Good Times in Myrtle Beach! I went with my dad and sister and we rented a little house called the Ocean View in Surfside Beach, South Carolina. It was just what I needed. I could feel the annoyance and stress melting away as I hurtled down I-95 in my little rental car. As you leave DC, you can tell you are entering the South. There is nothing on the radio but classic rock and the air even starts to smell different. Honeysuckle, dark thick brown rivers, pine trees cooking in the sun.
Summer in South Carolina - eating shrimp, tomato sandwiches and my dad's famous potato salad, drinking cold beer, buying fresh peaches and tomatos from the roadside stand, sitting in the sun on the beach with my toes dug down in the sand, reading books until late in the night, jumping over waves in the Atlantic. Heaven on earth!
As for activities, we went down to the Strand and played some skeetball (but were unable to collect enough tickets to get a backscratcher) and bought Alyson some new sunglasses. The hucksters were bored so tried to sell Dad a henna tattoo. We drank a beer and ate some fries at my dad's favorite boardwalk hotdog stand. Alyson kicked our asses in putt putt at the Mt. Atlanticus Minotaur Golf. The only thing I didn't do is eat boiled peanuts. I guess I have to save something for next time.
The weird thing about Myrtle Beach is that it hosts two biker weeks which overlapped while we were there. One is the "White" Biker Week - fat bald white guys in black tee shirts with skanky looking old women on Harleys and the other is "Black" Biker Week - muscley rich black guys on Kawasakis in neon colors and hot black women with bandanas in thong bathing suits. Two completely different cultures. I saw a bunch of guys in matching vests that said "Dawgs on the Strand." I think I prefer black biker week.
It was fun hanging out down in the cheesy downtown near the Pavilion and watching the bikers show off but I'm glad we stayed in the "family beach" area which was quiet. I've turned into such an old woman. What happened to the 16 year old girl that used to borrow her dad's car and drive up and down Ocean Drive shouting at boys with her girl friends? What happened to those days of greasing up with Hawaiian Tropic Oil in a bikini and flirting with the carnies on the Tilt-a-Whirl? Now it's 45 sunblock and a 'tankini' and a big hat to keep my nose from burning off my face. In bed by 11 with a book. Lame Lame Lame.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Anyone got some frequent flyer miles to donate?
So I finally got up the gumption to tell my boss that if I don't take a vacation, I"m going to go postal in Africa somewhere. I finally did it becacuse I realized what a huge bitch I was being to everyone around me. Controlling, angry, petty - the whole nine yards. And so indecisive - which is unlike me. Normally I know what I want all the time.
It didn't go as smoothly as I had hoped. Despite his assertion that he didn't want me to burn out, that there was no reason to burn out, and that he thought my work was valuable - the bossman flipped out when I told him I didn't think I could travel. He tried everyway to make me feel guilty which only made me mad. And then numb. And then incredibly guilty later on. And then ashamed of my weakness.
I guess, I'm back to that old place where I don't actually think my job is that stressful and that instead, I'm being a giant wimp. But remembering how close I came to the UNHCR compound shootout in Yei and how that scared me - I know I need a break.
I've been online researching someplace I can go that will be soothing, blissful, tropical, cheap, and with possibilities of bootie. And I've come to the conclusion that I MUST go to Bali. But I can't afford to go to Bali! I've finally managed to save money and save for my retirement on my piddly NGO salary and I can't bring myself to spend all my savings account on my airplane ticket. And because I fly on cheap tickets around the world, never the same airline twice, and because in general US based airlines are the epitome of evil - I don't have more than 35,000 air miles in anyone carrier. They never manage to credit my account for flights from UK to Sri Lanka, for flights from France to Guinea, for flights from UK to Zimbabwe. It really sucks.
So - I'm exploring Mexico (where one can fly for $250) - Tulum sounds nice but I'm afraid its going to be super hot and cheesy. I need to stay someplace that is filled with beauty right now. I can't tolerate more sad poverty everywhere I go. Costa Rica also sounds nice. I'd go back to Guatemala but I don't want to ruin the magic of the first time I was there. I'd love to take cooking classes in Oaxaca but they seem super expensive.
I want to sit on a beautiful beach and sleep in my own cabana or villa. I want to dine on fabulous food and meet fascinating gorgeous men all week. Too much to ask for in a vacation? So I'll keep looking. According to my boss, I have to decide when I'm going asap so he can 'structure' my work time and produce deliverables. Which pisses me off.
Anyway... ta ta
It didn't go as smoothly as I had hoped. Despite his assertion that he didn't want me to burn out, that there was no reason to burn out, and that he thought my work was valuable - the bossman flipped out when I told him I didn't think I could travel. He tried everyway to make me feel guilty which only made me mad. And then numb. And then incredibly guilty later on. And then ashamed of my weakness.
I guess, I'm back to that old place where I don't actually think my job is that stressful and that instead, I'm being a giant wimp. But remembering how close I came to the UNHCR compound shootout in Yei and how that scared me - I know I need a break.
I've been online researching someplace I can go that will be soothing, blissful, tropical, cheap, and with possibilities of bootie. And I've come to the conclusion that I MUST go to Bali. But I can't afford to go to Bali! I've finally managed to save money and save for my retirement on my piddly NGO salary and I can't bring myself to spend all my savings account on my airplane ticket. And because I fly on cheap tickets around the world, never the same airline twice, and because in general US based airlines are the epitome of evil - I don't have more than 35,000 air miles in anyone carrier. They never manage to credit my account for flights from UK to Sri Lanka, for flights from France to Guinea, for flights from UK to Zimbabwe. It really sucks.
So - I'm exploring Mexico (where one can fly for $250) - Tulum sounds nice but I'm afraid its going to be super hot and cheesy. I need to stay someplace that is filled with beauty right now. I can't tolerate more sad poverty everywhere I go. Costa Rica also sounds nice. I'd go back to Guatemala but I don't want to ruin the magic of the first time I was there. I'd love to take cooking classes in Oaxaca but they seem super expensive.
I want to sit on a beautiful beach and sleep in my own cabana or villa. I want to dine on fabulous food and meet fascinating gorgeous men all week. Too much to ask for in a vacation? So I'll keep looking. According to my boss, I have to decide when I'm going asap so he can 'structure' my work time and produce deliverables. Which pisses me off.
Anyway... ta ta
Friday, April 28, 2006
My Happy Place
So I had my first experience with nitrous oxide today. I was nervous about my dental surgery so I chose the gas and WOWWWWWW! I gotta get me some of that. He told me to picture someplace I'd rather be - for whatever reason - its a little meadow in West Virginia with lambs jumping around me! Even though he shot me up with novocaine with a giant needle and dug around in my mouth for an hour - I was humming along to the music, thinking about the little lambs, and really enjoying myself. Blissed out indeed.
Of course, as I left out of the dentist's office, I felt messed up. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. I think the next time I do this, I need someone to pick me up. Anyway, I can totally see the allure of drugs. If I could get my hands on nitrous oxide, I'd do it all day every day. I didn't care about my burnout. I didn't care about my mouth. I didn't care about ANYTHING. All I could think about was little fuzzy lambs.
Of course, as I left out of the dentist's office, I felt messed up. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. I think the next time I do this, I need someone to pick me up. Anyway, I can totally see the allure of drugs. If I could get my hands on nitrous oxide, I'd do it all day every day. I didn't care about my burnout. I didn't care about my mouth. I didn't care about ANYTHING. All I could think about was little fuzzy lambs.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
On the milkroute in Sudan
Malakal, South Sudan
We finally left Juba with excruciating hangovers. The UN had a party on Friday night that was dress in your best African finery party. I declined (although I wanted to dress in my white nightie and wave my hair and say I was Karen Blixen in Out of Africa). After much frantic dancing, chugging of scotch with the country director, and talking of politics with the US Embassy rep, I retired to my tent at 3am. We had to arise at 7am to make our flight to Malakal. After eating lots of paracetamol and eating Cliff bars, we boarded the flight to Malakal. Little did we know that the 8am flight to Malakal arrived at 3pm after making approximately 10 stops throughout South Sudan. We flew down to the border with Uganda. We flew up to the Nuba Mountains. We stopped in Rumbek. We unloaded motorcycles and loaded up fax machines. We landed on dusty runways with the remnants of planes lying next to them. Cows crossed the runways. We aborted landings due to dust storms. Finally we landed in Malakal, a small town on the Nile river. After much frantic negotiation, we agreed with OCHA that we would stay with them for $10 a night.
