Meeting The Buddha Along The Road...

2011-10-19T05:44:00.003-06:00

We live in a world of constant pain and tragedy, some of it so outside of our control (earthquakes, tsunamis, tornados) that we can't help but be victims asking an unanswerable 'why'? Other times the tragedy is more nuanced, an endless combination of circumstance and individual choice. The type of conundrum that points to poverty as the root cause of crime but still holds those individuals accountable for their actions.

Living here in Uganda the stark reality of both situations is played out on a daily basis. A region ravaged by nearly 30 years of brutal conflict, nestled between the ever unstable Sudan and DRC, and dependent on agricultural for 80% of the livelihoods is one where the horrific and the common-place come to meet all too often. And this is why we are here, to help overcome or remove these obstacles. Or at the very least we are trying, even if change comes in barely visible forms, surely the future is looking more promising then the past. And while the terrible hardships that take place here should be unacceptable to everyone, there is a certain understanding (accepted or not) that Northern Uganda is coming from such a difficult place that it would be foolish to expect major changes overnight. Abuse, rape, abject poverty are all horrible things, but we can't change them instantly so we keep plugging away. I honestly don't know if that’s the right way to approach the situation, but after years of this type of work I'm not sure I have another choice.

But in the US it's supposed to be different, we may have our faults and problems, but surely they don't compare to other parts of the world. And then you read statements like this:

"Over the past 10 years, more than 20,000 American children are believed to have been killed in their own homes by family members. That is nearly four times the number of US soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan." BBC News http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-15193530

The article goes on to comment on our lack of safety nets and poor public support of an overwhelmed and understaffed child protection system. How we as a country can so poorly serve the only truly innocent victims in our society is not only unconscionable, it’s criminal. The crime of neglect is so prevalent that we spend 6 times the amount on response to these abuses then the actions that might prevent them in the first place. My wife used to work as a social work in Los Angeles and now works on issues of sexual and gender based violence here in Uganda. On her more frustrating days she laments "These crimes have been taking place since the dawn of humankind and continue to happen in every country in the world, and yet here we are throwing a few bucks at a war ravage country and saying where doing to end domestic violence!" After reading the article above I can only agree with her how far we have to go, even right at home.

Am I really so Jaded?

2011-08-30T11:31:00.002-06:00

At a certain point in this line of work I think everyone comes to a tipping point. It probably varies drastically for everyone, but if you spend enough of your life in foreign countries trying to help, protect, teach, or monitor various "less fortunate" people you inevitably end up at the tipping point. From where I'm standing now it looks something like this:

1. You've gotten either really good at what you do or really good at making sure no one notices you're bad at it. It doesn't really matter which one it is for the purpose of the tipping point, because if it’s the former than you already know and if it’s the latter you’re probably are too unaware to care. But never the less there is security and some semblance of pride in being at this level of professional "competency" and you are leery to let it go.

2. You've made it high enough up the job latter that you actually have something to lose by walking away. Of course you didn't get in to this type of work for the money or the accolades, but now that your getting some of both it's a nice perk. Plus, it’s not like you have any other marketable skills…how many fortune 500s really need someone to get one ton of chlorine tablets to a remote village in less than 24 hours?

3. You probably spend more of your time behind a computer than anything else, often in an office type setting. No one likes to admit this, and we all tend to hide it from the people outside of our little world so that the mystique remains. But in fact we have become the very Dilbert cartoon we were likely fleeing from in the first place, only with different key buzz words plugged in. One moment you were riding horse back through rebel held territory to bring food to the starving, the next your in slacks and a tie in a board room discussing funding repositioning for fiscal year 2012. It all happened some smoothly you didn't even notice...but it is nice to wake up in a clean bed in an air conditioned room, and after all the time you've put in don't you deserve it?

4. At least once every day you question the vary existence of your job. You have been around long enough to realize very little changes, and the same people and ideas going around in 1960 are going around now, only their packaged and emailed with more pizzazz.

5. You have a sinking feeling that you might be making things worse and not better. You tried to trick yourself into thinking that maybe at least "life-saving" humanitarian work would provide the black and white, right and wrong aspect you were looking for. But after years of corrupt food distributions, politically manipulated medicine, and utterly worthless protection endeavors you are losing hope.

