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Our place of residence, impregnable in its distinctly castle-like walls, lies a few hundred meters from the main road (which is the only paved road in the town), beginning at the airport and leading through the town before heading south. In between the road and our compound is an old dirt soccer field where locals and AU military soldiers practice in the afternoons. Directly across from us is a dilapidated stadium. When I first arrived, horse races occurred at this stadium on Fridays (which was an experience in itself, the Darfur horse gallantly galloping in constant circles on a miniature horse track built more the size of a soccer pitch). In the past I have used this stadium as sanctity for exercise. To my surprise, the run-down stadium has recently undergone major renovations, turning it into a real place for sporting.

Before the renovation, when entering I would pass an old man camped in the shade who spent his days and nights methodically weaving old scraps of cloth into braided rope to sell. Slouching over his work, wearing the same traditional white local dress and a thousand wrinkles, he always grumbled a mellow hello to me in Arabic. I returned the greeting as I walked by, thinking about the distinct clash between his clothing and mine, a sleeveless bright red Coca-Cola running shirt and New Balance tennis shoes. For some reason to me he epitomizes Darfur, living through a storied history, being pushed out of a once prosperous profession, and now barely skimming a living off homemade rope.

It was in this stadium that I (occasionally) ran late afternoon laps, dodging the donkey-doo, stray goats, overgrowth in the rocky dirt path and using the five or six stadium steps for ‘bleacher training’.

About the time I returned from my last leave in June, I noticed the town started cleaning up the place. I was uncertain why, other than I heard soccer games would soon be played. Grass was planted and frequently watered (not an easy commodity to come by). Two weeks ago, an uncanny amount of people joined in the effort and built higher walls, evenly surrounding the stadium. They built an inner fence around the field, added new concrete seating, a curiously local VIP area, and even painted the place white. (Painting everything white in the desert is an anomaly to me. Of course white is cooler, but it also attracts the orange-brown dust which immediately stains and ruins the newness (a look Hollywood tries to mimic when creating authentic ancient Middle East backdrops.) To top off the renovation, four giant light towers were set up for night events. It was eye opening to see so much work occur here in such a short period of time. The stadium underwent a huge transformation in just 10 days. Why? Who was paying for it?

I soon found out that Sudan’s President Bashir was scheduled to visit my town of El Fasher. All this work was a part of a monetary advance he gave the community to spruce up the place before he arrived. He was coming to speak as a part of a ceremony opening the newly renovated stadium. No doubt the timely donations would be used as leverage, claiming Khartoum actually does contribute money into the region.

Inside the Stadium sitting in the Sudanese Style VIP Seating

The procession leading up to his arrival and speech was busy. The stadium is, like I said, right across from our housing compound. By 3pm in the afternoon, the stadium was packed with people and the entire area was flooded with interested parties and military police and special Sudan Forces (who wore red bandanas as an accessory to their desert camo -symbolizing their commitment to die for the president). We were all convoyed back into our compound and told not to leave, the gates locked tight.

We instead climbed the inside of our compound walls and sat on sea containers, peaking over as people, horses, and vehicles lined the dirt road that the president and his entourage would soon come down.

We watched as cars paraded past with giant bullhorns resting on the hoods repetitively blaring “Allah is great”. Animal skin drums were rhythmically pounded by locals in the back of trucks and locals carried political signs. Ornately decorated camels in the brightest of colors strutted past carrying covered thrones. I’m told this type of flair is only showcased by the Janjaweed tribe members. It is typically used in wedding ceremonies where the bride is ‘introduced’ to her new groom. Various tribes’ colors were also worn by groups of women who were ceremoniously dancing.

One of our Sudanese staff told a story about how the president enjoys dancing in the local ceremonies. Before one of his speeches he joined in dancing with a crowd of tribal women. As it livened, he reached over to grab one of his body guard’s guns and fire it off into the air in celebration. As he raised up the gun he shot too soon and accidentally hit and killed one of the dancing women. This, while he was president of this crazy country. A quick $10,000 apology payment and he was cleared from the ‘accident’.

One of the interesting things about the scene was the motivation of the crowd. I’ve mentioned it was diverse and lively. But in reality the people of El Fasher and most in Darfur actually dislike the president. I don’t need to reiterate why. Most of the people at this event were either Janjaweed, students, curious, or simply paid by the government to attend.