That night, they introduced us to the Seventh Day Adventists’ -- the only organization working out in the countryside. After a delicious meal of tomatoes and rice, we got up early to go to the internal displaced camps.
After a long drive along the flat plains of the river, we crossed over in a small canoe and went to a small place on the Nile called “Canal.” Its name is derived from the canal project that Sudan and Egypt launched in the 1980’s to excavate Jonglei canal to deliver water to Egypt. The project--initiated by the North of Sudan with little regard for the environmental or economic impact on the South--infuriated the SPLA and they kidnapped canal company workers and started fighting around Malakal in 1983. Now it’s a small town filled with IDPs who fled the fighting further inland and have settled by the river. It’s marked by a big rusting crane and a bulldozer beached in the middle of the village. It’s also a big transit point for people returning from Khartoum, Ethiopia, and other places trying to come back to their homes. According to the town officials, there are up to 100 new people passing through and looking for assistance every week. As there is no food assistance provided to returnees, the locals have to share their limited supplies, which is increasing the poverty among the permanent residents. Some returnees don’t move along back to their towns because either their villages don’t exist or it is very difficult to get to them. Because Canal is bordered by a river on one side and a landmine field on the other, it cannot expand, creating overcrowded conditions. The result: growing pressure on the local community. “We are all Sudanese,” the Paramount Chief told us. “We cannot deny them because we are here together to celebrate the peace. But it is getting difficult.”
Malakal, the major town nearest Canal, is filled with and ringed by landmines. The town itself was occupied by the Government of Sudan soldiers (from the north) and was constantly under siege by the Sudanese People’s Liberation Army (SPLA) (from the south). Additionally, there was a splinter group that operated here called Southern Sudan Defense Forces (SSDF). Many of the local tribes also have arms. “You say there is peace, “ a displaced man from Canal complained, “but where is the peace? How can there be peace if so many have guns and are allowed to steal my cattle?” We moved closer to town to a settlement called Obel 1. We ventured in to the main compound to talk to a collection of men all sitting under a tree playing dominos. (All of the women were out gathering firewood and grass to sell.) As it turns out, three men there wanted to tell us their story. One was from Khartoum and had just arrived in Obel five days earlier hoping to go to Akobo where his family was living. He had been away from the area for over ten years. Another was a refugee from Ethiopia who had left his family behind in the refugee camp while he tried to visit his mother in Waat to see what the conditions for return were like. The third told us of attempting to go to Waat in the first convoy in many years.
“It’s a long journey – the main road has many landmines on it so we have to make a new road through the forest. Instead of taking 2 hours, it takes us 48 hours. And it’s difficult to get water for that journey. There is no water in Waat. They are drinking out of a small lake from the rainy season and they are sick there. When we were going up that road, two of our trucks broke down. We also saw that many dead bodies along that road. Four had been killed by bullets and three had died from thirst. They died while they were sleeping under a tree and alongside the road with their clothes under their heads as pillows. We just need that road cleared so we can get back to our family and our people. We don’t need much. We just want our government to help us.”
This is what the peace in new Sudan looks like. The disarmament process has barely started so weapons are everywhere. Landmines cover the area. In fact, three children were killed two days ago when they found a landmine and tried to play with it. The Land Mine office told me that new arrivals are building their houses in the mine field because they don’t know. He actually went in someone’s house and pulled a mine out of their floor. The Deputy Governor has denounced the UN de-mining effort as inadequate because it will take years to clear Malakal of mines. The UN would like the forces who laid the mines (both the Government of Sudan and the SPLA) to remove them, or, at the very least, to mark where they are. The immediate priority for the UN is to clear routes for humanitarian purposes because there are few roads that are passable. Because of the lack of adequate clean drinking water, the people have to draw their water from the Nile. Cholera has travelled up the Nile from Yei to Juba to Bor and over 150 people in Malakal fell sick from cholera yesterday. The hospital is so overwhelmed that they have moved the patients to a stadium.
After two days, we felt ready to leave. Sadly, the World Food Programme air flights aren’t as sophisticated as other airlines. We called to see if we were on the manifest and to see when the flight would arrive. “It’s been canceled” they told us. Later, we found out, it hadn’t been canceled and in fact there had been four flights. Our host told us a story. “They told me there were no flights so I frantically booked the UNMIS flight. When I got to the airport to wait for the UNMIS flight, the WFP flight landed. I asked the pilot if I was on the manifest and he showed me that I was. So I called WFP. I said, ‘when is the flight arriving here?’ They said, it’s cancelled for today. So I put the pilot on the phone. They then apologized and said – ‘we didn’t know you were actually at the airport’. “ Such is life in the New Sudan.
We finally left Juba with excruciating hangovers. The UN had a party on Friday night that was dress in your best African finery party. I declined (although I wanted to dress in my white nightie and wave my hair and say I was Karen Blixen in Out of Africa). After much frantic dancing, chugging of scotch with the country director, and talking of politics with the US Embassy rep, I retired to my tent at 3am. We had to arise at 7am to make our flight to Malakal. After eating lots of paracetamol and eating Cliff bars, we boarded the flight to Malakal. Little did we know that the 8am flight to Malakal arrived at 3pm after making approximately 10 stops throughout South Sudan. We flew down to the border with Uganda. We flew up to the Nuba Mountains. We stopped in Rumbek. We unloaded motorcycles and loaded up fax machines. We landed on dusty runways with the remnants of planes lying next to them. Cows crossed the runways. We aborted landings due to dust storms. Finally we landed in Malakal, a small town on the Nile river. After much frantic negotiation, we agreed with OCHA that we would stay with them for $10 a night.
That night, they introduced us to the Seventh Day Adventists’ -- the only organization working out in the countryside. After a delicious meal of tomatoes and rice, we got up early to go to the internal displaced camps.
After a long drive along the flat plains of the river, we crossed over in a small canoe and went to a small place on the Nile called “Canal.” Its name is derived from the canal project that Sudan and Egypt launched in the 1980’s to excavate Jonglei canal to deliver water to Egypt. The project--initiated by the North of Sudan with little regard for the environmental or economic impact on the South--infuriated the SPLA and they kidnapped canal company workers and started fighting around Malakal in 1983. Now it’s a small town filled with IDPs who fled the fighting further inland and have settled by the river. It’s marked by a big rusting crane and a bulldozer beached in the middle of the village. It’s also a big transit point for people returning from Khartoum, Ethiopia, and other places trying to come back to their homes. According to the town officials, there are up to 100 new people passing through and looking for assistance every week. As there is no food assistance provided to returnees, the locals have to share their limited supplies, which is increasing the poverty among the permanent residents. Some returnees don’t move along back to their towns because either their villages don’t exist or it is very difficult to get to them. Because Canal is bordered by a river on one side and a landmine field on the other, it cannot expand, creating overcrowded conditions. The result: growing pressure on the local community. “We are all Sudanese,” the Paramount Chief told us. “We cannot deny them because we are here together to celebrate the peace. But it is getting difficult.”
Malakal, the major town nearest Canal, is filled with and ringed by landmines. The town itself was occupied by the Government of Sudan soldiers (from the north) and was constantly under siege by the Sudanese People’s Liberation Army (SPLA) (from the south). Additionally, there was a splinter group that operated here called Southern Sudan Defense Forces (SSDF). Many of the local tribes also have arms. “You say there is peace, “ a displaced man from Canal complained, “but where is the peace? How can there be peace if so many have guns and are allowed to steal my cattle?” We moved closer to town to a settlement called Obel 1. We ventured in to the main compound to talk to a collection of men all sitting under a tree playing dominos. (All of the women were out gathering firewood and grass to sell.) As it turns out, three men there wanted to tell us their story. One was from Khartoum and had just arrived in Obel five days earlier hoping to go to Akobo where his family was living. He had been away from the area for over ten years. Another was a refugee from Ethiopia who had left his family behind in the refugee camp while he tried to visit his mother in Waat to see what the conditions for return were like. The third told us of attempting to go to Waat in the first convoy in many years.
“It’s a long journey – the main road has many landmines on it so we have to make a new road through the forest. Instead of taking 2 hours, it takes us 48 hours. And it’s difficult to get water for that journey. There is no water in Waat. They are drinking out of a small lake from the rainy season and they are sick there. When we were going up that road, two of our trucks broke down. We also saw that many dead bodies along that road. Four had been killed by bullets and three had died from thirst. They died while they were sleeping under a tree and alongside the road with their clothes under their heads as pillows. We just need that road cleared so we can get back to our family and our people. We don’t need much. We just want our government to help us.”