6. You realize that you might be as bad as the bad guys that make money off human misery. The blood diamond merchant, the oil executive cutting deals with genocidal presidents, the aid worker getting paid six figure salaries because someone else can't get food to eat. We are all making money off the back of the poor; some people are just a bit more transparent about it.

And as you realize this it seems like you either have two options, the tipping point:

The Hardening Option: You harden your heart to these nagging questions and doubts and become a cold cynical aid worker until either you can retire to a boozy bliss or die of lung cancer. You may do this by selling out and working for a high paying contractor, the World Bank, or the UN, or you may join MSF and kick ass at what you do, the whole time bitching about the practice of aid in general and looking down on everyone around you. It doesn't matter who you are working for, the point is that you made the plunge and you can NEVER go back to normal life. This is what you do and who you are, for better or for worse.

The Closing Shop Option: Faced with the realities around you and the ambiguities in your soul you simply give up and walk away. You'll always be somewhat connected to the international community, after all, you used to live in the most recently formed country before it was a country. But you can't ever really care about it all again, it takes too much out of you and leaves too many questions. You find something else to take over your drive, open a restaurant or run a travel agency; after all you have plenty of good stories to tell. But your old life will always scare you a little and you'll never be totally settled in your new life.

As for me...I have no idea. I've come to the summit and it seems like which ever way the wind blows will decide my fate, I just hope the universe knows what it's doing.

*I suppose some people do find a third option called academia. You still get to stay involved, but only from a critical impractical stand point. You might "practice" every now and again, but if you fail your able to chalk it up to an academic exercises and still place value it in, which seems like cheating to everyone else. Plus, everyone else hates this group because they are either reminding us of things we want to forget or telling us how we are doing our job wrong from their ivory tower. But hey, at least they have their summers off.

Friendship in the Review Mirror

2011-08-25T12:57:00.002-06:00

It’s amazing the places and ways that the memories of friendships sneak up on you. Life being this series of encounters that it is has a way of transitioning from one moment to the next without you even realizing it, only to look back and see how far you have come…or how far you have moved away depending on your perspective. And then at the most random of moments old memories trickle forward like a slow stream of consciousness brought forth by the most mundane aspects of daily life.

I went for a walk in the woods today, alone with my thoughts my mind tends to wonder, ranging from recent Simpson’s episodes (great) to questions about the purpose and structure of prayer (confusing). And yet as I walked alone through the woods I couldn’t help but think of one of my old college roommates.

It was a cold February day in Indiana; we had just had the first big snowfall of the year, one of those snows that cling to the trees as though some divine hand had painted on the snow to cling to every crevice available. And despite the low hanging clouds the snow stands out bright white against the dark bark of the trees, as if for a moment the world has actually become and Ansell Adams photo. The flakes were still slowly tumbling to the ground and it was quiet as I bundled up and headed into the woods. I had my Dad’s old 35 mm camera in hand, with a vain hope that I would somehow be able to capture the moment on film. The forest was quiet, muffled as though wrapped in a blanket, the only sounds being the moaning of the trees when ever a breeze would pass through, burdened under the weight of the fresh snow. I felt alone in the world, enjoying every deep breath even as it hurt my throat going down, freezing my lungs from the inside out. But as I walked I had a strange feeling that I wasn’t alone, circling my gaze every few minutes trying to catch a glimpse of what ever was with me. But it was nothing, and I moved on trapped inside my own head as I lumbered through the drifts and over fallen logs.

And then, out of no where…BAM, flat on my back, snow already tricking down my neck, camera suspending in my outstretched hand trying to keep it out the snow… “Gotcha” he cried, “You’ve been stalked by Ethan” as he let out a wail of excitement and shoveled some more snow on my confused face. “I saw you heading into the woods on my way back from class so I grabbed my boats and have been tracking you for the past 45 minutes!”

“Shit” I mumbled somewhat defiantly.

“Yep, you’d be dead right now if you were pray or something…not that I eat meat, but you get the point…first class stalking!”

Coming to grips with my humiliation of being so easily followed and so incredibly unobservant I shifted the conversation to the brilliance of the forest and off together we went deeper into the woods. The favor was to be returned nearly two years later on a damp rainy fall day in Upper Peninsula Michigan, when my “Gotcha” scream followed with Ethan tumbling into a pile of wet leaves and both of us covered in rain and mud. We could have been five years old at the time, it would have made more sense the way we were acting, but we were in our early 20s and just trying to enjoy what ever moment we were given…and at that moment we were succeeding.

