Jan Pronk is the UN envoy to Sudan, a high ranking official here to tackle the countries issues. I was suprised to find out he had a personal blog, mainly because folks in those positions, especially diplomatic ones, walk a thin line with publishing personal thoughts and those which reflect their organization. Most USG folks are not allowed to blog. None-the-less, it was this posting which upset the Sudanese gov, so much so that they’re booting him out of the country.
Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to arrive at the same fate!!!
Line. We stand in rows on the sand, bending over, hands on our knees, the days descending sunrays still impact as beaded sweat builds on our foreheads. A slight breeze doesn’t smell right, but it cools the skin none-the-less. I watch what’s taking place in front of me, guys yelling Russian commands back and forth. I’m squinting, impatient, trying to stay focused in anticipation for my turn. On this one, I’m contemplating going for the kill.
I’ve stumbled lately into a habit of playing volleyball in the evening with the Russian pilots. At our compound, we gather outside of our parking lot where a net has been put up. Apparently volleyball is a hot thing in the former land of the Bolsheviks. They’re all pretty good and some are serious about the play. The score is kept in Russian so I never really know who’s winning. The rules are a bit international (ball which hits the net on a serve is good, net interference during play is ok, and a point is tallied regardless of which side serves). It’s a good after work release where the healthy ways are few and far inbetween. Some of our Indian folks come out and play but they are a little short and have a hard time mimicking a spike. The African guys will join in occasionally and if we’re all there, it becomes a microcosm of the Goodwill Games.
We have razor wire perimeter fences surrounding the court which have led to several ball casualties so we combat this by making a inner perimeter of land cruiser trucks up against the fence. Occasionally, it becomes quite a spectacle. Sometimes US Consulate folks or joggers from other expat NGO’s will stop their run and play. On a rare and lucky day, a woman or two will join in. All of the stray dogs like to come and rest under the land cruiser shade and watch, shaking off flies and/or licking the wounds of the day’s many survival battles.
On the outside of the fence, the local women will walk by, heading back to the ‘Abo Shook’ IDP camp 5km down the bumpy dirt road, carrying long grass reeds or firewood on their head, sometimes giving us a smile showing off the stark contrast in teeth to skin color. Little boys will walk by and toss rocks at the dogs, who will bark a couple of times in response. Occasionally we’ll get a military blue or beige camouflaged pick up truck packed bed tight with GOS or SLA soldiers, depending on the day. They’ll raise their guns in salute and hoop at us a little bit and we’ll wave back and get smiles.
A herd of cattle, emaciated despite their daily grazing, whose pelvic bones distend out towards the sky, will kick up unwarranted dust clouds that blow into us as they follow-the-leader back to their pins.
Just recently, the city opened up a suspiciously placed trash dump diagonally across from our compound, making us down wind. We’ll see local trucks dump their rubbish and then smell the aftermath as constant clouds of smoke waft our way due to non-stop burning, leaving that pungent campfire/trash burn smell lining our nostrils. Some days it’s so bad we can’t play.
I’ve come to enjoy it as apart of my routine though.
Wow, this post is full of tone setting detail which normally should lead into an interesting or humorous anecdote or story, bringing it home and ending with a punch to remember and make it worth your read. Unfortunately, this one’s just going to lack that finishing power.
Unless your keen to know that last night was karaoke night and I sang a mean “House of the Rising Sun” (The Animals) and “It’s still rock and roll to me” (Billy Joel), then brought it home with “Boot Scootin Boogie” and capped it off with a finale of Sinatra’s “My Way”. (We’re not big critics down here.)
I’m currently wrapped up in the middle of battling a new job, attempting to fix the gaps that were left open in the system during the day and then applying to graduate programs in the evening. The days are long and nights tiring and everything seems to run upon end like a multi-chapter lull in the middle of a book.
