mattsiller.com Blog

Things are cranking along. Life in the desert as I’ve described in detail before is different and at times hard. No matter I’ve come to realize that where ever you go, you’re always you. Little things are still entertaining. I’m working much more with my local staff. I’ve also realized they are much more motivated to work when you talk to them in their own language. I’ve picked up about 100 words and phrases and trying to learn as much Arabic as I can. My favorite saying so far is ‘Mafi Mafi Zig Zig’, which basically means ‘Don’t F**k it up’ and the guys get a laugh with I say it with my pseudo-Texas accent.

I was going to jump in the shower tonight after work and hanging in their web by the toilet were two small but ominous looking spiders. I let them be but thought to myself, look up Sudan’s poisonous spiders when I get back to my computer. Of course I remained on red alert heading into the shower. I turned the water on and did a three sixty high and low just in case. Wouldn’t you know, there was a friend of theirs, this time a big camel spider perched high looking at me. I quickly turned the water off, stepped back, took off my flip flop and chased her around till the inevitable squish. She fell off the wall onto the shower floor as reflexes brought her still. Eggs were everywhere. I found some tweezers in my shower bag and threw her out the door and jumped back in the shower quivering. I just don’t like spiders that much. In the shower the water trickled down my back and I shuttered and kept doing three sixties to wash off anything that might be teasing me. You know that feeling after an encounter with a bee or insect, any little stimulant of the skin makes you paranoid.

I cleaned up, stepped out to dry off and realized there may be some little spider eggs from the shower tub on my feet. I could just imagine tracking those back into my room on my sandals or towel and having them hatch and take me over during sleep so I quickly washed my feet and rid myself of the madness. Damn arachnids.

We’re about to expand with 18 more camps (making the total to approx 50 camps) for the UN so this will be quite an undertaking. They want everything built by Christmas time and rainy season is approaching/on us, not the best time to build. The hectic urgency will inevitably make the time go faster so this is positive.

I still get a kick riding to work in the morning taking in the scene. Old haggled men riding donkeys herding their goats, little kids walking to school with their one book wearing their green pants/white shirt uniform amongst their 3^rd world military fathers walking to work as well nestling their AK47 machine guns. Chickens are running around, muts scrounging for food, and little vans are packed tight with locals in colored outfits buzzing this way and that. All are starting their daily business in a hazy gray atmosphere that is soon swallowed by the large sun creeping above the horizon. It’s so third world.

As you will see from an excerpt below from one of our site managers, (lack of) educated people call for (lack of) educated solutions. I would love to say ‘Only in Sudan’ but I’m fairly confident these solutions plague the entire third world.

“Last week we received a shipment of kitchen supplies that have been long waited for. Upon receiving, I issued out to the [Food subcontractor] manager a certain amount of everything and kept the rest in the storage container. Well [the food subcontractor] came to us yesterday and asked for the two remaining large cutting knives. We went to get them and they were gone. We did another inventory this morning and found that the remaining 3 serving spoons, 12 forks and 48 spoons are gone. I had a meeting with all the local nationals a short while ago and told them that I was very upset because someone in this room is a thief. I went on to give them 3 options, first being, the person or persons who took these items can return it to a designated person and I will not ask any questions, second, put the things back somewhere on the camp where it would be found easily and third, if someone will come to me and tell me who done it, I will give them 15,000 SDD. If this is the case, I then will liaise with the local police, and have them open an investigation. The majority of the Local Nationals here are very upset that someone would do such a thing because they all know I won’t trust a sole anymore. They wanted me to go and get the local “witch-doctor” and bring him here to see all the people and he would tell me which one stole the property. They wanted me to do it right this moment while everyone was still thinking about everything I had just said. I told them that I can’t do that and even though it’s acceptable in your culture, I can’t base my decision without concrete evidence. They all know now that there is a thief amongst them and they do not like it at all. If anything further develops I will notify you immediately. If not, let this e-mail serve as an official document in the report of stolen property.”