Ethan, I believe, is now hiking and tracking with his wife somewhere on the Appalachian Trail, and I am walking through a forest in central Sweden, a world away from our first adventure nearly 10 years ago. But as I look up at an old tree, one that would make for a good climb and an even better view for tracking, I can’t help but think of my friend….feelings of loss as our lives move in different directions, yet mixed with thankfulness knowing that we made the most of our time together. It’s ok through, know I will see Ethan again, and with that I begin climbing the tree, making sure my trekking skills are still at the top of their game.

As the World Changes...and I shift my focus towards the Super Bowl!

2011-02-08T04:32:00.007-07:00

Throughout the world historic events are unfolding to start 2011. A wave of democratic change is sweeping through the "Middle East" starting in unassuming Tunisia and stretching to Egypt, Jordan, and even Lebanon (to varying degrees and with slightly different objectives). And the world is watching to see if these events will resemble the fall of the Berlin Wall (a giant shift in global politics) or the Tienanmen Square protest (strong ideals and good photo-ops, but still results in the same guys in power). In one country in Africa ravaged by 30 years of civil war and under development a new nation is about to be born as the South Sudan referendum chugs along, while on the west coast a country on the brink of peace and economic recovery descends into a violent political stalemate. Add in record floods in Australia, paralyzing snow storms in the US, two ongoing wars, and the ever present tension on the Korean Peninsula it 2011 is shaping up to be a banner year.

So with all of this going on I find my Monday work effort completely distracted by none other then the Super Bowl! I realize that its a day late, but living in Uganda would require a 3:00am start time to catch the game live and seeing as how the Bears couldn't be bothered to make it to the big game then I can't be bothered to wake up at 3:00am. But as an American citizen it is still my duty to watch the game, so a colleague who is far more technologically savvy that I (not too hard to do) has digitally recorded the game and we will watch it after work. Which brings me to why I am distracted. In order to keep the game exciting (we don't get the commercials so the actual game will have to be the focal point) I am avoiding all forms of media that might tip me off to the final score. While this would not be possible in the US, in Uganda (and most of the rest of the world) people don't care about the Super Bowl so no one is really talking about it. But my office is connected to the Internet and much of my work requires me to be online, so every click of the mouse is like playing Russian Roulette with the final score. Even my Gmail account is off limits, who knows what email someone has sent (The 2006 Bears Super Bowl was ruined this way while in Darfur) or what advert is scrolling across the top (in that creepy way that Gmail always knows what your thinking about). So I've attempt to schedule a lot of meetings, catch up on some filing, review some progress reports, and other mundane task that keep me off the computer.

The problem with mundane task is that they are in fact mundane. You know you have to do them as part of your job, but they aren't really all that exciting. But luckily in my distracted Super Bowl state of mind I think have come up with a way to fix this problem... we simply start approaching our mundane work task with the same attitude the most professional football players approach their everyday work task, with unabashed ego and a little creativity.

You all know what I'm talking about. A running back picks up 4 yards on a basic running play (his job is to run the ball, he completed his task) and the guy jumps up, flexes his biceps, and grabs his crotch in one fluid motion that took more time and effort then the actual play. And this happens every play! Make a tackle, do a back flip; catch a pass, cartwheel time; make a block, WWE wrestling move. And everyone does it, from the biggest stars to the 12th string running back who simply managed not to fall down on the kick-off team. Hell, even the kickers do chest bumps when the knock the extra point through.

I used to think that this was all about ego and showing off (and maybe an audition for Dancing with the Stars) but now I realize that it's how they make it through mundane tasks. Ask any human being not living in the USA and they will tell you that football is incredibly boring. Stop, start, short run, dropped pass, punt, holding penalty, and 2 hour of commercials for maybe 30 seconds of watchable athletic achievements. The players have realized this too, so in order to make things more exciting they celebrate everything like their lives depend on it. It's brilliant!

Imagine your average day at the office. Your wrapping up a program meeting and as everyone files out of the board room a fog machine is turned on and everyone jumps up and down as high as they can while screaming and then the best guy on the sales team comes out last scowling and mugging for the cameras!