As we sat and looked out into the crowd, the people took a fascination at looking at us through our razor wire and gates. Some would wave and others would stare, but we felt like true caged animals as curious eyes gazed from the outside in.
About 30 minutes before the president arrived, we were told by the event police to get down from our perch inside our compound as it posed a security threat. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to us or the president but I guessed the latter, as the guard later came over to invite us as a group into a special area reserved for us in the stadium.

Probably not a good idea to be a group of westerners trapped inside a stadium if demonstrations occurred or if we were singled out by the president or a rogue anti-westerner, so we declined the invite.

The president finally arrived, entered the stadium, and spoke to the crowd, asserting in an Arabic diatribe the lies told by the western world, typically making promises and spinning truths. (He had the gall to announce to the people of Darfur that peace has come into the region.)

Overall, it was an entertaining change from our normal routine. And it opened up a stadium where we can now watch daily soccer matches and run in a nicer place. Thank you President Bashir. Isn’t it the little things that are supposed to make a difference?

I just wonder what happened to the old rope-making man who used to reside at the stadium. He is nowhere to be seen.

Ahh…the perils of keeping up with a responsibility. The problem with staying focused about writing on a blog is that in order for the site to remain active and healthy, your commitment to it needs to be near the top of your priorities and thought, all the time. To keep a successful blog, particularly one about a narrowed topic, looking for information to add value to it has to be constant. Over time, there are the obvious obstacles: overexposure, lack of interest, censorship, and the occasional appropriateness of publishing something personal to a world-wide audience.

Some say, “Matt, just write about your normal life. Just say hey”. But life out here isn’t always exciting and I don’t always have something interesting to post about my personal life. To compensate, I’ve mixed in the political situation and economic impact and regional nuisances and so forth.

Eventually, I wrote a few posts which may have drawn the line with political correctness, especially in relation to our client, which were censored by my higher-ups. I wrote several  posts about the business of peacekeeping, which I found interesting because this type of work has a lot of ironies, but they too could cross the line of telling “business secrets” or drawing the wrong attention to our real mission, so I didn’t publish.

I’ve saved all these writings and maybe one day I’ll be able to publish them in a more non-professional setting when I’m far removed. But the fact is the readership has developed over the course of my 20 months here and I’m not just writing to my friends and family anymore.

That’s not a bad thing, but the pressure is somewhat different. I’ve had comments ranging from, “Shut your blog down now!” to “My client wants to advertise on your site. What are your rates?”

I think I’m going to revert back to writing to my friends and family and see where it leads. I’m aiming to make it a responsibility I enjoy rather than a crutch of censorship and writers block.

I’ll restart by posting a few pics as this is one aspect I’ve always avoided for no good reason. I think I’ve relied on my writing to conjure up the imagination, but images always serve the audience well. If you revisit at the previous post below, I’ve added picture enhancers, as well as a few on this post with some inscriptions to get you back into the swing of things about the world I share in Africa. Enjoy.

Pics from the Market

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.

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.

I arrived in New York for my first of three stops in this city over the break. I immediately dropped my stuff at my buddy’s apartment and made it out and about for that last minute Christmas hustle through the streets. I grabbed a deli sandwich and found the first hair cut place I could find. It happened to be a place called ‘Blow’.

Now normally I would head to the cheapest barber in the area or cut it myself with clippers, but over this last go around I went 5 months without a chop and thought I should probably get a pro to see what he/she could shape.

I walked in, made an appointment for later in the afternoon and refused to ask costs. I then wandered aimlessly around West Village and Soho for a bit, walking off the jetlag and taking in the city.

I returned later that afternoon, looking for the large sign, refusing to ask passerby’s, “Excuse me, I’m looking for Blow?” I found the shop and my ‘stylist’s assistant’ led me back to the fufu wash rooms for a rinse. The assistant wore a plain white shirt, tight fit, tattoos lining his arms, short styled hair, a smirk of discontent and a silent edgy New York attitude.

I definitely realized I shouldn’t be pampering myself so much when my thoughts turned to “damn, this guy washes a mean head of hair”.

The stylist, on the other hand, was a guy in a gleefully gabby mood, chatting all things social with a girl whose hair he was coloring.

Once my head wash and rewash and rewash was complete, I was escorted over to the stylist, where he said “Hello Mark, let’s get you ready. Why don’t you take off your shirt so you don’t get all that hair caught up in the collar, grab a robe a have a seat right here next to me.”

He was also thin and NY edgy, wore a Michael Jackson hat, had a groomed goatee, and claimed native ties to Mexico, but all I got from his accent was he must be from Queens.

