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I submitted one of my posts from this blog to a website called Truckin’ that posts “Short Stories, Sagas, and Tales from the Road”. Some of the stories are off the wall. Some interesting. The author posted my tale in this months issue and claims it to be one of “the most chilling Truckin’ stories to date.” Check it out.

I have a friend living in Darfur who’s had one of those eye widening, wait, say again, damn, girl experiences over the course of her stay. During her time in the desert, she’s developed a resume for the record books. I’ve written in previous posts about the types of girls that come to Darfur, mostly playing the stereotypes in my descriptions. Of course, you find folks with combinations of traits that cross these defined borders, and to many extents, she does as well. But there is a clear stereotype in this aspect of her experience, and I think it’s worthy of a solid tribute post.

When you think about coming to a place like this, there are a few initial concerns that jump to mind. Is it safe? What are the living conditions? What is the food like? And then, the given, What kind of exposure to sickness will you face, and how will you handle it? I’m sure every mother (and sane person) thinks coming to a place like this exposes yourself to unnecessary risks, be it health or danger, and so why do it? Most people here face down those worries, carry an even keel about them, and balance the good with the bad in this regard. Some are lucky and dodge it altogether. I’ve been fortunate with regard to my health and exposure to problems during my time here.

My friend, on the other hand, has had Murphy’s Law waiting for her around every corner. If something (relatively impermanent) can go wrong with regards to her health and safety, it has. I think of it as a cross between The Naked Gun, There’s something about Mary, and Out of Africa. Her story has subtle humor that’s grown exponentially throughout the year. I’m just glad we can sit down and laugh about it. She leaves shortly so, inshallah, nothing more will occur. But for the sake of this tribute post, let’s get to business:

One – She arrived into theater during the April timeframe of last year when the summer’s heat was already in full force. During her first week here, while on a tour with management, she developed a case of heat stroke and promptly fainted on her way to the chopper in between site visits.

Two – During the rehydration period and several days rest at the site, she developed a sinus infection that set her back another two days, one of many that would frustrate her equilibrium over the course of her year.

Couldn’t be an omen…

Three – Shortly there after, a seasonal bug pops into play called the Nairobi Fly, also known as the Acid Fly. If this red and black fly lands on your skin and you swat it dead, an acid like substance secretes from its body and causes severe burns in that location. If it stays on your hands and you touch another part of your body it spreads. The irony is that she had just published a notification to all personnel to watch out for this fly, to include measures to take in case you came in contact. Not that very night while sleeping, a Nairobi fly crawled on her arm. She accidentally squished it when closing her arm at the elbow, unbeknownst to her. The fly’s acid not only burned an inch radius circle on her inner forearm, but did on her bicep as well. The mirror image burns took almost a month to heal.

Four – To add to the legacy, while driving at the market, she became the damsel in distress when in the middle of flocks of people, got the vehicle stuck in a mud hole from the rains. She developed quite the audience when the AU Force Protection had to come and tow her out.

Five – In the kitchen of one of our houses, we utilize propane cooking gas in the stoves. Several months ago while baking, the flame went out in the oven. When she returned with a match and bent over to relight the flame, an explosion from the built up gas inside the oven soared out and singed all facial hair (including eyebrows) and an unsolicited portion of head hair. A shocking haircut – yes. The damage – fortunately, only surface.

Six – Back in December, many of the personnel were evacuated to a neighboring site during a security threat. While waiting the several days for the situation to calm, she went into the local town’s market to see about getting portions of her body waxed. Aside from the fact that it’s a risky endeavor in a first world, this could be deemed an adventure from the idea’s inception. As it was, we jump to the portion of the story where Nair has covered some of her arms and face in the town’s ‘hair removal facility’. As the time came to wash the substance off, a critical ingredient to the process went missing….Water. The water well went dry and there was no way to wash off. By the time she returned to the camp where water could be found, it was already too late and 2^nd degree burns had occurred. The medics at our site covered up the burns and put…(cringe at my least favorite word) ointment….on burnt areas and wrapped up. In the end she looked like mummy.

We thought, wait wait wait…isn’t the only safe way we know to remove hair in Darfur with cooking gas??