Complete that report on time; strike a pose

Successfully make copies; climb on top of the copy machine and howl like a wolf

Up Date your Outlook calender; Michael Jordan fist clinch while you glare at the rest of the office!

This way everyone knows that your doing your job (no more performance reviews, just lots of bear hugs and Gatorade baths) and during those free moments in between task you can be thinking of the next exciting way to demonstrate your ability to carry out the responsibilities assigned to you. This is going to revolutionize everything! Time to get that contract completed...I have my dance move already set!

A Random Evening in Northern Uganda

2010-02-24T02:46:00.002-07:00

Ten years ago I would have been ashamed to be in a house this nice with this many creature comforts in a place like Gulu. Surrounded by poverty, a community traumatized by decades of war, surely my lifestyle should replicate some type of sacrificial concern for those around me. I am sure I would have been polite to whom ever had been kind enough to invite me in, but lurking beneath the surface would surely have been some level of self righteous pride about my ability to live “amongst” the people. Granted ten years ago I really had very few options but to live amongst the people but it hardly seems relevant when the pride in the actions is taken into consideration…besides, when you can stop living “amongst” the people whenever you want to, what does it really mean any way? But I digress….

So here I am, ten years later, enjoying every moment and thinking about what I would do with the house if I lived here. It’s amazing how well the US government can replicate middle class suburbia in the middle of northern Uganda, right down to the Ethan Allen furniture. They even account for the excess we American’s try to replicate everywhere we go. They’ve got two fridges in here, two! Ok, ones a fridge and the other a freezer, but full size American fridge and freezer, you could fit a cow in there. Now it’s true, we live in a pretty nice house too, likely much nicer then we will ever have when we actually buy a house some day. But two fridges, I could…I’m not sure what I would do with that actually but it would be awesome. And that industrial size generator looks great, no more turning the water heater off when we run our weak two stroke during the day long power cuts. And an AC! I mean, that would be wonderful during the 15 days a year you really need an AC. Ok, this is getting to be a bit much, maybe I should get back to the conversation and stop staring at the house with some type of oddly placed lust.

“This cheese is great, how much exactly did you bring up from Kampala”

“A lot” Mary replies “Everyone told me to stock up before arriving but now I have a fridge full of cheese and it won’t last forever.”

“Well, I am sure we can help you with that, it’s what friends are for” responds Beth.

“Speaking of friends, did Nicole convince USAID to let her come down to Gulu after her trip to Karamoja? It would be really great to see her.”

“I’m not sure” says Mary “but Jonny and I are heading up to Kidepo Lodge to meet her and do some game drives and stay at that amazing lodge, should be great!”

“Why exactly is Nicole going to Karamoja when she is based in Kenya? Shouldn’t someone from USAID Uganda be covering that?” Beth asks.

“That would make sense, but that’s not how the USG works. Nicole runs OFDA and OFDA has left Uganda because it is no longer an emergency. But they still fund some programs in Karamoja so she has to go check in on those” Mary explains.

“Of course, run one country from another one, it’s the American way.”

“Well if it brings Nicole here, plus the trip to Kidepo should be amazing” replies Mary.

I can’t really disagree as I am trying to plot in my head how I can justify joining in the adventure. Although seeing as how we don’t work in Karamoja, nor for USAID, or have any holiday time left, it seems unlikely that Beth and I can make the trip. Maybe something will come up…

Mary’s phone starts ringing again…the thing is always going, a different song for every person. I could never do that; I would be too stressed about what underlying message is being said behind each person’s song. And what if you picked a funny song from an inside joke or something and then “I like big butts” comes on during a work meeting on gender violence, it could happen, I’m sure of it. She has one of those Blackberry phones that do more than my computer. It's probably a dinosaur by normal standards but the things still intimidate me. It’s not so much that I can’t use them, it has more to do with the fact that I know I am only using 10% of their total ability and for some reason that really bothers me. I’m not sure if that’s pride or shame or some weird combo but it still really bugs me and keeps me pleasantly set on my simple unbreakable Nokia with the super handy flashlight on the top. I still argue it is the most useful function a phone has here in Uganda besides actually calling people.