This is what the peace in new Sudan looks like. The disarmament process has barely started so weapons are everywhere. Landmines cover the area. In fact, three children were killed two days ago when they found a landmine and tried to play with it. The Land Mine office told me that new arrivals are building their houses in the mine field because they don’t know. He actually went in someone’s house and pulled a mine out of their floor. The Deputy Governor has denounced the UN de-mining effort as inadequate because it will take years to clear Malakal of mines. The UN would like the forces who laid the mines (both the Government of Sudan and the SPLA) to remove them, or, at the very least, to mark where they are. The immediate priority for the UN is to clear routes for humanitarian purposes because there are few roads that are passable. Because of the lack of adequate clean drinking water, the people have to draw their water from the Nile. Cholera has travelled up the Nile from Yei to Juba to Bor and over 150 people in Malakal fell sick from cholera yesterday. The hospital is so overwhelmed that they have moved the patients to a stadium.
After two days, we felt ready to leave. Sadly, the World Food Programme air flights aren’t as sophisticated as other airlines. We called to see if we were on the manifest and to see when the flight would arrive. “It’s been canceled” they told us. Later, we found out, it hadn’t been canceled and in fact there had been four flights. Our host told us a story. “They told me there were no flights so I frantically booked the UNMIS flight. When I got to the airport to wait for the UNMIS flight, the WFP flight landed. I asked the pilot if I was on the manifest and he showed me that I was. So I called WFP. I said, ‘when is the flight arriving here?’ They said, it’s cancelled for today. So I put the pilot on the phone. They then apologized and said – ‘we didn’t know you were actually at the airport’. “ Such is life in the New Sudan.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Fucking blackberries and mannerless boys
So here I am in Amsterdam after several weeks in the Sudan. I'll post my Sudan stuff later for those you not 'lucky' enough to be on the email list. I'm having a rendezvous with the ex boyfriend. After about a year of thinking about it, I decided that it was important to be friends with him and apologize for the way I treated him when my mother died. But something happened to him after we broke up. He became a giant asshole. I think the sweet guy is still down there somewhere but its lost in the giant asshole.
Before I left for Sudan, he emailed me saying he wanted to take a day off while I was here and spend the day with me. Perfect, I thought, because then we can really talk. As the weeks go by and I'm slogging through landmine fields in Sudan and fooling around with tented camp owners (blog entry to follow), I never hear anything from him. So, I email him to ask if we're still going to see each other. I get an 'of course'. Things are not looking good. He comes over the first night and he's okay but still performing for my friends who I am styaing with (also his friends). I tell him that I really want to talk with him about some things. He listens, sort of. Turns out he is back on the market and heavily fucking around.
Last night, I agree to go to a business dinner with him and his friends so we can see each other for a drink before hand. The drink beforehand never materializes and he checks his email constantly on his blackberry throughout dinner. He then has to leave early. My friend says he double-booked me and had a date that night. He promised he would take today off in the afternoon so we could be together. He has a very important conference call at 5pm that he has to be back for. Currently, it's 1:10p and he still hasn't shown for lunch. I'm guessing he just can't face me and talking to me so is purposelly trying to limit the amount of time he spends with me.
What an ass. Those weren't the reasons we broke up six years ago but I guess they are going to be the reasons we break up today. Even if he doesn't want to deal with talking to his ex-girlfriend, doesn't common courtesy or manners dictate that you schedule a block of time as soon as possible, get it over with, and then move on with your life? Or do I live in the Victorian past? I don't think I need to answer my mobile when it rings if I'm talking to other people face to face (or even if I am home alone). I don't have a blackberry because I know I would then stop talking to people all together and just text them.
Anyway, I've just wasted three or four hours in Amsterdam waiting around on this boy. At least now I know I can close the door resoundingly.
Before I left for Sudan, he emailed me saying he wanted to take a day off while I was here and spend the day with me. Perfect, I thought, because then we can really talk. As the weeks go by and I'm slogging through landmine fields in Sudan and fooling around with tented camp owners (blog entry to follow), I never hear anything from him. So, I email him to ask if we're still going to see each other. I get an 'of course'. Things are not looking good. He comes over the first night and he's okay but still performing for my friends who I am styaing with (also his friends). I tell him that I really want to talk with him about some things. He listens, sort of. Turns out he is back on the market and heavily fucking around.
Last night, I agree to go to a business dinner with him and his friends so we can see each other for a drink before hand. The drink beforehand never materializes and he checks his email constantly on his blackberry throughout dinner. He then has to leave early. My friend says he double-booked me and had a date that night. He promised he would take today off in the afternoon so we could be together. He has a very important conference call at 5pm that he has to be back for. Currently, it's 1:10p and he still hasn't shown for lunch. I'm guessing he just can't face me and talking to me so is purposelly trying to limit the amount of time he spends with me.
What an ass. Those weren't the reasons we broke up six years ago but I guess they are going to be the reasons we break up today. Even if he doesn't want to deal with talking to his ex-girlfriend, doesn't common courtesy or manners dictate that you schedule a block of time as soon as possible, get it over with, and then move on with your life? Or do I live in the Victorian past? I don't think I need to answer my mobile when it rings if I'm talking to other people face to face (or even if I am home alone). I don't have a blackberry because I know I would then stop talking to people all together and just text them.
Anyway, I've just wasted three or four hours in Amsterdam waiting around on this boy. At least now I know I can close the door resoundingly.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Collapsing tents, mudslides, and missed planes
Juba, South Sudan
Collapsing tents, mud slides, and missed planes. That would summarize up the South of Sudan in a nutshell. After three days in Juba, the “capitol” of South Sudan, we now have a birds eye view of what is going to take to rebuild this country.
First up: Lodging and Accommodations. In order to even work in Juba – one must undertake a very convoluted and treacherous relationship with the “tented camp” purveyors in Juba. There are three that I know of: Mango Tree, AFEX, and R2 or something. We lucked out by befriending a pretty young woman logistician who scored us a tent in the coveted Mango camp. We arrived to a sweltering hot (about 110 degrees) and the city which consists of a collection of huts and dirt roads. Our tented camp reminded me immediately of summer camp. We had a full size tent with two cots in it and a solar shower and camp toilet behind the tent. This costs about $100 per person. Also, everyone who is there has warned us that 50% of the people get malaria. And there is currently a cholera epidemic in Yei, up river from us and they pump Nile river water into our showers.
But the good thing is that they have a bar and at night you sit on the banks of the Blue Nile under the mango trees and drink beers from Uganda. The bad thing is that their main clientale are “security consultants” from Dyncorp and other ‘private military companies’ which means talking to former military men who are threatened that you can talk their language. So after arguing politics with ex military men and former Zimbabwean farmers, we would collapse exhausted in our sweltering tents to try to sleep.
We did get to go see the Dinka Bor women and children. The Dinka are famous for being extremely tall, extremely skinny, and extremely dark skinned. The women are amazing looking. They are preparing to board a barge and go up the Nile to a town called Bor where they will wait for their men who are living in Cattle Camps to retrieve them. Ironically, the UN determined they were not safe commuting back to Bor with the men and the cattle so they set up this way station camp. And then Cholera broke out and 18 people died. We have the opportunity to go up the Nile with them which I am dying to do. The Nile is almost completely undeveloped here and people live as they did hundreds of years ago. The Sudanese in the south are extremely conservative in their culture and continue to wear traditional dress and do scarification on their faces to mark their tribes. I hope we get a chance to go.
Anyway, after two days of running around town and trying to get flights set up, we got booted out of our camp and had to go to AFEX next door. Well it appears that the rains came early this year. After a mighty clap of thunder, the sky opened up and the deluge began around 3am. The tents at AFEX are not as sturdy, I think and my colleague Betsy’s tent collapsed upon her in the night. She had to climb out of the tent and stand under an awning of a neighboring tent trying to find me. She eventually went to the mess hall and sat in the swamp drinking coffee. It was a swamp. The sand is mostly clay and sand. Small rivers run through the camp. Someone said they awoke to their computer floating next to them. All of our stuff was soaked. After slogging out into the mud to try to find our driver, we noticed that the parking lot had turned into a lake and across the river from us, a local village was dealing with a small mudslide. The South African pilots and Zimbabwean de-miners and various security men told us that there was no way the planes would fly today. This was a problem since we had an 8:30am flight to the Upper Nile. Our driver never showed up and we missed the plane.