Seven – She had to fly to Khartoum to get further treatment to ensure no scaring. And wouldn’t you know it, while in Khartoum, a tooth of hers cracked down the middle.

Eight – If that wasn’t enough, she decided to get some rest at a hotel while in Khartoum. While shopping at the local store around the corner, a man began to follow her, ultimately checking into a room next door to her (one of the known methods of danger to avoid). She barricaded her hotel room door with available furniture and waited it out until she could get to the dentist the following afternoon. Beforehand, she met with a man who recommended this particular dentist as the credible and best dentist in Khartoum. As he was drinking his coffee, the tooth that the dentist had just worked on fell out into his coffee in front of her. Needless to say, she caught the next flight to Nairobi to see a dentist she felt more comfortable with.

Nine – On her latest vacation, she visited the island of Mauritius. She had pushed her vacation back and spent seven months working strong without a break (we normally go four). During her stay in the hotel, she had two panic attacks. Initially she thought it was an allergic reaction to the fish. After the second, which involved no fish, she saw a doctor who claimed it was related to built up stress of working non-stop for seven months.

Ten – On her way back to Sudan, she flew through Dubai. It must be that equilibrium thing, because on the way to transfer her luggage at the carousel in Dubai, she “lost her lunch” in public and the airport doctor deemed her too sick to fly.

Now one would initially think, wow, either she is prone for problems or has extremely bad luck. Who knows? I do give her credit because she’s a globetrotter, despite the continual challenges she faces, and sticks out her commitments. I initially classed her into the “city girl meets the wild” stereotype when she came out. But despite all the pain and frustration she’s gone through, where someone might be unlucky to face one or two of the ten problems we’ve identified since arriving in Darfur, she’s kept her head high and maintains herself well in this ‘man’s environment’. For that, she gets the Darfur Diploma with Honors upon her departure.

When I arrived into Khartoum, the first thing I noticed was how bad the mosquitoes were. Must be the Nile thing. My room has a mosquito net hanging above my bed but it looks very feminine draping down overhead so I ignored it for the first few nights. After waking up several mornings in a row, poka-dotted on arms and legs with new mosquito bites, I thought otherwise and began using it. My predecessor says she used to tuck it in between the mattresses it became so bad.

I know Malaria takes a couple of weeks to kick in, and I’ve only been here a week and a half, but yesterday morning I woke up in the middle of the night feeling terrible. Headaches, chills, achy body, and fever, I began to think to myself, did I get this damn disease? I thought about a girl I work with from Kenya who caught it several weeks ago. She said she felt like she had physically gone to hell. It was so painful she thought she was going to die. Apparently the disease attacks your joints, which all scream in your body at once. I wasn’t at that stage yet, but was also thinking, I’m more tolerable to pain, aren’t I?

I went to work the next morning hoping it was just a temporary cold and asked our medic about my symptoms. He said, ‘We’ll I’d probably go get that checked because folks from the North American continent tend to be more susceptible to the deadly version of malaria.’

Reassuring as that sounded, I decided to head to the hospital, Khartoum’s best, Al Faisal, to get tested. Fortunately my driver navigated the bumpy uncomfortable streets and hospital lines to get me inside and up front. It was packed with people, inside and out. Everything inside the place, once white, felt like it had a yellowish tone to it. I was feeling deep warm and fuzzies about its cleanliness. There were three people behind the check-in desk and all were occupied with discussion amongst themselves and ignoring the lines. (I’ve come to find out in this country there really are no lines; it’s more like who puts the money in their face the soonest gets served first.)

After about 30 minutes, I went back to the ‘emergency room’ to get checked by a General Practitioner and then blood tested. Fortunate for me, my tests came back Malaria negative. But I did have elevated levels in other medical stuff, which I think meant I had a severe bacterial infection as my blood count was off. They said, alright Mr. Matt, we’re going to check you into the hospital because we need to run some heavy medicines intravenously and monitor your status for several days.

I laughed and said, ‘Is this something that’s life threatening?’ They said ‘No, but it would be best if you stayed with us so we can ensure the bacteria is killed quickly’. I said ‘No thanks, how about I take your strongest oral drugs and I’ll ride it out in my bed at home’.