“Is that a serious conversation taking place on a Friday night? It must be because she’s new and hasn’t learned to ignore work calls on the weekend.”

“Such is the life of a US government employee” replies Beth

I find this the perfect opportunity to go in for the last piece of brie while Mary is distracted by work. This way I don’t look like the rude guy who took the last piece and we also avoid the stupid situation of everyone leaving the last piece sitting there all night so as not to appear rude while the wonderful cheese goes to waste, stupid. Just in time, Mary’s all done on the phone.

“What’s the news?”

“There was an attack in Karamoja on IRC while they were driving back from a meeting” Mary informs us.

“Shit”

“Is everyone ok?” Beth ask

Mary shakes her head, “From the early accounts it looks like there were two vehicles involved, one IRC and one rental. The attackers shot at both cars hitting the driver in the first but he was able to keep driving and lost sight of the second car, the rental. There were two IRC expats in the first car but neither was hit”

“How bad was the driver hurt?”

I’m starting to have flash backs to Darfur and trying not to get a bit choked up as I picture our driver trying to get to safety with a bullet through his arm.

“He was wearing a flak jacket and was shot in the stomach so it is only heavy bruising so he should be fine. Both the expats where wearing flak jackets as well. They were able to make it to the military outpost and report, but the second car never made it. Apparently the UPDF reported that all three people in the second car were killed, including a district official who was also attending the meeting” Mary explains.

“When I went out there we had a military convoy with us, which we all thought was a bit excessive at the time but as I was with the UN I just had to roll with it…but now it seems like a good idea” says Beth. “We had flak jackets in the car but no one wore them.”

“Fuck, I remember these types of conversations every day in Darfur, but this seems like a whole different world, like it shouldn’t be possible. And yet it’s only a 4-5 hour drive from here, kinda surreal.”

Mary interjects, “Well apparently one of the individuals involved was the wife of someone who works for the US Gov. so there are questions on if they should have been there at all. A spouse has some of the same security requirements as the person who actually works for USAID. Hopefully everything was approved ahead of time.”

“I wonder if Nicole will still be able to go to Karamoja and come visit Gulu? Somehow I doubt that security is going to approve that trip now.”

“Yea, I guess its goodbye to our long weekend up there on Safari” Mary realizes.

“Well I hope she can at least come to Gulu, it has been way to long since we last saw her. It would really be a good time…”

Again?

2009-11-13T08:20:00.002-07:00

What if I started writing on this thing again? I'm not sure if the use of a blog for me was ever about anything more then voicing my opinion in some form or another, but I suppose on some level that is all forms of communication.

I think I stopped blogging when the ridiculously confusing and complicated nature of life got too personnel and writing became too painful and too self indulging. When your head and heart are a bit of a mess sometimes the last thing you want to to at the end of the day and sit and contemplate what it all means while summarizing it into a few short paragraphs.

I'm not really sure why I'm writing now although I am mildly curious if anyone will ever check this blog again without me sending out some type of request for engagement. Never-the-less, here I am rambling away for reasons unknown. I think its time to go.

2007-11-27T07:08:00.000-07:00

Here I sit in a tiny WFP airplane, looking out the window with nothing but hundreds of miles of endless desert beneath me, typing away on my computer. Trying to finally get to all of the thousands of emails in my inbox. I pump out response after response only slightly annoyed by the turbulence or the rough landing on the dirt runway as we pond jump from field site to field site. And it suddenly dawns on me…the sheer absurdity that has become my life.

In many ways it’s as though my world has been turned completely upside down. I find helicopter flights mundane, instantly falling asleep as the blades begin to turn. Gunshots outside my office invoke about as much reaction as a dishpan falling on the kitchen floor. Conversation inevitably stray into “peace agreement this…bombing campaign that…” and the idea of not driving my car in town because it might get hijacked is about as big of an inconvenience as the subway train running behind schedule.

On the other hand the sheer joy of walking into a super market in the US is untold. And the amazement of arriving at an airport and seeing how smoothly it runs is something to behold. Everything that I once took for granted is now awe-inspiring or simply stuff of legends (Like Bacon Cheese Burgers and Coronas!) and the mysterious trepidation of Darfur as withered away to “normal” life. I’m not sure if it’s a coping mechanism or just the reality of any place you call home for a year or two…its probably a little of both. I’m not complaining, in fact it’s a bit charming in its own right to feel so comfortable with what I am doing. It’s just funny to realize how quickly things can change…and most likely change back again. Such is the adaptability of humans I suppose, and I think we should all be grateful for that.