Good Forward…

A boat docked in a tiny Greek village.   An American tourist complimented the Greek fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.  ”Not very long,” answered the Greek.   ”But then, why didn’t you stay out longer and catch more?” asked the  American. The Greek explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family.  The American asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”  ”I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and take a siesta with my wife. In the evenings I go into the village to see my friends, dance a little, play the bouzouki, and sing a few songs. I have a full life.” The American interrupted, “I have a MBA from Harvard and I can help you.  You should start by fishing longer every day. You can then sell the extra fish you catch. With the revenue, you can buy a bigger boat. With the extra money the larger boat will bring, you can buy a second one and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers.  Instead of selling your fish to a middleman, you can negotiate directly with the processing plants and maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Athens, Los Angeles, or even New York City! From there you can direct your huge enterprise.” “How long would that take?” asked the Greek. “Twenty, perhaps twenty-five years,” replied the American. ”And after that?”  ”Afterwards? That’s when it gets really interesting,” answered the American, laughing. When your business gets really big, you can start selling stocks and make millions!” ”Millions? Really? And after that?” ”After that you’ll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the coast, sleep late, play with your grandchildren, catch a few fish, take a siesta with your wife, and spend your evenings singing, dancing and playing the bouzouki with your friends”.

Some of you already know this story through the informal email chain. For those who know me, you can laugh along side these blunders…why? Because a person’s situational karma (or lack there of) over time becomes humorously absurd, as in the case of me. Some folks have all the luck. I’ll just heed the advice from a buddy in DC…don’t fear the reaper.

We recently revoked internet in our living quarters because people were abusing our VSAT system, using intensive bandwidth, skype, videos, porn, etc. They have reverted to an internet cafe type plug in at our dining hall. There was a big deal about it and only the top managers could have access in their rooms. Well, I’m chummy with the internet guys from my background and managed to bypass and get access. I’ve kept it relatively secret because most of the folks would get upset.

To understand where this post is going, as contractors living in the desert with few women, to most it’s a warm welcome when on the computer, certain friendly liberal online establishments pop up out of the blue. Note that as a (at heart) politician/diplomat, I am not advocating for or against these institutions. But I will say that to some guys, when the opportunity is set before you, a critical crossroads of angelic and devilish sub consciousness battles wholeheartedly about the outcome of a casual online visit. Are these institutions worth it? Probably not. But there are grey areas. For instance, my laptop has been available for use by a handful of folks due to our internet limitations. Would they be willing to bend the rules on someone elses machine, maybe? I stress the rules, but ultimately what takes place by the users is a moral obligation to them.

Knowing this, I also have been hosting a “movie night” for the staff here in our headquarters. I take our projector, screen, my laptop, and speakers and blast a movie up for everyone to watch, drink, socialize, whatever. I’ve done this for about a month now. We’re up to about 35 regulars.

No big deal, simple socialization. Last Monday we invited girls from the UN to come watch…we were showing ‘My Cousin Vinny’. Something happened to the power and I was stuck again managing to fight the silence as we fixed the power connections.

Everyone is basically sitting and waiting for me. Finally I power up, turn on my computer, and fire up on screen. I open Windows Media player to drag in the movie, and what do you know, in this particular player, a very recognizable smutty title of a short risque movie (oh shit, what??) pops up large and in charge on the screen in front of everyone….

You can imagine my astonishment and embarrassment. Of course, it’s noticed and someone yells out…”What the hell?” “Siller, are you downloading porn?” “Siller, are you the reason we don’t have internet in our rooms?” … and possibly worse…”Siller, do you still have internet in your room?”

My back is to the large mixed crowd and I take a deep breath…comprehending the situation and scrambling to pull the movie from the d: drive. It seems like 15 drawn out seconds allowed the smutty title to stain the memory of all 35 viewers.

Meanwhile, as I open the movie, my spinning head manages to muster in a low voice ….”I dont know what you all are talking about..movie’s on…”

I refrain from looking back for half the movie…this place is one big rumor. I can’t wait for the aftermath….

Doh

My eyes are heavy. The pillow is soft. But I can only maneuver into a position of which the state of relaxation seems temporary. My mind desperately tries to sink into sleep but it crawls between thoughts. Eyes closed, I try to focus on the task at hand – to sleep. The more I focus, the more awake I become. I attempt to relax the bodys’ muscles from foot to head. I finally get to the most tense part, my jaw. Soon I’m relaxed. Upon reaching this physical state of ease, my mind kicks back in and I eventually maneuver into another position and the process restarts.