I kept thinking to myself about all the conversations I’ve had with my nurse friends…’Never go to a hospital unless you’re dying’ ….kept resonating through my head, compounded with the fact that I’m in a third world country medical facility, compounded with the fact that I’m a white person and rich to them, compounded with the fact that I’m young and have a healthy immune system. It was really a no brainer.

So I regretfully declined their offer, came home, pilled up, and slept it off. One day later and I’m doing fine.

I’m staying in the top floor apartment in one of our two villas in town and I keep hearing the pigeons outside my windows making morning cooing noises when I awake, similar to the donkeys’ eyy awws in Darfur, and even though they’re different noises they’re still distinct reminders of Sudan. I guess I relate to the pigeons more than the donkeys, because they have the ability to fly away, but just haven’t for some odd reason.

On a secondary note, this post is a celebration of sorts. A centennial celebration (unrelated to time) in that this is my 100th post on the website. I’ve been in Sudan 452 days so that means I’ve averaged a new post every 4.52 days…which I’m happy with, considering the bore factor and trying to keep you interested in ‘Life in Sudan’ as an outsider. I’ve had just under 33,000 page hits on this site, so that tells me you’ve enjoyed some of what I’ve written. Thanks for being a loyal reader to those who are, and to those who infrequently visit, there’s always a new beginning. Although I may be premature in saying that my time here is nearing end and unlike that pigeon, I will fly soon. More to come on that and what future writing is in store. In the meantime, toast this weekend for me as my Red Bull is about as close as I can get right now to a worthy celebratory beverage.

I’ve been in Khartoum a few days and plan to be for several more weeks filling an open position we need staffed. I’ve been reading alot about the growth of Khartoum into a robust and growing capital city. I’d like to give you my understanding of the cause and effects of this growth, as it’s fascinating to witness how it’s happening.

There is no doubt that Khartoum, Sudan’s capital, is one of the fastest growing cities in the world. I’ve seen numbers that direct foreign investment has shot up from $128mn in 2000 to $2.3bn this year in Khartoum. Because of Sudan’s stance of harboring terrorists, sanctions were placed in 1997 on direct foreign investment from the US and other western countries. As the numbers show, this hasn’t deterred Asian and other Middle Eastern investment in Sudan, resulting in a booming local economy with its corresponding imports of products and expats. It looks like the only losers were the countries which enforced the sanctions, as they have been left out of the growth.

I highly recommend this quick video by the NY Times, Khartoum Propers Despite Sanctions, as it gives you an idea about the bittersweet feeling of polar lifestyles in this country. Back when I imagined what Sudan looked like before I came, I visualized the National Geographic scenes of poor people with buzzing flies sitting in huts and tending livestock in remote desertic areas. Maybe in the war zones you’d see an armed and camouflaged rebel, all images of disparate and colorful extreme. Sadly, this is a correct visualization. But the 5 minute movie by NY Times, as well as this article, War in Sudan? Not where the Oil Flows, begins to show the extremes of the prosperous and growing capital city versus the stagnantly poor rest of the country.

You can attribute Khartoum’s growth to Sudan’s president, Bashir. He has done wonders in ignoring western sanctions and building an economy in Khartoum with phenomenal growth. Unfortunately, the rest of the country has been ignored. In fact, this unequal growth is the primary reason for the rebellions in the East, South and West.

The East, until just recently, was in border battles with Eritrea and Ethiopia. The South is still struggling to rebuild itself afterresource sharing battles with the Khartoum government. And Darfur is still considered the Wild Wild West and completely ignored with regard to any infrastructure development and resource sharing. It’s almost as if Bashir is content in building up the bubble around him while the rest of the country suffers.