So: Plan B. Tonight we are sleeping in a UN compound in a ‘container’ which are slightly less leaky than the tents. We scrapped our plans and are now headed to a place called Malakal. Malakal is represented on the map as surrounded by two enormous swamps and located in the oil region of Sudan. There are landmines all over the town and the UN de-miners are uninterested in working there. We don’t have accommodations yet but hope that the Bangladeshi peacekeepers will put us up.
Today, because we had no driver and no one was showing up to work because of the rain, we decided to do a little exploring in the ‘capitol city’ of the New South Sudan. We drove over with a UN woman to see John Garang’s grave. A garish monument covered in neon colored fake flowers, Sudanese flags, and what looks like someone’s laundry sits in the middle of a barren mud field. It is guarded by four heavily armed Sudanese men in full jungle camouflage sitting in the shade. They yell at us to sign their guest book and make us stand in different positions to photograph the grave. My favorite photo is Garang’s photo surrounded by flowers and an AK47. We also went to the “Salvation Automatic” bakery to buy some bread. It’s really pathetic. The streets are avenues of mud, most of the houses are huts or burned out and the number one thing on sale was some sort of blue soap with a pair of scissors embossed in it. You can also buy what looks like used underwear.
So we head off to a different town in South Sudan tomorrow. And we will go and find returning IDPs and refugees who are telling us over and over again that they want clean water and education for their children. And the World Bank economist I met with yesterday tells me that the Government of Sudan is responsible for providing this and they have zero capacity. Most ministries only have two people in them currently. But still the people return with hope and belief that the war is over and the country will be rebuilt. One only hopes that the international community doesn’t renege on its promises and let them down.
Collapsing tents, mud slides, and missed planes. That would summarize up the South of Sudan in a nutshell. After three days in Juba, the “capitol” of South Sudan, we now have a birds eye view of what is going to take to rebuild this country.
First up: Lodging and Accommodations. In order to even work in Juba – one must undertake a very convoluted and treacherous relationship with the “tented camp” purveyors in Juba. There are three that I know of: Mango Tree, AFEX, and R2 or something. We lucked out by befriending a pretty young woman logistician who scored us a tent in the coveted Mango camp. We arrived to a sweltering hot (about 110 degrees) and the city which consists of a collection of huts and dirt roads. Our tented camp reminded me immediately of summer camp. We had a full size tent with two cots in it and a solar shower and camp toilet behind the tent. This costs about $100 per person. Also, everyone who is there has warned us that 50% of the people get malaria. And there is currently a cholera epidemic in Yei, up river from us and they pump Nile river water into our showers.
But the good thing is that they have a bar and at night you sit on the banks of the Blue Nile under the mango trees and drink beers from Uganda. The bad thing is that their main clientale are “security consultants” from Dyncorp and other ‘private military companies’ which means talking to former military men who are threatened that you can talk their language. So after arguing politics with ex military men and former Zimbabwean farmers, we would collapse exhausted in our sweltering tents to try to sleep.
We did get to go see the Dinka Bor women and children. The Dinka are famous for being extremely tall, extremely skinny, and extremely dark skinned. The women are amazing looking. They are preparing to board a barge and go up the Nile to a town called Bor where they will wait for their men who are living in Cattle Camps to retrieve them. Ironically, the UN determined they were not safe commuting back to Bor with the men and the cattle so they set up this way station camp. And then Cholera broke out and 18 people died. We have the opportunity to go up the Nile with them which I am dying to do. The Nile is almost completely undeveloped here and people live as they did hundreds of years ago. The Sudanese in the south are extremely conservative in their culture and continue to wear traditional dress and do scarification on their faces to mark their tribes. I hope we get a chance to go.
Anyway, after two days of running around town and trying to get flights set up, we got booted out of our camp and had to go to AFEX next door. Well it appears that the rains came early this year. After a mighty clap of thunder, the sky opened up and the deluge began around 3am. The tents at AFEX are not as sturdy, I think and my colleague Betsy’s tent collapsed upon her in the night. She had to climb out of the tent and stand under an awning of a neighboring tent trying to find me. She eventually went to the mess hall and sat in the swamp drinking coffee. It was a swamp. The sand is mostly clay and sand. Small rivers run through the camp. Someone said they awoke to their computer floating next to them. All of our stuff was soaked. After slogging out into the mud to try to find our driver, we noticed that the parking lot had turned into a lake and across the river from us, a local village was dealing with a small mudslide. The South African pilots and Zimbabwean de-miners and various security men told us that there was no way the planes would fly today. This was a problem since we had an 8:30am flight to the Upper Nile. Our driver never showed up and we missed the plane.
So: Plan B. Tonight we are sleeping in a UN compound in a ‘container’ which are slightly less leaky than the tents. We scrapped our plans and are now headed to a place called Malakal. Malakal is represented on the map as surrounded by two enormous swamps and located in the oil region of Sudan. There are landmines all over the town and the UN de-miners are uninterested in working there. We don’t have accommodations yet but hope that the Bangladeshi peacekeepers will put us up.
Today, because we had no driver and no one was showing up to work because of the rain, we decided to do a little exploring in the ‘capitol city’ of the New South Sudan. We drove over with a UN woman to see John Garang’s grave. A garish monument covered in neon colored fake flowers, Sudanese flags, and what looks like someone’s laundry sits in the middle of a barren mud field. It is guarded by four heavily armed Sudanese men in full jungle camouflage sitting in the shade. They yell at us to sign their guest book and make us stand in different positions to photograph the grave. My favorite photo is Garang’s photo surrounded by flowers and an AK47. We also went to the “Salvation Automatic” bakery to buy some bread. It’s really pathetic. The streets are avenues of mud, most of the houses are huts or burned out and the number one thing on sale was some sort of blue soap with a pair of scissors embossed in it. You can also buy what looks like used underwear.
So we head off to a different town in South Sudan tomorrow. And we will go and find returning IDPs and refugees who are telling us over and over again that they want clean water and education for their children. And the World Bank economist I met with yesterday tells me that the Government of Sudan is responsible for providing this and they have zero capacity. Most ministries only have two people in them currently. But still the people return with hope and belief that the war is over and the country will be rebuilt. One only hopes that the international community doesn’t renege on its promises and let them down.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Disco Dancing in the Refugee Camp
I’m staying with JRS: The Jesuit Refugee Services in Kakuma camp on the border between Kenya and Sudan. We are about 100 kms from Lokichoggio, the infamous staging ground for humanitarian activities into South Sudan. It’s not much to look at but it looks just like every border town in every country of the world. There are many bars, some run down looking hotels, a bunch of gas stations, and a lot of shops. Because the area is so dry and inhospitable, there is no farming here – the locals are called Turkanas and they are cattle herders. They are infamous cattle raiders so there are a lot of guns here. Therefore, its mandatory that you travel with an armed escort to get to the refugee camp. In practice this means, you drive around to the local bars when its time for the security escort and pick up the NGOs who are drinking and then find the police and then everyone heads back to the camp.
Everyone lives on the grounds of the camp here – which is unusual from my experience. There are two compounds that I’ve seen. One is for the UN(two layers of barbed wire fences, dogs,and security guards, curfew at 6pm) and one fo the NGOs (a little less secure – a security guard but not much else). There are about 90,000 refugees here – Congolese, Sudanese, Somalians, and some Ethiopians. This camp has been here about 14 years. It’s really more of a city than a camp. In fact, JRS told us that when Kenya Telecom first ran their cell phone network out here, it was a mess because the somalis had already started up a mobile phone network from inside the camp. The somalis are amazing businessmen. They have the best mobile phone network in Africa, I hear, despite having no government – but they will tell you it is BECAUSE they have no government. Kenya is pretty amazing to me as well – well paved roads, street signs, barrier rails – all the markings of a civilization. I hear it will be much different in South sudan when we get there. Because of the civil war, there aren’t even many buildings in the new capitol, Juba. In order to operate there, everyone is working out of tents. I imagine it is like M*A*S*H.