So when he asked me to remove my shirt right then and there, its unexpectedness pretty much startled me beyond any sort of rational reason not to, so I did, put on his ‘styling robe’, and had a nearby seat.

The conversation started with, ‘I can give you something handsome and fabulous” and I was hoping he was talking about my haircut, but eventually shifted back and forth from must see current movies to “Oh my God, you’re totally like doing something remarkably profound and all I do is cut hair.”

Anyway, he used tools I had never seen before to cut hair and became offended when I asked him how long he had been doing this, but in the end, I would say it was a decent chop with a good conversationalist.

I walked up to pay the bill, appreciating the experience but noting that this would be the first and last $100 haircut I ever received.

Reverse culture shock, just a little.

I hope you enjoy this post. It’s enlightening and it’s long. But it has caused me a lot of stress in the last 48 hours and it hits home to what is really occurring in Darfur. I’ve written often about our dailys and politics, but I haven’t ever written a post like this…

5-Dec 6:00pm

So I didn’t want to post this until after the fact because to those close, it has the possibility of being alarming. But it has been a year since I’ve been in Sudan, and up to this point, I really haven’t been exposed to much danger, despite the fact that I live in a so-called genocidal war zone.

As outsiders, we kind of take this for granted…’oh that village got attacked’…’wow…look at those pictures of the inhumanity’…’ouch…one of our camps had gunfire screaming nearby’….’ewww…that Sudanese chopper went down from an RPG and look at the pics of those charred bodies’.

We were removed from the violence and it meant about as much to us in headquarters El Fasher as it did to those reading the NY Times or watching the nightly news in the states.

Until now.

Yesterday afternoon the Janjaweed came into El Fasher and attacked our local market, looting the shops and claiming the “Capitol of Northern Darfur” theirs. This of course has upset many an outside rebel. As a background, El Fasher is home to primarily SLA members, or Tora Bora as they call them (those that come down to fight from the mountains…as named from the mountain ranges in Afghanistan). The GOS (Sudanese Army) protects the town in a strange symbiotic relationship by running the airport and government facilities…but the SLA owns the town.

The Janjaweed have decided El Fasher is a strategic point they want and a day ago decided to take matters into their own hand and attack the market and say, El Fasher is ours…ignoring all sorts of peace agreements (UN resolution 1706 and the DPA) that the SLA and GOS agreed upon.

In retaliation, the SLA has been generous, building up thousands of troops outside of El Fasher, saying…ok JJWeed, you have 24 hours to exit our town…otherwise we level it, you included.

Oddly enough, the GOS (who according to most sources, sides with the JJWeed) has claimed neutrality and not chosen a side in this skirmish.

Even more oddly, the leader of the SLA, and the mayor (wadi) of El Fasher, has skipped town, saying they will not have this disorder, but they choose not to be involved.

So a deadline has been set of noon tomorrow (the 6^th) for a full withdrawal of JJWeed soldiers from the town. Otherwise…they come in droves and will not be selective in their targets.

The UN has pulled out of the city entirely, all AU woman soldiers are out, and all international org folks as well.

At 4pm today, we evacuated all non-essential personnel into southern regions, moving all our aircraft away from the airport (considered a prime battleground).

Unfortunately for me, I am considered key personnel. Let’s forget the irony – Key Personnel Stay in the Danger in the War Zone.

So I helped execute the evacuation of the majority of personnel from this city to a safe zone. A select group of us stayed at the airport, watching the airplane props spin up and helicopter rotors initiate emergency evacuations, on the sideline, one hand in our pocket and another waving goodbye, while distant empty thoughts run through our heads.

‘Stay safe guys. We’ll hold up the fort.’

Now most of the guys who stayed behind are former war vets and vigilantes, special ops, adrenaline junkies, smooth operators, the kind of guys who clap their hands together and rub, saying ‘lets bring it on’.

Then there are the guys like me…heart beating with bittersweet feelings of ‘so this is what it’s like…’

The work stops and we bid farewells at the airport and gather up back at our headquarters, standing outside, cracking loose jokes, some acting macho, some standing quiet.

Our curfews have been set and the night is said to unfold uneventfully, waiting for our noon deadline tomorrow. We retire to our housing compound, waving hello to our comforted local security guards. It’s impossible not to think..my safety is in the hands of these guys…who are probably tora bora or jjweed, depending on the price?