The impact of the growth in Khartoum is that Sudanese and other expats are gladly returning to the country. As Stated on The Sudanese Thinker -

“The slowly returning Sudanese Diaspora in Khartoum is bringing along with it tons of money and lifestyles foreign to Sudanese culture. Much of those lifestyles present a huge opportunity for business people. The consumer market is big and investors are pouring money into it while in the process reaping back big profits. People have extra money to spend on leisure and entertainment. They want to be able to live the same lifestyle they had back in America, London, Europe or Dubai. They want to be pampered. The demand is high but the supply is low. Ozone Cafe (featured in the video) is just one of those things that the returning Sudanese Diaspora wanted but couldn’t find. It’s one of many expensive hang out places and shisha bars mushrooming everywhere catering to the privileged Sudanese in the capital and also the increasingly big number of foreigners there. 10 years ago, a Chinese man walking around Khartoum would have been like a giraffe roaming around Antarctica. Now there are foreigners everywhere in the capital. This also presents a big potential market for business people. We’ve got our own mini China-town now for God’s sake people and it’s expanding steadily!

One of the signs of Khartoum’s boom has been development of the land which brings the White and Blue Nile together. The infrastructural investment on this peninsula will be groundbreaking for this economy. Due to be finished in several years, called the al-Sunut, projects taking place include shopping malls, luxury hotels, spas, office towers, Sudan’s first golf course, and villas with swimming pools along the Nile among others.

This development is surely misleading and a bittersweet feeling for the overall economy nationwide. It’s a sign that Khartoum is a thriving capital city and global player. But this isn’t Sudan. It masks the chronic problems, the genocide, the poverty, the national geographic images that stereotype the country which are still taking place outside of Khartoum.

Sudan has about 30 million people. 5 million of those reside in Khartoum. That means 25 million, or 5/6th of its total population are still living in these impoverished conditions. And even in Khartoum, only a tiny fraction of its population would be able to utilize the luxuries that al Sunut and other development like it is providing.

It’s an interesting growth, and China is the catalyst behind most of it. On the markets you see mostly Chinese and Asian products. I read a funny story recently about when the Koreans arrived in Khartoum all of the stray dogs disappeared. Dog is an alleged delicacy in Korea. So this Sudanese guy saw a van full of Koreans race by, then stop suddenly in front of him where two of them jumped out, grabbed a stray dog off the street, threw it in the back of the van, and then raced off. He was eternally grateful to the Koreans for this very reason. You do not have the nuisance of stray dogs here in Khartoum, whereas out in the bush, they’re everywhere.

Asia, and China specifically, has played a major role in direct foreign investment in Khartoum. Sudan has multibillion-dollar contracts with the Chinese state-run oil companies CNPC and Sinopec which operate in Sudan. Oil and other business and land development investments have proven to be both lucrative and essential to sustaining the Chinese economy. China is basically the big daddy of Sudan’s growth and its influence is apparent everywhere.

The West has tried to exploit this relationship, having struggled with Sudan diplomacy themselves. The US has put diplomatic pressure on China to help influence Khartoum to better stabilize the rest of the country, but China seems to weasel past the requests, claiming it will never be a “tool for US pressure on Sudan”, showing only self interest in its large investments in Sudan and carrying little to no globally minded responsibility. China believes no government “should interfere with other country’s human rights and internal affairs”…..damn that ideological baggage.

So you won’t see China sacrificing oil rights or potential profit for a good cause. And because of Sudan’s large oil reserves and China’s rampant population and requirement for this oil, I would imagine very few things would warrant the cause for a rift in their partnership.

But of course, stable regions do booster sound investments so it is in China’s interest to help Sudan.

They have recently signed several agreements of an economic and technological nature, implementing two schools in the rural areas in Sudan and another one for establishment of a centre for agricultural technology, which is a step in the right direction, but a far cry from the assistance that’s really needed to stabilize the country outside of Khartoum. (Did I mention the agreement included a bonus “Thank You” Presidential Palace for Bashir, built and paid for by the Chinese government?)

Chinese president Mr. Hu is sneaky in answering criticism regarding his relationship with Khartoum. He’ll say things like “Beijing is trying to help Africa to build infrastructure and alleviate poverty.” At one point, China had said their solution to Darfur would be to replace the struggling African Union with its own Chinese Peacekeepers.

