlight of my writing career—but it was the culmination of 25 years of taking risks.

 

Don't give up. Keep taking risks. There are no guarantees. You never what adventure lies around the corner.

 

Your first risk might be showing your manuscript to a new set of eyes.

 

Or it might mean discussing publishing options and signing a contract.

 

It might even mean shamelessly promoting your book.

 

But this I know: your writing career will go nowhere if you're too afraid to take risks.

 

Make the jump...

 

You can schedule a free, no-obligation consultation with me by clicking here.

 

Let's bring your book to life!