JRS is hosting us because UNHCR snubbed us. There’s a very nice Irish man in charge here named Mark and he and I hit it off right away. He asked me if I was Irish when I arrived. Anyway, the JRS house is quite nice. Four bedrooms with their own bathrooms. Electricity, a sitting room with satellite tv and internet. A small little kitchen with an electric kettle and a fridge. Everyone eats at a pretty dismal little cafeteria here with a television set in it tuned constantly to football. Because I watched all of the European Cup 2 years ago in Zimbabwe, I can now talk football a little. We had our choice of spaghetti with minced meat sauce (basically spaghetti bolognese), ugali (which is like very thick sold grits), kale, and a stewed intestines for dinner. I had spaghetti.
I thought that would be it for the night but it turns out that the NGO compound has their own ‘local’ called Catherine’s place. We went with George and Joseph, two fo the Kenyan staff from JRS and Mark to the pub where we sat under a tree and drank Tusker beer. Some of the guys played pool at a pool table under a lightbulb in a shed. We had a pretty intense conversation about the situation of the Somali Bantus who were resettled in South Carolina who were from this camp, I think, and ended up in Columbia. Then we headed back to the house. But that was not the end of the night! You could hear reggae music playing from somewhere and it turns out that there is a disco here in the camp! So we headed out to the disco, called the Bullseye.
What a sight! They have neon lights, a black light over the dance floor, grasshut covered roof, and booming music! The clientele is almost all male sudanese refugees. They are all very very tall – most about 6’5 and very thin. The predominant style for young Sudanese men is called “yo-yo” which comes from the term “Yo, what up?”. So they all wear basketball jerseys, baggy pants with their boxer shorts hanging out, baseball caps, doo-rags, or bandanas tied aaround their head. They are also called ‘basketballers’. Thomas, one of the Lost Boys of Sudan who knows the guys at JRS was hanging out with us and explained it all to us.
The music was standard hip-hop and reggae but suddenly it switched to trashy 80s disco! We had to hit the dance floor then! So Betsy and I went out to dance to Michael Jackson, Prince, Abba, and Ace of Base. It was quite an experience as we were definitely amongst the shortest and whitest people on the floor. My skin was glowing under the blacklight. We got home at 2:30am and the disco was still going strong. Now its Sunday and we were supposed to head out into the camp to talk to refugees but our hosts from JRS are all sleeping off the Tusker beer. And they have locked us in!!! The guy who was going to drive us came over but he doesn’t have a key so we talked to him through the window. So – here we sit, waiting for someone to wake up. Waiting waiting.
Everyone lives on the grounds of the camp here – which is unusual from my experience. There are two compounds that I’ve seen. One is for the UN(two layers of barbed wire fences, dogs,and security guards, curfew at 6pm) and one fo the NGOs (a little less secure – a security guard but not much else). There are about 90,000 refugees here – Congolese, Sudanese, Somalians, and some Ethiopians. This camp has been here about 14 years. It’s really more of a city than a camp. In fact, JRS told us that when Kenya Telecom first ran their cell phone network out here, it was a mess because the somalis had already started up a mobile phone network from inside the camp. The somalis are amazing businessmen. They have the best mobile phone network in Africa, I hear, despite having no government – but they will tell you it is BECAUSE they have no government. Kenya is pretty amazing to me as well – well paved roads, street signs, barrier rails – all the markings of a civilization. I hear it will be much different in South sudan when we get there. Because of the civil war, there aren’t even many buildings in the new capitol, Juba. In order to operate there, everyone is working out of tents. I imagine it is like M*A*S*H.
JRS is hosting us because UNHCR snubbed us. There’s a very nice Irish man in charge here named Mark and he and I hit it off right away. He asked me if I was Irish when I arrived. Anyway, the JRS house is quite nice. Four bedrooms with their own bathrooms. Electricity, a sitting room with satellite tv and internet. A small little kitchen with an electric kettle and a fridge. Everyone eats at a pretty dismal little cafeteria here with a television set in it tuned constantly to football. Because I watched all of the European Cup 2 years ago in Zimbabwe, I can now talk football a little. We had our choice of spaghetti with minced meat sauce (basically spaghetti bolognese), ugali (which is like very thick sold grits), kale, and a stewed intestines for dinner. I had spaghetti.
I thought that would be it for the night but it turns out that the NGO compound has their own ‘local’ called Catherine’s place. We went with George and Joseph, two fo the Kenyan staff from JRS and Mark to the pub where we sat under a tree and drank Tusker beer. Some of the guys played pool at a pool table under a lightbulb in a shed. We had a pretty intense conversation about the situation of the Somali Bantus who were resettled in South Carolina who were from this camp, I think, and ended up in Columbia. Then we headed back to the house. But that was not the end of the night! You could hear reggae music playing from somewhere and it turns out that there is a disco here in the camp! So we headed out to the disco, called the Bullseye.
What a sight! They have neon lights, a black light over the dance floor, grasshut covered roof, and booming music! The clientele is almost all male sudanese refugees. They are all very very tall – most about 6’5 and very thin. The predominant style for young Sudanese men is called “yo-yo” which comes from the term “Yo, what up?”. So they all wear basketball jerseys, baggy pants with their boxer shorts hanging out, baseball caps, doo-rags, or bandanas tied aaround their head. They are also called ‘basketballers’. Thomas, one of the Lost Boys of Sudan who knows the guys at JRS was hanging out with us and explained it all to us.
The music was standard hip-hop and reggae but suddenly it switched to trashy 80s disco! We had to hit the dance floor then! So Betsy and I went out to dance to Michael Jackson, Prince, Abba, and Ace of Base. It was quite an experience as we were definitely amongst the shortest and whitest people on the floor. My skin was glowing under the blacklight. We got home at 2:30am and the disco was still going strong. Now its Sunday and we were supposed to head out into the camp to talk to refugees but our hosts from JRS are all sleeping off the Tusker beer. And they have locked us in!!! The guy who was going to drive us came over but he doesn’t have a key so we talked to him through the window. So – here we sit, waiting for someone to wake up. Waiting waiting.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Humanitarian Worker Chic
I"m off to South Sudan on Tuesday evening - off to see the 'big cattle drive' as the Dinkas drive their cattle home. I spent the day shopping. I wanted to buy Juicy Couture jeans and cute tops from Zara but instead I bought some funky orange teva/sandals and more baggy linen pants. My clothes budget goes to clothes that are going to be beat against rocks, sweated in, rolled in dust and dirt while I sit in refugee camps, and generally abused. Don't you thnk I should be able to charge these to Refugees International? So here's what the fashionable aid worker wears - funky tevas, linen pants, tank tops, ball caps, sunglasses, and a big orange bag to tote all my stuff. Oh yeah, my id around my neck. and a camera. and a sat phone in my pocket. Glamourous, eh?
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Why so rude, Video Americain guy?
So, I've been trying to put into practice my "Keep your heart open" campaign. I'm combining a mantra of being open to a loving new relationship a la Michelle Wright and Year of Saying Yes. One of the new rules means that I have to be open and friendly to all. Make eye contact, strike up conversations, and in general stop being a hermit who only listens to her iPod and looks at her feet when she walks around Adams Morgan, arguably the area where one would most likely find a boyfriend in DC.
So I go into Video Americain to return my "Six Feet Under" DVDs. And I immediately have to break the rule. Video Americain guy is there and as usual, he is surly, rude, uncommunicative, and a general jackass. As I left the store, I said hello since his head was right next to my shoulder. And he ignored me. Fine. I don't want him to talk to me but WHY SO RUDE?
He once yelled at me for standing next to the counter by the door while waiting for them to correct a mistake. I went in with my netflix envelope last week. Should i have been embarrassed? He glared at me. Once I asked him if he had heard anything good about "A Very Long Engagement" - he looked at me as if I had vomited on the counter.
the other clerks are all nice. Even if they don't approve of what I'm renting, they don't act as blatantly rude to me! It's his loss. I have good taste in movies. It's YOUR LOSS, VIDEO AMERICAINE GUY! Be an uncommunicative ass. See if I care.
So I go into Video Americain to return my "Six Feet Under" DVDs. And I immediately have to break the rule. Video Americain guy is there and as usual, he is surly, rude, uncommunicative, and a general jackass. As I left the store, I said hello since his head was right next to my shoulder. And he ignored me. Fine. I don't want him to talk to me but WHY SO RUDE?
He once yelled at me for standing next to the counter by the door while waiting for them to correct a mistake. I went in with my netflix envelope last week. Should i have been embarrassed? He glared at me. Once I asked him if he had heard anything good about "A Very Long Engagement" - he looked at me as if I had vomited on the counter.
the other clerks are all nice. Even if they don't approve of what I'm renting, they don't act as blatantly rude to me! It's his loss. I have good taste in movies. It's YOUR LOSS, VIDEO AMERICAINE GUY! Be an uncommunicative ass. See if I care.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Snow Day!!