This initial thought is slightly concerning because China is strategically aligned with the Khartoum Government (who directly supports the campaign of ethic cleansing in Darfur). So, if this proposal were to occur, we would see the possibility of having politically motivated troops (for the wrong side mind you), leading an allegedly neutral peacekeeping mission. That could spell further disaster. Thankfully it has not materialized and the focused solution is still on UN oversight of African troops.

Anyway, what I’ve learned from reading about this place and other African leaders is that Sudan’s President, Al Bashir, is a remarkable man. He’s hardly selfless and far from an altruistic president. But he’s extremely effective at retaining power and leading his people (the arabs mind you, not the blacks) to believe in his plight. During his tenure, he has centralized his power and financial freedom by turning Khartoum into a global player and economic force. He’s allied and partnered with powerful and dark countries that will turn their head in response to his blatant neglect of human rights issues and exploitation of ethic differences in all other regions outside of Khartoum. And he’s successfully allowed a (alledged) genocidal campaign and umpteen wars to take place under the noses of the entire international community through whippy deflections of responsibility and smoke and mirror campaigns.

There are established techniques that African leaders use to retain power. Bashir follows these to a tee, and has an even stronger advantage with a good supply of natural resources as leverage. It’s amazing to think that this kind of stuff can take place. It’s amazing to see the effects of his methods, Khartoum’s growth, Chinese influence, regional poverty, and genocide, among others, as you live in this place.

Yep…my eyes are wide open in witness. And that’s about all I have to say.

You know when you say something and shake your head in disbelief at the thought or image in conjures. I continually do that here. I’m sitting in my room right now doing it. I often ask myself, what am I doing here? What kind of life is this that I’m living? I’m in isolation, living in a war zone, surrounded by chronic poverty, always in constant extremes, and doing so under my own free will. Nothing about Darfur seems normal, unless, I guess, you grew up here. I continually try to reprocess this situation over and over in my mind.

There are a lot of troops/rebels/African warriors, whatever you want to call them, out on the dirt roads these days. I was thinking what kind of government allows (basically) anyone to carry a gun. There must be an unspoken understanding that if you wear camoflague you can carry a weapon – and I don’t just mean a weapon, I mean RPGs and big tank piercing guns, and grenades, really anything they can get their hands on. I see these guys all over the place, both Sudanese Military and random rebels lined in their (blue/beige/green – any color really goes) camo, armed with their AK’s, and squeezed tight in the back of their Toyota Land Cruiser single cab pick up trucks (coincidentally the same type that get stolen from us), speeding down the tarless roads.

I wonder to myself when I see convoys of them racing past, where they’re headed to? Where have they come from? Sometimes I’ll brush up next to them while picking up a coke at the local stand. There I am, standing next to a Sudanese fighter. His look is intimidating, but his eyes are weak. “How’s your day going? Well? Killed anyone today? Thirsty from all that action? Alright, good, well, enjoy that coke, take care.” Sometimes I wonder what death smells like out here. I figure these guys are it.

I figure it would be quite a story to hear about their past. I sometimes wish I could get into their mind and think what they think. Are most of these guys driven or are they simply told? I wish I could understand in words the specific events that have plagued them over the course of their short life.

Yesterday I got into a vivid imagination/what if scenario with myself because I was driving and making a turn around this house and one of the rebel trucks, packed 20 guys deep in the pick up bed, was coming in the opposite direction around the corner. We almost ran into each other head on. I can only imagine the scene if I had hit the truck and 20 of these guys went flying out of the back of the truck into the sand from the wreck.

What do you do? Apologize? So sorry…Oops? Didn’t mean to run into you, Mr. Rebel? We’re supposed to get one ‘take back’ each day, right? Can this be mine? It’s just a little scratch. Don’t mind your men sprawled out in the sand.

I suppose I’d just flee the scene with my head down, letting my truck autopilot the ruts in overdrive back to safety.

Imaginations….As a kid I used to lay in bed at night and have these fantastic scenarios with me as the super-hero, or in sports, or approaching girls at school. Now I have them about rebel interactions. I guess all I can say is, this place…

One of our guys here, a poker friend of mine, has been around in Sudan awhile leading much of the charge on this mission. His time has come to head home and we’re doing a farewell this weekend. I thought my two cents in goodbye would be written in verse. I took a couple lines from one of my post’s quotes below…but I think it speaks about his/and our journey here.