It’s in the middle of Ramadan here in the Muslim world which means the local staff works fewer hours and with less energy. Most participate in a religious fast, which is kind of misleading. During Ramadan, Muslims are not allowed to eat or drink during daylight hours (which poses a challenge to our warehouse labor when we ask them to bust it in the sun all day long). I’ve recently found out that the fasting portion of the 3 or 4 week timeframe (it depends on the lunar cycle) is cheated somewhat. The locals work until three, take a long nap under a lonely tree (which is temporarily shady from the recent rainy season), then wake up and head to the market around 7:30. Over the next 10 hours of darkness, they commence eating up to four meals. They eat around 7:30pm, then again at 11:00pm, then play cards and talk politics till 1 or 2am, catch a few z’s, and then awake around 4:30 or 5:00 to chow down before sun-up. Fasting?? We’ll I would say it’s just flipping their days and nights…only they have to work when their body says it should be sleeping. Some customs are just hard to understand and I would say taking a holy month and ‘sacrificing’ does amount to something, but to me it seems like it’s cheating the system. Most Muslims, in fact, gain weight during this month.
Handling day to day business during this time only accentuates the frustrations that we know as the African Way. Everything we request brings a response that ends in ‘Insha’Allah’, or ‘God Willing’, as if the request is beyond the capability, desire, or fate of human accomplishment. Our Project Manager refuses to acknowledge this term, rightly so, as it essentially seems to be one big excuse for lack of accountability. Or maybe it’s just a cultural difference.
“I’m going on vacation, I’ll be back in 15 days….Insha’allah”, my lead warehousemen tells me. I say, “No Insha’allah, you will be back in 15 days, right?” “Insha’allah”, he says. 15 days.
“The cooking gas hasn’t arrived from Khartoum”, my purchaser tells me. “The vendor says it will be here tomorrow, Insha’allah”. Tomorrow rolls around, no gas. “Where is the gas?” I asked a bit pressured, as without, we can’t cook at our camps and troops go hungry. “Tomorrow, Insha’allah”, my purchaser says. “No Insha’allah”, I demand. “Tell him we need the gas today. Have him find out the delivery problem and fix it!” “Ok, I will tell him and he should, Insha’allah”, my purchaser says back to me with a smile. “Not funny…just get the gas…” I say and walk away.
“How much for this taxi from the airport to my hotel?”, I ask my driver in Cairo? “30 Egyptian pounds, Insha’allah.”, he responds. Jeez….
It’s just one big continual frustration…
So I drown it out during the day, dreaming about being in France in six months, sleeping in, meandering around, eating well, and breaking the daily habitual routine of work and work. I think back about my time in high school, dreading Mondays on that Sunday evening. Still, those were the days. Sometimes I drift back to college where I could take afternoon naps and weekend road trips, thinking those were the days too. Occasionally I step into my mindset after college, working and going out with friends in the evenings and weekends, seeing movies and concerts and kicking back over happy hours, thinking those too seem to be the days. Or maybe it’s false nostalgia as anything seems better than the desert. But I’m sure when I look back on this experience, I’ll find some memory which makes it feel worth the while. Or is it that we primarily choose to only recall the positive moments from our memories?
Anyway, I should go back to working on my applications, avoiding the procrastination of forward thinking and anticipation of the next step after Darfur. It’s hard though not to continually think, will my plan unfold as I imagine?
Well….we know the fitting answer to that……Insha’allah.
My posting’s been a little thin because I’ve been working on another website/blog for a fundraiser we’re having down here for one of our employees. His son is in need of medical treatment. Check it out www.shaynesfund.com/blog
In particular look at the raffle items on the first page with the blog. When you live in the dessert, your options become limited…no weekend get-away vacations for 2 in the Bahamas…
So I was just promoted into a new position that has a decent amount of added responsibility, which is cool, aside from the fact that I am now boss of my old boss. We essentially flip-flopped positions in that I was promoted to his position and he was ‘reassigned’ to mine. That’s not awkward.
It’s like we’re both boarding an airplane and I walk up and he is sitting in my window seat; I think that seat is mine, and he says, no it’s mine. We repeat the tune several times in different tone of voices. Then we both look at our tickets and they both have the same number so we get the flight attendant involved who can’t solve it herself and consequently calls her superiors over to help. Pretty soon everyone on the plane is watching. I end up getting the seat but not without uncomfortably wedging by him as he wedges out, avoiding eye contact, telling facile expressions, and any touch altogether as the onlookers mumble nothings to each other in curiosity.
Well maybe it wasn’t exactly like that, but you can imagine.
Anyway, he’s running around outside now and I’m administrating at a desk, so maybe he did get the better end of the move in that aspect. But then again, the people calling me ‘Mr. Matt’ has increased and that has a nice ring in my ear.