We head back to our rooms after mess and strangely conglomerate together. It’s a bonding experience, I tell you that. The feeling of huddling outside together, in mixed emotions of what is to come in the next 24 hours, is pretty intense.

Will they resort to fighting? Will they stay in their own boundaries? Will they loot the western amenities? It’s a lonely feeling, knowing the UN and US Embassy reps and Int’l Orgs have all flown out earlier in the day, taking absolute precaution.

There’s a sense of brotherhood forming with the group. Stick with me…we’ll keep you safe…keep your head down…

There’s a lot of speculation on whether or not the attacks will occur and to what extent. How do you think like an African? What do they have to gain? Are we a strategic target at all? Do they value life enough to respect us? Who is the GOS going to side with if at all? Perhaps the most troubling thing of the whole build up is that the GOS (who’s been flying in troops by the thousands over the last 2 months) is no where to be found? Will they side with their traditional unspoken partners, the JJWeed, or will they side with their peace signatories, the SLA? How will that impact us?

It’s a nerve racking and adrenaline filled thought, and I can’t say I don’t enjoy it because it’s a feeling of eternal destiny taking shape and to think a crossroads is so near, it’s powerful.

Now I’ve written about it as if attack on us is eminent, which in reality is a very low percentage. But when your in the zone, you think about this stuff. And understanding what it’s like is, truthfully, one of the reasons I’m here.

But we will not speculate any further. We’ll just keep our head down and stay secluded, aside from the wild video footage that may arise from my freshly charged camera.

I’m not a reporter, and I will be low key. But there’s more to this story to come….stay tuned….

6-Dec 9:00am

I spent the night in a restless sleep, every noise sounding like the pop pop AK47 gunfire, loud then faint. My guess is that’s probably what it was. As long as there were no explosions, I’m okay with distant gunfire – that’s nothing new to this area. Most of it is liquored or ‘gack’ed up troops firing into the air in the wee hours of the morning.

So I awoke and got dressed, checked the people outside my room to make sure I didn’t miss anything while asleep. The morning was eerily quiet, cliché to say the calm before the storm, but that’s what it felt like. I drove to work about 8am and saw a few children walking to school, herders moving their flocks to eat. I was scanning the panorama for any mass movement of people or vehicles and didn’t see much. I passed the GOS military compound and they had stocked up on vehicles and people, but there wasn’t much movement.

At the office, everyone was gathered outside for their morning smoke, shooting the shit about this and that in relation to what may or may not happen. Our locals came in to work and didn’t have much news. The GOS has flooded the markets and the JJWeed are gathering on the outskirts of town. They didn’t know about the SLA, but it was said mass vehicles were in tow last night from Millit, a town 1 hour north, gathering on the outside.

Three hours count down to the deadline and the butterflies are growing in the stomach. All of the employees are making final precautions getting ready for bunkering down and/or evacuation. We’ve packed Meals Ready to Eat (MRE’s) and boxes of water in our bunkers (at the office and at our residence). We’ve all made our to-go bags (of which you have a change of clothes, some water, a little food, flashlights, basic survival stuff if you have it. Mine’s basically my passport and all my per diem.) We’re adding sandbags to the exteriors of the bunkers. We’ve lined the perimeter of our compound with another layer of protection, our cargo trucks. We’re getting all of our ‘Go Vehicles’ gased and packed with water. Our comm’s team is installing portable internet to two of the vehicles (RBGAN, satellite internet service) and the vehicle maintenance team is changing filters and oil.

Mind you our last resort is to get into the vehicles and drive off into the desert, but it must be a secondary option. Our first resort is to get extracted by chopper at a specified rendezvous point, but if things are too hot, then this also works.

Two hours to countdown and we hear there are mass demonstrations taking place downtown by the locals. Then a hundred or so military vehicles drive in and locals throw rocks at them and scatter. Downtown’s now been abandoned, shops closed, people hiding.

11:30am

30 minutes to decision point. There hasn’t been much heard about any negotiations for the JJWeed pull out, and military strategy would think a daylight attack isn’t advantageous…so maybe if nothing occurs they’d wait until evening. But it’s hard to tell.

I’m at my desk, having been told to carry on as normal and follow up with various outstanding issues. I tell you now that’s not the easiest thing to do when all sorts of life saving preparations are taking place outside and I’m in working daily business….my stomach is in knots. So I write this instead and let it go.