The camp’s built strong on hill and plain,
On sand, with sweat, and skilled constrain,
A mission, grown, to reduce local pain,
And to steer a ravaged land.

Led by will on loyal ground,
With watchful eye and firm surround,
The framed pen scratch, a familiar sound,
And the orders a resulting stand.

He’s a resolute achiever in a desolate plight,
And he sips on his work through the African night,
A long lonely journey, fear no end in sight,
But a day’s well finished work in his hand.

In the land of the Sud there’s a timeless old tick,
The desert will whisper to those in the thick,
We’ve each gained respect now hang up the stick,
My darkness has taken many a man.

So at dusk on the bare thorn tree above,
Sadly calls the mourning dove,
Good bye dear friend, from your brothers with love,
Your permanence is held in our sand.

So last year my birthday celebration in this place of wonder was minor….a toast with peeps. This year I told one or two folks and it turned into a multi-day affair. Last night we had a BBQ. I brought out the S. Texas Deer sausage I smuggled in…full of mold at this point…but nothing a little water and an old tooth brush couldn’t scrape off. We of course had the imported ‘Johnny Walter’ bagged whiskey, and the Russian pilots offered the Jalapeño infused vodka, colored brown, which turned out to be a late night party killer, tasting as bad as it sounds. The second round for most was thrown over the shoulder rather than down the hatch. The folks from Zimbabwe cooked ‘fried hamburgers’, something you must try once or five times, and mixed drinks with whatever we had, including coke and locally brewed Red Hibiscus Tea. As the night drew on, people began dancing with the stars and we caught a gem of one of our employees and myself on video…youtube… for which I hope you click on and can get a kick out of.

Yes, this go around’s theme needs to be exercise and diet but it’s a birthday so I’ll indulge.

Today brought on the B-day lunch, where locally cooked pizza was served with leftovers from the previous day’s BBQ along with spicy pasta. A cake was discovered locally, where a little flair was included. The medics were short on candles, instead opting for tongue compressors, wrapped in lighter fluid soaked cotton swabs. They brought the cake out singing grand but I didn’t notice the song because the cake was literally on fire that took me several minutes of breath to blow out. The first pic didn’t turn out, so we tried again after eating half the cake with q-tips this time, result below.

Overall, it was excellent birthday in the bush…28 strong…here’s to something new every year with good people who make it worthwhile!

I spent the rest of my break hopping cities through Texas and back to NY and DC. It was a whirlwind tour which was a much needed break from the grind of Sudan but probably too long. This is my last leg on the tour as I’m planning to end in May and I expect it to be another challenge.

Texas was fulfilling. Between trips to San Antonio, Austin, and Corpus Christi, time flew, but I enjoyed hashing it out with friends and family. I had an excellent day in Austin where I played a muddy, wet, and cold football match with 16 of my college buddies followed by a night of debauchery.

In San Antonio, I caught my favorite musician, Bob Schneider, live at Floores, the most authentic Texas bar I’ve run across. I saw my team, the Horns, win sloppy at the Alamo Bowl and had a good X-Mas night party with the friends.

In Corpus I caught up with the family, laughing over Christmas gifts, defending my travels, and generally recharging my roots, a time I look forward to every year.

New Years was spent in New York. I did not go to Times Square, as battling the crowds did not warrant the check mark of been there, done that over new years, but I had a good time chatting and people watching over free booze at a private party none-the-less.

The next day was sort of surreal in that it was chilly but not cold and a dreary mist covered the city, blanketing Manhatten with an eerie silence as most people huddled on the first day of the new year indoors. Despite the silence, walking through West Village and Soho alongside my friends spoke volumes to me. There was no traffic, no city noise, and no pedestrians out as we treaded past still green trees gripping the resident streets and independent shops closed for the holiday. I couldn’t help but think that during this unique moment, the four of us slowly meandering down the middle of the cobble stone, bs’ing about nothing, the city was ours alone to enjoy. I’ve felt a lot of things in NY but never silence. It’s almost as if we were privy to a rare and lonely vulnerability of the city.