When it began to snow yesterday, I was thrilled! Thrilled because I grew up in South Carolina where it rarely if ever snowed and I knew that this meant I was being given an opportunity to do something I rarely do anymore - play hooky!!! I was supposed to go back up to NYC today to present at a Tsunami and the Elderly conference. Then I was organizing some meetings around the event but in actuality- once I got home and Simon snuggled up on my lap and the heat was warm and my feather duvet was calling my name - the big city lost its allure. So, I've done nothing all day except eat the homemade Chicken Soup I made yesterday, watch movies, and take naps. It's so wonderfully relaxing.
I can't understand my friends who say they are stressed out but who manage to schedule every minute of their lives. Maybe I would get more accomplished in my life but I remember the days when I was working three jobs at a time and couldn't bear to be alone. I scheduled myself so much that I knew something was wrong with me. I remember that I started to learn how to bake so I would have to be in one place for at least two hours. I remember scheduling days off and slowly slowly I learned to enjoy my down time. I like goofing off. Sometimes I wonder if i'm a slacker but then I think about all the shit I do compared to my sister and dad and friends back home and realize I'm not... that's just the crazy talking.
Washington DC is a type A city. We're all Type A people. We over-schedule. We cram a hundred things into our lives. We read our email, talk on the phone, while glancing at the tv all at the same time. Hell, I even read closed-captioning on the television because I can't wait for the characters to read their lines fast enough. So today I'm kicking back and taking a snow day. I've watched three shitty movies (AirForce 1, 10 Things I hate about you, and now Walking Tall). I read two magazines. and I've done my laundry and a load of dishes. Even on a snow day I can't avoid my Type A tendencies.
I can't understand my friends who say they are stressed out but who manage to schedule every minute of their lives. Maybe I would get more accomplished in my life but I remember the days when I was working three jobs at a time and couldn't bear to be alone. I scheduled myself so much that I knew something was wrong with me. I remember that I started to learn how to bake so I would have to be in one place for at least two hours. I remember scheduling days off and slowly slowly I learned to enjoy my down time. I like goofing off. Sometimes I wonder if i'm a slacker but then I think about all the shit I do compared to my sister and dad and friends back home and realize I'm not... that's just the crazy talking.
Washington DC is a type A city. We're all Type A people. We over-schedule. We cram a hundred things into our lives. We read our email, talk on the phone, while glancing at the tv all at the same time. Hell, I even read closed-captioning on the television because I can't wait for the characters to read their lines fast enough. So today I'm kicking back and taking a snow day. I've watched three shitty movies (AirForce 1, 10 Things I hate about you, and now Walking Tall). I read two magazines. and I've done my laundry and a load of dishes. Even on a snow day I can't avoid my Type A tendencies.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
2006 Sarah
So I had a revelation the other night. I decided to go out with my friend Bernice to Cashion's Eat Place for a nice glass of wine and some hors d'ouevres after dieting non-stop for two weeks to fit into designer jeans for the Glamour photo shoot. After we finished dinner, I really was more in the mood to just go home. Instead we went to Bossa where I really enjoyed watching the live Salsa band and lo and behold, a man hit on me when I was waiting for the bathroom.
Then, I screwed up meeting up with Adrienne the other night and had to rush over to a Congolese Happy Hour party that I really didn't think I wanted to go to. I had a great time! I danced and drank beer and enjoyed myself!
Adrienne made a comment about how 2005 Adrienne did what she wanted to do and didn't worry about all her friends. She arrived at parties late and didn't help set up or volunteer to bring things.
Since I'm sick to fucking death of being single now (all the mistakes of 2005 being behind me now), it's time for 2006 Sarah! I have a theory that even numbered years are where you make the changes and odd numbered years are when success comes to you.
So, I'm going to pursue the things that I used to love - going out for live music. Not always being sensible. Not just going to happy hours with colleagues from work and then going home and going to bed. Maybe I'll stay home during the week and actually go out and do enjoyable stuff!
I have a plan. I'll be in New York City on Valentine's Day and noone I know will be available to hang out. So I thought 2006 Sarah might just go to some show in New York City on her own. And maybe, just maybe, I'll recapture that feeling of when I used to travel alone and meet people all the time. I'll be bold and daring.
In the immortal words of Sir Paul McCartney- "No More Lonely Nights"
Then, I screwed up meeting up with Adrienne the other night and had to rush over to a Congolese Happy Hour party that I really didn't think I wanted to go to. I had a great time! I danced and drank beer and enjoyed myself!
Adrienne made a comment about how 2005 Adrienne did what she wanted to do and didn't worry about all her friends. She arrived at parties late and didn't help set up or volunteer to bring things.
Since I'm sick to fucking death of being single now (all the mistakes of 2005 being behind me now), it's time for 2006 Sarah! I have a theory that even numbered years are where you make the changes and odd numbered years are when success comes to you.
So, I'm going to pursue the things that I used to love - going out for live music. Not always being sensible. Not just going to happy hours with colleagues from work and then going home and going to bed. Maybe I'll stay home during the week and actually go out and do enjoyable stuff!
I have a plan. I'll be in New York City on Valentine's Day and noone I know will be available to hang out. So I thought 2006 Sarah might just go to some show in New York City on her own. And maybe, just maybe, I'll recapture that feeling of when I used to travel alone and meet people all the time. I'll be bold and daring.
In the immortal words of Sir Paul McCartney- "No More Lonely Nights"
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Very Bad Girls in Darfur
Copied from my travel journal...
December 8, 2005
Nyala, Sudan
It’s the “Friday night” of Sudan right now. All offices close on Fridays and nothing happens here. But not for Refugees International! We’ve spend the past two days sitting in the Government of Sudan’s “HAC” – otherwise known as the Humanitarian Affairs Commission. Since IDPs are not protected by international refugee conventions (having not crossed an international border), they are technically the responsibility of the government of Sudan. And so, while the UN and international NGOs and their local NGO partners provide all the services in the camps and do all the work, the government of Sudan can still say who goes in and who doesn’t. So – you’ve all heard about the firewood problems in Sudan, I think. Where women go out to collect firewood and then get attacked and raped. We went out on firewood protection patrol with the African Union on Tuesday morning. This involved hanging around the AU camp until they were ready to go. We drove our own vehicle surrounded by pickup trucks filled with Nigerian peacekeepers. I attach photo. After driving into Ottash camp, we then picked up the AUCIVPOL(Civilian police from Uganda, Senegal, and Ghana) and then the Sudanese police. The Sudanese police have no car of their own. We drove out into the bush and felt like we were on a safari. Is that a woman there? Is that someone with a donkey? Oh no! Camel herder- do you think he’s the Janjaweed? After about 20 kilometers, we pulled over into a clearing and got out of the car. The Sudanese police sat under a tree and we went over to shoot the shit with the Nigerian peacekeepers. They posed for photos with us and told us that “Sudanis not Tamam”. (Tamam is our favorite word here – it means OKAY, I think. Everyone says it to us. Our cook at our guest house greets us each morning by shouting loudly, TAMAM TAMAM! Conversely, the children in the camps greet us by shouting OKAY OKAY OKAY!)
We asked the Sudanese police how they would hear a woman if she was being attacked. They said – she will come to us afterwards. Okay, I get it – it’s RETROACTIVE policing we are doing here. Anyway, after 2 hours, we piled back in the cars and drove off. No problems whatsoever. The next day we were supposed to meet the Commissioner of the AUCIVPOL in another camp called Kalma camp. This camp is infamous because its about 100,000 people and they got fed up with the government of Sudan police and the HAC and threw them out of the camp. They are not allowed to go back in now. We had a permit from the HAC, drove to the police station on the outskirts of the camp and there encountered our first problems. The stamp on the permit to travel within Darfur did not match the wording on our travel permits (to travel around Sudan) which also did not match our visa to get into Sudan! Basically this “police station” was a hut with four beds in it where the guys sleep. They have their toothbrushes stuck in between the reeds of the hut wall. And on one of the walls they have a really gruesome painting of man kneeling on someone’s back and stabbing him. They told us it was a reminder to always be watching your back because there are spies everywhere and a spy will stab you in the back. They said it was from the Quran.
