Champaign Wishes and Caviar Dreams

Life here in Darfur is never short on its share of amazing and bizarre moments. Just last weekend I was watching a few episodes of 24 with a friend (Jack Bauer’s daughter nearly ruins the show for me for those of you who also watch) when we realized it was well past dinner and we where a bit hungry. Unfortunately we where both far to lazy to want to head to the market and find food, and seeing as how the cupboards where bare and the pizza delivery is poor we where left with only two options: Champaign which she had received as a birthday present from another kind NGO worker and Caviar which was sent from Sweden. I don’t think I have ever had Champaign and Caviar together in my life, and for some reason I wasn’t picturing my first time being in the middle of a civil war in Darfur! But never the less we dinned like royalty late into the night and the ever heroic Jack Bauer once again saved the world.

Fast forward one week…During the Sudanese Presidents trip to NYC for the UN Conference, President Bush placed at travel restriction on him of 25 kilometers. Seeing as how my hatred for President Bashir grows daily, I thought that the political “slap in the face” was appropriate if not even a bit weak for a man responsible for the deaths of thousands. Then in the ever wonderful world of political tit-for-tat responses, President Bashir placed the same restrictions on all US citizens in Sudan…indefinitely. Now its not that I have grand travel plans within Sudan, the sites just aren’t what they used to be, but it does prevent any field work as well as crush my much needed R&R that I am long over due for. But hey, maybe this is just karma’s way of responding to my blog entries of late.

Fast forward last night…around 1am a gun battle between the SLA Minnawi (rebels who signed the peace accord) and the GoS (Government of Sudan) took place outside of our house. I of course slept through the whole event and was only annoyed by the guards waking me up to throw the electricity switch from street power to generator. But don’t worry, according to the security check the next morning it was just a simple misunderstanding and is water under the bridge…I mean whats a few bullets between friends?

So this is the bizzaro world I live in, Champaign one night and travel restrictions and gun fights the next…but at least it keeps things interesting.

This about sums it up

This is pretty much the point we haver reached here in Darfur...the next few weeks don't look too good for anyone. 

the un-heroic

I get up in the morning and go for a run…I eat a bowl of corn flakes for breakfast and sometimes complain when people don’t put the milk back in the fridge and it get warm. I leave dirty cloths on my floor, and go to work 10 minutes late most days. My typical day involves a lot of meetings with other people from Europe and the US and the occasional entry into the African Union compound and the Sudanese Ministry of Education. I sit at a computer for a lot of the day, use Excel, and email when it’s working. At night I play poker, or watch a movie, or read a book. Friends come over and we “talk shop” until it’s late and we call it a night. On good days I go out to the field and talk to different groups about programs we are running. Usually I only talk for 20-30 minutes and then my national staff takes over. More often then not I am a figure head. In fact, a stern looking, life size, card board cut out might have the same effect if done properly. The field is often simply glorified camping, except someone usually makes dinner for me here. I am not a hero. What I do here is not special as much as it is just different. Some marvel at my willingness to be here, I am amazed at those who can live in the suburbs. I don’t mean that as a criticism but rather as an example of contrast to how different we all are. But heroic…far from it. I can always leave. If it ever gets too tuff for me I could jump on the next plane back to the states, I probably won’t…but the option is there. On my good days I’m average, on my bad a D-.

Who are the heroes here? Its not us “humanitarians”, I am certain of that. I would like to say the Sudanese people, but as the violence increases and every project we run is met with endless corruption by the people we are trying to help I am less and less certain I could say that. It’s as though everyone is out to “get theirs” while the “getting” is good. It doesn’t make them bad people, just un-heroic like myself…human if you will.

I have met one hero here…his name is Abdul. He was a teacher for 12 years, math, English, and Arabic. He has five kids under the age of 12 who adore him and a wife who loves him. He could probably run the education program all by himself, but willingly submits to some young punk from the US who doesn’t even speak any Arabic! He works for me, but more importantly works with me. He makes me laugh daily, helps me understand life here always, and shares his cigarettes with me when in the field. He knows everyone everywhere and they all love him. He could be bitter and angry and daily chooses not to be. He is honest and kind and a good friend. He cannot leave here and must live amongst the violence. He has chosen to work for positive change in what seems like a hopeless situation. He is a hero in all of the small ways and the large ones as well. So before you shower me with praise, of which I am certainly grateful if also often undeserving, please think of Abdul and be thankful that he is here with me.  

aahhh hell....

Sometimes I think the worst part of living here is getting used to it. The armed police in the streets become less and less a menacing terror and more of a traffic inconvenience as the days ware on. The weekly protest against the UN signifies a quiet work day because none of the national staff will come into the office. Even the talk of evacuation is usually discussed in jest thinking about the sheer boredom of sitting in Khartoum for weeks on end.

I don't sleep well at night. I would like to believe that it’s because my mind is a swirl thinking about the horror that surrounds me, but it more likely has to do with the donkeys outside my window, the bad mattress, and the heat. As the situation here deteriorates at an alarming speed I know that if things get really bad (or even just kind of bad) that all of the Western staff will be loaded on to planes and whisked to safety. That knowledge seems to frame everything. That reality allows me to discuss in abstract terms the possibility of the peace deal falling apart, because in the back of my mind I know the worse thing that could happen to me is that my job might be put on hold. How tragic that even in the midst of this appalling situation I can still remain remarkably detached. Its not that I am unfeeling or cold it’s just the simple truth.

I can extend my heart to the people and situation to its very limits, but in the end its the knowledge of what separates us that truly kills me. We are all humans, same flesh and blood, sorrows and joys, yet when the guns start being fired my life is worth enough to be flown to safety and protected in a compound, while theirs…

What is the life of a person in Darfur worth? Is it worth the price of an embargo, or UN troops, or a stronger AU mandate? Is it worth the hundreds of million of dollars foreign NGOs have poured in here, is there ever a monetary value you can put on a human life? Is it worth my time, my heart, my life? Please don’t take this as melodramatic…truth be told I think I know what the answers to these question are, I’m just not sure I can live with them…but even more afraid that I can.