New Years night began hot because we were trying to smuggle five people into a four person taxi and my job was to distract the driver with conversation as we fit the 5th inside. I jumped in and immediately looked at the driver and asked the basic, overused, apparently inappropriate question of “Where are you from?”, noticing he was black with an African accent, thinking I could find a common ground for distraction. He flipped out and immediately became offended, saying he was from the Bronx and why do I care where he’s from and would I even know geographically if he answered the question? I told him I worked in Africa and cared about the place and was curious about accents, etc etc trying to both strike a real conversation and distract at the same time.

I was bombarded with a 15 minute lecture of the ignorance of the American public and how he and other NYC taxi drivers from the continent find it offensive for passengers to pretend to understand or relate to his motherland or background based on movies and news.

The sheep in the backseat ineffectively suppressed their laughter at the abuse I was taking. Whatever, my job was done.

On that note, in DC I caught up on the new African movie flicks, Blood Diamond and The Last King of Scotland. Both were well done (according to my apparent uninformed, Hollywooded, commercialized standards). I thought DiCaprio’s role in Blood Diamond was played excellent and many of the one-line generalities that outsiders may think as cliché spoke truth to me from my time in Africa and my conversations with the Sierra Leonean’s on our contract. And yes, I think his Rhodesian/Zimbabwean accent was spot-on based on the numerous Zimbabwean’s we have working with us.

The second flick, The Last King of Scotland, was about a Ugandian warlord in the 70’s, played brilliantly (I hate using that word, but it holds true in this case) by Forest Whitaker. It’s more of an independent flick, but it really dives into the mentality of abusive, misleading, self-centered, African power that you so often find leading any war torn African country.

I took a flight back through Dubai into Khartoum and I must admit even after spending a year in the Middle East/Africa, I still find myself battling with mild xenophobia during the initial travel, being flooded with scores of smells and regional attitude from Chinese, Indian, and Middle Easterners, among others as I navigate the airports and aircraft. There’s something about leaving the comfort of your own backyard that still gets to me, even after being seasoned. Or maybe it’s the crying babies in the row ahead that sets the initial tone of the trip.

I hashed that out with a couple cold Kilkenny’s at the Irish Village in Dubai and then arrived in Khartoum to a swarm of traditionally dressed Arabs, men robed in white garments, women in floral veils and pungent purfume, arms filled with sack luggage, all pushing in one failed attempt at a line to get through the airports lone carry-on screening machine, aimed to detect illegal incoming alcohol and banter.

Upon leaving the airport I was swarmed with all the family members of these travelers, having to push through tiny passageways of people, feeling somewhat comparable to a mix between a red carpet entrance and the crowds at a packed Arabian rock concert.

Turns out the mass number of Arab travelers at the airport was due to their return from Hajj, the Islamic pilgrimage taken to Mecca, in this case during the second religious holiday of Eid.

I’ve started a book, The Zanzibar Chest, which I highly recommend for any adventurist. It’s the story of a British journalist, born in Africa who’s compelled to remain on the continent, roaming around for Reuters news agency during all the crisis of the 90’s. Fascinating writing and insight, among which several paragraphs have stood out:

“What do you need to start a guerrilla war?” my friend Buchizya once asked the Marxist Congolese rebel leader Laurent-Desire Kabila.

“Ten Thousand dollars and a satellite phone,” replied Kabila. “You use the dollars to recruit enough fighters to raid the local police stations for their guns. The phone you use to call the world’s press after the attack.”

“Editorial interest in foreign news had been declining for years across the board. The wags used to say that as far as a Western Editor was concerned, the death of a single white American equaled five Israelis, fifty Bosnian Muslims, or fifty thousand Africans.”

“Back on the plains of the Bati Dad sat down by himself and wrote:

The camps lie broken down on hill and plain,
Skulls, bones, and horns remain,
No shouts, no songs of fighting, or of love,
But from the bare thorn tree above,
So sadly calls the mourning dove….
Was this your raveged land,
The work of God, or was it Man’s own hand?

For me this just about sums up what happened all over Africa in the twentieth century.”

It’s a good book for which I’ll probably read several times. It’s makes me want to write more often.