After a lot of back and forth, they then said they had seen us taking photos (of the ladies selling oranges at the checkpoint) so wanted to make sure we had photo permits (which we did). Nothing would satisfy them so we all had to pile into our car (because of course they didn’t have one) and head back to the main HAC office in Nyala. We could have refused and just driven off and what could they have done? They had no car to chase us with! After arguments with them, they said to us “You two ladies are not enough to do an assessment. You would need more people. We think you are spies.” I think that would make us the most incompetent spies of all time, if that were true. Finally, we agreed to apologize and get the correct paperwork. All the international NGOs laughed when we told them this and wrote letters in support of us.
Fast Forward to Thursday morning. We go to the AU base to go on another firewood patrol. We get to the Ottash camp and the firewood patrol has already left. The CIVPOL doesn’t have radios, cars, or any way to help us find them so we decide to interview them about their experiences in the camps. We walk outside of the CIVPOL office and stop to take some photos of the kids and a woman at a well. The HAC spy us and signal us to come talk to them. We ignore them and start to go back to our car. They come to fetch us and start yelling at us. We plead ignorance. We go to the “HAC Shack” and talk with them. A woman narcs on us. She was hanging out with the children and saw us taking photos. So we have to show them our camera.
Embarrassingly, some of the photos were of Sally and I in the local market trying on clothes and looking silly in our guest house. I erased the one picture I took of the children. They claimed that I was spying on the camp by taking photos of the African Union. Six of them gathered around me and my camera and clucked their tongues. “You are spies!” they said. Once again we had to give the guy a ride to the main HAC. The guy laughs when he sees us return. “It is you again! You are very bad girls.” After much talking, finagling, scolding, telling tales about the US, complaining about the IDPS and how they are all spies and politicians, and discussing Jackie Chan, they gave us our permit. But there was no one around to stamp it! We came back to get it stamped in an hour. The guy was still not there.
As tomorrow is the last day we are in town and all the offices are closed on Fridays, we became frantic. I went to a meeting and Sally and our driver/translator drove around town until they found the guy with the stamp’s house. They picked him up. He stamped the paper. They picked me up. We all went to a photocopy shop. We all went to the National Security office. More discussions. Some tea. Cigarettes were handed around. More discussions. More talk. Then we all got back in our car and drove to the guy with the stamps’ house. Then he turned into the nicest guy in the world. He introduced us to his mom, his wife, and his newborn daughter. Invited us to dinner. Gave us chocolates. As we sat awkwardly around his apartment and watched Sudanese tv, they passed around some spray deodorant which we all sprayed under our arms. And then we left.
December 8, 2005
Nyala, Sudan
It’s the “Friday night” of Sudan right now. All offices close on Fridays and nothing happens here. But not for Refugees International! We’ve spend the past two days sitting in the Government of Sudan’s “HAC” – otherwise known as the Humanitarian Affairs Commission. Since IDPs are not protected by international refugee conventions (having not crossed an international border), they are technically the responsibility of the government of Sudan. And so, while the UN and international NGOs and their local NGO partners provide all the services in the camps and do all the work, the government of Sudan can still say who goes in and who doesn’t. So – you’ve all heard about the firewood problems in Sudan, I think. Where women go out to collect firewood and then get attacked and raped. We went out on firewood protection patrol with the African Union on Tuesday morning. This involved hanging around the AU camp until they were ready to go. We drove our own vehicle surrounded by pickup trucks filled with Nigerian peacekeepers. I attach photo. After driving into Ottash camp, we then picked up the AUCIVPOL(Civilian police from Uganda, Senegal, and Ghana) and then the Sudanese police. The Sudanese police have no car of their own. We drove out into the bush and felt like we were on a safari. Is that a woman there? Is that someone with a donkey? Oh no! Camel herder- do you think he’s the Janjaweed? After about 20 kilometers, we pulled over into a clearing and got out of the car. The Sudanese police sat under a tree and we went over to shoot the shit with the Nigerian peacekeepers. They posed for photos with us and told us that “Sudanis not Tamam”. (Tamam is our favorite word here – it means OKAY, I think. Everyone says it to us. Our cook at our guest house greets us each morning by shouting loudly, TAMAM TAMAM! Conversely, the children in the camps greet us by shouting OKAY OKAY OKAY!)
We asked the Sudanese police how they would hear a woman if she was being attacked. They said – she will come to us afterwards. Okay, I get it – it’s RETROACTIVE policing we are doing here. Anyway, after 2 hours, we piled back in the cars and drove off. No problems whatsoever. The next day we were supposed to meet the Commissioner of the AUCIVPOL in another camp called Kalma camp. This camp is infamous because its about 100,000 people and they got fed up with the government of Sudan police and the HAC and threw them out of the camp. They are not allowed to go back in now. We had a permit from the HAC, drove to the police station on the outskirts of the camp and there encountered our first problems. The stamp on the permit to travel within Darfur did not match the wording on our travel permits (to travel around Sudan) which also did not match our visa to get into Sudan! Basically this “police station” was a hut with four beds in it where the guys sleep. They have their toothbrushes stuck in between the reeds of the hut wall. And on one of the walls they have a really gruesome painting of man kneeling on someone’s back and stabbing him. They told us it was a reminder to always be watching your back because there are spies everywhere and a spy will stab you in the back. They said it was from the Quran.
After a lot of back and forth, they then said they had seen us taking photos (of the ladies selling oranges at the checkpoint) so wanted to make sure we had photo permits (which we did). Nothing would satisfy them so we all had to pile into our car (because of course they didn’t have one) and head back to the main HAC office in Nyala. We could have refused and just driven off and what could they have done? They had no car to chase us with! After arguments with them, they said to us “You two ladies are not enough to do an assessment. You would need more people. We think you are spies.” I think that would make us the most incompetent spies of all time, if that were true. Finally, we agreed to apologize and get the correct paperwork. All the international NGOs laughed when we told them this and wrote letters in support of us.
Fast Forward to Thursday morning. We go to the AU base to go on another firewood patrol. We get to the Ottash camp and the firewood patrol has already left. The CIVPOL doesn’t have radios, cars, or any way to help us find them so we decide to interview them about their experiences in the camps. We walk outside of the CIVPOL office and stop to take some photos of the kids and a woman at a well. The HAC spy us and signal us to come talk to them. We ignore them and start to go back to our car. They come to fetch us and start yelling at us. We plead ignorance. We go to the “HAC Shack” and talk with them. A woman narcs on us. She was hanging out with the children and saw us taking photos. So we have to show them our camera.
Embarrassingly, some of the photos were of Sally and I in the local market trying on clothes and looking silly in our guest house. I erased the one picture I took of the children. They claimed that I was spying on the camp by taking photos of the African Union. Six of them gathered around me and my camera and clucked their tongues. “You are spies!” they said. Once again we had to give the guy a ride to the main HAC. The guy laughs when he sees us return. “It is you again! You are very bad girls.” After much talking, finagling, scolding, telling tales about the US, complaining about the IDPS and how they are all spies and politicians, and discussing Jackie Chan, they gave us our permit. But there was no one around to stamp it! We came back to get it stamped in an hour. The guy was still not there.
As tomorrow is the last day we are in town and all the offices are closed on Fridays, we became frantic. I went to a meeting and Sally and our driver/translator drove around town until they found the guy with the stamp’s house. They picked him up. He stamped the paper. They picked me up. We all went to a photocopy shop. We all went to the National Security office. More discussions. Some tea. Cigarettes were handed around. More discussions. More talk. Then we all got back in our car and drove to the guy with the stamps’ house. Then he turned into the nicest guy in the world. He introduced us to his mom, his wife, and his newborn daughter. Invited us to dinner. Gave us chocolates. As we sat awkwardly around his apartment and watched Sudanese tv, they passed around some spray deodorant which we all sprayed under our arms. And then we left.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Sleepless in Sudan
Just read the blog of Sleepless in Sudan - really awesome. http://sleeplessinsudan.blogspot.com/
Although I've been dreading this mission since we suddenly got our visa at the last minute (hurray?), now I'm actually excited to go. Darfur is mystifying and horrible. Last time, I was so overwhelmed by my anger at the 'international community" and their inability to do anything to stop the violence that I ranted and raved for pages upon pages in my diary (which was saved on Mamie's computer and since she left, I no longer have access to). Probably for the best since it's depressing reading.
While I'll not be able to match the pure passion of "Sleepless", I'll do my best while I'm there.