Sleeplessness…what a personal battle. Sometimes I hop into bed at night and think about current loneliness and future happiness. Some nights that happiness derives from possible personal achievement or plans of action. Sometimes it’s the thought of having someone to share that with. Occasionally picking from a past memory is soothing, but memories come to me conceptually and as good as they are, upcoming possibilities and anticipation always tend to trump the past. No matter what tense I’m thinking in, when rationalizing it back to the present, there you are, lonely, tired, (dare to say) unhappy with the current state of mind and frustrated with the inability to just fade into a drowning sleep.

I’ve mentioned before, night times on contract life can be lonely. You can only do so much to fill the time. Sooner or later, moments of weakness arise when the daily storm of activity tapers into only you and yourself.

I suppose I’m glad I get along with myself. At least I can keep company. Or maybe the company comes in the form of word document or journal, where my comfort soothes through the keys or the pen.

Thinking about that, it must be one of the main reasons I’ve enjoyed writing. Over the course of the last 5 years, I’ve chosen opportunities and experiences over comforts and friendships. I’ve battled loneliness not through cozy friends and homey environments, but through the enlightening ability to capture my situations and thoughts in writing. In my recent experiences, my ‘pen’ has been my true friend.

I don’t think I’ll be able to live by ‘the pen’ forever, but I’ll accept it as my blanket for the time being.

What you see above is trouble. Its official name is Johny Walter (note the generic ‘t’), and Kitoko. Unofficially, this toxin doubling as whisky leapfrogs its way into the marketplace from neighboring lands. It is 2 ounces of headache in a plasic bag. Actually they both taste the same. And they are both better than the home brew.

The local home brew, Araki, as mentioned before in posts, is available cheaply but people do avoid…see BBC Article as to why.

So a westerner or rebellious local’s alternative for alcohol (unless brought in through diplomatic routes) consists of black market purchases such as Kitoko (African for beautiful – we will remember that beauty is in the eye of the beholder) and Johny Walter (an obvious mimick). I don’t claim to know or want to know how, where, or what it’s made from, but I will tell you how it finds its way onto the black market.

These purely market driven 2oz plastic booze bags come from neighboring countries. We’ll say Chad as a shot in the dark. Some distiller manages to produce the drink, either package it or sell it to a distributor (which is probably how it works because I’m guessing it’s the same drink in either of these bags), who then packages, markets, and sells. Several African Entepreneurs (probably gun runners in neighboring countries using alcohol as a front and suppliment) buy in mass from their distributors and ship in old cardboard boxes or metal containers to distribution sites along the borders of dry Muslim countries.

There, they are broken down in numbers of 25 x 2oz packages and placed into little ‘convenience store’ generic unlabeled trash bags and sold wholesale to individual vendors along the borders.

These vendors make connections with brokers across the Muslim borders, whose job it is to find business. When found, the brokers encourage, “yes yes, I have very good stuff..very good whisky for you”. Depending on the supply and depending on the demand the prices fluctuate. 25 x 2oz bags could run a respectable 18 dollars a trash bag of 25, or it could go as high as 50 US Dollars.

Once a buyer has been targeted, the broker slaps his donkey on the ass, who then makes a beeline for a certain pre-determined, pre-practiced, pre-set route and destination across the border that one would think an obstinate donkey would not be able to make.

Once the donkey arrives, the reseller packs as many trash bags of 25 x 2oz whisky packets into a skinned goat’s hide which normally serves as a water tight water holder that rests around the donkey.

They donkey treks back across the border to the owner, who’s outreached hands hold some hay or grass, but I wouldn’t be suprised if it was a little cocain or other narcotic (maybe a little of the whisky) to reward the donkey’s job well done.

The reseller takes the baggies and sells in mass to the buyer. This mission has helicopters heading to the border sites on a regular basis. It is not hard to purchase. The only frustration is when the donkey decides to sit in the middle of his journey and break half of the baggies under his belly. There are always handfuls of broken and wasted bags in the allotment.

These purchases are made by the local entepreneur who then brings them back to his local ‘cell’ and redistributes at his price by demand.

It’s very interesting…mainly because everyone takes a share. And if you count 5 parties from front to end – producer, distributor, border man 1, border man 2, and enteprenuer, and if the very high value for these is 2 dollars per 2 oz bag, then you can imagine we’re dealing with some serious quality whisky.

As long as it doesn’t make you go blind.