1:00pm

The deadline has come and gone, nothing major on any movements or occurrences troop wise. There’s no smoke in town or flashes of lights or booms or anything relating to battles in our line of site. We still are standing by. There’s actually an excellent morale right now – and we’re all prepared. I think it’s more excitement than anything…and 90% says in historical context, nothing will happen and all this will be moot preparation.

1:15pm

A mass of protesting people have been moving toward our second camp in the area, Zam Zam, about 5km away from us. We’re getting radio updates from our manager there. “There is a large group of civilians heading toward the camp.” Security asks for more details of which follow. Finally, “They are out front, are carrying sticks, and have stones in their hands.” Security replies “Well don’t get hit with a rock, stay indoors!”

Our staff has bunkered down there and the AU protection force (Rwandan soldiers – the best soldiers here in theater) have lined up in their fighting positions inside the camp. The protestors have looted the store in front of the camp and it’s now burning. They haven’t tried to overtake the camp, but we’re fairly confident the Rwandans are the best we have to keep that from occurring. As opposed to other troops here, who when queried what they were doing this morning, we’re told, hiding under their mattresses.

2:00pm

In one of Sudan’s great many ironies, we hear a funny update over the radio from Zam Zam. The very protestors who were upset with the AU, threatening to overtake the camp, have done an amazing 180. Shortly after the mayhem began, GOS police came rolling up (who are notorious for having itchy trigger fingers in controlling protests). The crowd shifted from angry to scared and, if you can imagine the nerve, has asked the AU to protect them from the GOS with an escort back to Fasher.

3:00pm

Nothing seems to be occurring at this point. The staff is scheduled to have a War BBQ at our residence (conveniently enough, our social area also seconds as our security bunker) this afternoon so we’re all breaking early from work to cook, sit outside in the sun, and veg. Will there be a fireworks display tonight? At this point, it’s looking like the once tense environment is all bark and no bite, which is a good thing.

8:30pm

It’s the waiting that kills you, it’s the waiting and what-if’s that makes your heart beat. We’ve gotten through the day and nothing significant has occurred. Our BBQ fell through because we couldn’t go downtown to get any meat. The guys conglomerated around each other, having a drink and a smoke, watching something light, “Blue Collar Comedy Tour”, to detensify the situation.

There really are low odds any harm would come our way. But the uncertainty is what makes your heart beat. As dusk and darkness sets, the true tension rebuilds. If attacks are going to occur, it’s the night-time that they should be expected. Rumors are flying…thousands are troops are building outside the city limits…was that an explosion in town…I hear some gunfire nearby…

It really is the uncertainty, the anticipation, which drives the hammer into the nail of fear. It’s a full moon tonight in Darfur, not the best time to move troops and capture the element of surprise. But an ultimatum was set and no one knows if it was met with resistance or acceptance by the JJWeed.

Folks here are under the impression that between midnight and eight am we’ll know whether or not the rebels mean business. How can you sleep when this thought process overwhelms you? Do you turn your comms radio up loud? Do you sit on the rooftops and watch?

Everything about this situation leaves the senses heightened. Adrenaline is surely a non-stabilizer.

7-Dec 8:00am

Well after a little small arms fire, a few far away mortars, and an aircraft bomber circling briefly, nothing to report. All seems quiet on the Eastern front. Our security status is still red, but it looks like this whole exercise was just that…good practice.

Part of me wanted the story to end in dramatic movie like fashion, being whisked away in a helicopter while being chased by rebel filled pickup trucks, flicking them off as we fly into the sunset. But I’ll accept the fact that in this situation less is much, much more, and the ending to a hard story doesn’t have to be dramatic.

The groups that are fighting are fickle in their wants and I believe in this place there will be big threats and small battles until major intervention force peace agreements that concede some sort of regional/government power to them.

There’s an accepted risk we take by living in this place and I finally know what that risk feels like when the fire heats up. It’s not so much being scared, it’s more the intensity of uncertainty. There are people who live for this kind of feeling, professional soldiers, police officers, etc. I suppose you learn to control it to a point that it’s almost a normal feeling. I don’t think I want to get to that point.

Some of you may have said, why haven’t all of you been evacuated? If the UN and other aid agencies jump ship at the possibility of danger, why not you guys as well? The fact is we’re a private company with an obligation to support the AU mission and if we all leave it shuts down. So we will keep a minimum staff around until things really get hot. My company’s been working in African hot zones for a long time and they’re very good at ensuring the safety of their personnel. So I stand by that comfort, accept my decision to continue working here, and at the end of the day can say, “well, today I earned my hazard pay!”