Although I've been dreading this mission since we suddenly got our visa at the last minute (hurray?), now I'm actually excited to go. Darfur is mystifying and horrible. Last time, I was so overwhelmed by my anger at the 'international community" and their inability to do anything to stop the violence that I ranted and raved for pages upon pages in my diary (which was saved on Mamie's computer and since she left, I no longer have access to). Probably for the best since it's depressing reading.
While I'll not be able to match the pure passion of "Sleepless", I'll do my best while I'm there.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Fashionably Political?
There's a new singer that I like, MIA. She's a Sri Lankan dancehall/grime/hiphop artist who's about 23. Her song Gangalang and SunShowers are catchy and fun but she's stirring up a ruckus in the UK. Her dad is in the LTTE and she's a Tamil. Since I was in Sri Lanka, I feel particulary interested in the Tamil Tigers. In general, I have a fascination with leftist revolutionary movements - I majored in Soviet Studies in undergrad. Sendero Luminoso, Khmer Rouge, the IRA, the Maoists in Nepal, the Zapatistas, FMLN, Sandinistas, Tupac Amaru, the Anarchists in Spain, the Catholic Workers movements...However, how does one get behind a movement that recruits children to fight its wars and pioneered suicide bombing? However, when I see the poverty in the Vanni as compared to the lush relatively rich South and I read about the riots in the 80s, I have a certain amount of sympathy for the idea of Tamil Eelam. Since the prime minister won the recent election (after aligning himself with the marxist buddhist JVP - Sinhalese chauvinists), there's a good chance they'll go back to war. And that saddens me. Although I like the idea of a revolutionary movement and their stated equality for the sexes, when I read about the difficulties that the former combatants have in trying to regain their lives, I can't allow myself to be blinded by the ideology. Yes, there is a certain seductive allure to it - but it helps to be reminded of the sheer brutality of it all. Assassinations of those who disagree with you. Forced abductions of fifteen year olds who are disappeared from their families and taken back into the jungle to be brainwashed. Complete and utter control within the family structure. "Give one child to the struggle." The photo albums of massacred Tamils on the living room table in the LTTE office of the "Peace Secretariat".
But just because you like an artist who uses the Tiger symbols in her concerts, does that mean you are supporting the movement? After all I liked Sandinista Rock in the 80s and knew nothing about the US role in Central America. I'm a socialist and love Social Realism but am opposed to the Stalinist purges of the Soviet Union. I like the Che Guevera tee shirt but am appalled by fact that the women in Cuba have to work as prostitutes for european and american tourists to make a living. Fashion and politics. To be politically fashionable or fashionably political?
But just because you like an artist who uses the Tiger symbols in her concerts, does that mean you are supporting the movement? After all I liked Sandinista Rock in the 80s and knew nothing about the US role in Central America. I'm a socialist and love Social Realism but am opposed to the Stalinist purges of the Soviet Union. I like the Che Guevera tee shirt but am appalled by fact that the women in Cuba have to work as prostitutes for european and american tourists to make a living. Fashion and politics. To be politically fashionable or fashionably political?
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Vanity, Vanity, thy name is Sarah
I've developed a disturbing new habit. I'm addicted to googling myself. I've long been addicted to email but now its gotten worse. When I'm bored, I start cruising around on the web. When I'm through reading gawker.com, wonkette.com, defamer.com, salon.com, slate.com - I turn to Google.
The problem is, I have a really really common name. Check it out for yourself. In order to find myself, I have to add a modifier such as "sex". Now you might ask, Sex? Are you secretly a porno star? Nothing that exciting. I wrote a report about sexual exploitation by UN peacekeepers so that's been picked up all over the net. I don't know why I picked up this habit - noone who actually knows me could find me on the web or would know its me because my name is so ubiquitous.
But secretly it amuses me that you have to type in the word sex to find me. What does that mean? Am I a sex addict? A pervert? A sex fiend? I've been going around the UN meeting with military advisors for the UN and talking to them about my report. I feel like its that old Far Side cartoon "what dogs hear" (blah blah blah ginger, blah blah ginger) - all they hear is "blah blah blah sex, blah sex blah blah blah sex sex sex". This was confirmed to me when I visited the Nepali military attache. As I left his office after an hour interview - he put his arm around my waist and tickled me! I guess he thought we had just spent a nice hour talking about sex.
The problem is, I have a really really common name. Check it out for yourself. In order to find myself, I have to add a modifier such as "sex". Now you might ask, Sex? Are you secretly a porno star? Nothing that exciting. I wrote a report about sexual exploitation by UN peacekeepers so that's been picked up all over the net. I don't know why I picked up this habit - noone who actually knows me could find me on the web or would know its me because my name is so ubiquitous.
But secretly it amuses me that you have to type in the word sex to find me. What does that mean? Am I a sex addict? A pervert? A sex fiend? I've been going around the UN meeting with military advisors for the UN and talking to them about my report. I feel like its that old Far Side cartoon "what dogs hear" (blah blah blah ginger, blah blah ginger) - all they hear is "blah blah blah sex, blah sex blah blah blah sex sex sex". This was confirmed to me when I visited the Nepali military attache. As I left his office after an hour interview - he put his arm around my waist and tickled me! I guess he thought we had just spent a nice hour talking about sex.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Why is no one spontaneous?
I decided to be spontaneous tonight. I called my friend Diana and asked if I could stop by. It was 8pm. I knew she was home because her husband was out of town for the week. she was suprised and invited me in for some wine. After an hour or two of catching up, I went home.
I miss spontaneity. I sometimes see my friends in other countries or cities more often than I do my neighbors in DC. We have to schedule to meet for coffee, or to say hello, or god forbid, to have a meal. I feel too scheduled and overwhelmed by the tyranny of the calender and clock in DC. Every minute of my days are scheduled. I miss spontaneity.
When I lived in South Carolina, we were always spontaneous. Maybe its because we were slackers, but I miss it. My friends would be driving through my neighborhood and would pull in to the driveway. If I was home, we'd chat or drink tea or beer and then they'd be on their way. They'd leave notes if I wasn't home. It was always a fun surprise to get a knock on the door. In Sri Lanka, I got stuck in a small town because the leader of the Tamil Tigers was giving a political speech. We stopped in the driver's cousin's house who hadn't seen him in months. Within fifteen minutes, we had hot tea, rice, lamb curry, coconut sambol, and fresh pineapple. My colleague, Joel, turned to me and said - if you had unexpected guests, could you do this? No.
So I say, bring back spontaneity! Drop by and visit me! I'll put an extra bottle of wine in my fridge. I'll keep frozen goodies in my freezer. Let's break through the tyranny of the calendar.
I miss spontaneity. I sometimes see my friends in other countries or cities more often than I do my neighbors in DC. We have to schedule to meet for coffee, or to say hello, or god forbid, to have a meal. I feel too scheduled and overwhelmed by the tyranny of the calender and clock in DC. Every minute of my days are scheduled. I miss spontaneity.
When I lived in South Carolina, we were always spontaneous. Maybe its because we were slackers, but I miss it. My friends would be driving through my neighborhood and would pull in to the driveway. If I was home, we'd chat or drink tea or beer and then they'd be on their way. They'd leave notes if I wasn't home. It was always a fun surprise to get a knock on the door. In Sri Lanka, I got stuck in a small town because the leader of the Tamil Tigers was giving a political speech. We stopped in the driver's cousin's house who hadn't seen him in months. Within fifteen minutes, we had hot tea, rice, lamb curry, coconut sambol, and fresh pineapple. My colleague, Joel, turned to me and said - if you had unexpected guests, could you do this? No.
So I say, bring back spontaneity! Drop by and visit me! I'll put an extra bottle of wine in my fridge. I'll keep frozen goodies in my freezer. Let's break through the tyranny of the calendar.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Big Week in Careerland
This past week has been really great for me career wise. My event was covered by the New York Times and the LA Times and then picked up by the AP and Reuters. I was on Canadian Broadcast tv, BBC radio, New Zealand radio, and then today - Fox News. Fox News was horrifying... they piled on pancake makeup all over my face and gave me scary "Lindsey Lohan" eyes. After introducing me under the false headlines of "UN Peacekeepers guilty of rape and pedophilia with war refugees!!!!" I then heard my own voice through the ear piece and got thrown. Watching myself with my brand new "Anne Coulter" face as I frowned trying to concentrate on the interview was terrifying. I hereby resolve to lose 20 lbs and get botox in my forehead.
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