Ideals and Reality

2007-11-20T04:12:00.000-07:00

I wrote a journal entry once questioning how we as humans allow these types of camps to exist. And I hopefully wondered that if we all collectively agreed that camps where simply unacceptable then maybe they would disappear and something more humane would take their place. And yet now I find myself defending the camps existence at all cost, battling a government determined to tear them down. And this is the irony of my life…defending something I hate, choosing the lesser of two evils, and probably settling for something in-between.

And I suppose this is just the state of my head at the moment, a sea of confusion and frustration with no land in sight. But I am not so noble as to pretend that these grand thoughts of justice and the poor consume me at all times…rather it’s the small email from home or a conversation with a friend or loved one that tends to swirl my head. It is almost as though the small personnel aspects of life, the ones I can almost grasp, are the ones that allow me to actually contemplate the bigger picture.

And so for now I sit here…not knowing what to feel, which I am sure is one of the worst feelings in the world. And while my heart remains consumed with my individual personnel questions my head is allowed to drift to that of consuming ideals and grand questions…and I bet that both will remain unanswered in many ways. I wonder if those in this camp ever get a chance to think these thoughts….

You say evacuation….I say holiday

2007-10-14T07:40:00.000-06:00

Car’s hijacked in the streets, large scale armed clashes in the market, imminent attacks threaten on the capitol…I think its time to go to the pool! Darfur continues its ever-present slide toward Somalia Part II. In the past three weeks the African Union (you know that “Peacekeeping Force” who is supposed to protect civilians) was over run by a reported 2000 armed men in the largest attack on the AU in its history in Darfur. Hijacking of humanitarian vehicles inside of Nyala town has become the national pastime (6 in 6 days). And now some pissed off militia leader (read former ally of the Sudanese Government) is threatening to attack Nyala over un paid salaries. Can’t they just go on strike like the French, collectively say “no more burning and pillaging until we are properly paid!”

So in the midst of all of this where have I been? Well, practically everywhere at this point. I think I have hit every corner of Darfur in the past month and met every type of person one might meet in their life. Janjaweed leaders on the ICC most wanted list, CHECK. Former US Presidents, CHECK. National Security trying to kick me out of town X, CHECK. Lots of IDPs, Sheiks, and various other types, CHECK and CHECK. The fun just never seems to end. So at some point between flying high over Darfur and making it back to the office it seems that the UN is suggesting an evacuation of all non-essential staff from Nyala. Now we can’t call it an actual evacuation, that has all sorts of insurance issues that prove to be a headache, so instead we will call it a “Partial Relocation of Non-Primary Staff During the Eid Holiday”

So a mass exodus of pathetic looking humanitarian workers has now descended upon Khartoum, filling hotels and restaurants, and trying to sap every contact dry for possible alcohol in the area. So as mass chaos continues to ensue Darfur, a Spring break like holiday has turned up on rooftop apartments and any type of swimming establishment in the area. For a brief moment we are all almost able to feel like normal people…going out to eat, having an actual house, not having a curfew or hearing gunshots a night…you know, normal people. But at the same time we barely know what to do with ourselves. We end up wandering aimlessly at times and get quickly overwhelmed by the plethora of choices available to us. Much like Plato’s cave dwellers finally entering into the light of reality, we are a bit scared and longing to head back to the comfortable illusion that is Darfur. But for the time being the chaos and frustration can wait…I believe there is a pool some where near by and quiet frankly...I need a break.

T-Shirts for Darfur

2007-09-04T05:42:00.000-06:00

I’m thinking of making a T-shirt for Darfur sales that says in big bold letters of excitement: “THE HYBRID IS COMING” and then on the back it has 2007 crossed-off, then 2008 crossed-off, then 2009 crossed-off, and finally a big hopeful circle on the back for 2010. Now I have to admit that the idea of a Darfur marketed T-shirt is not my brainchild…that belongs to this girl:

Her wonderful T-shirt:

was in relation to everyone’s favourite government body HAC (Humanitarian Aid Commission). The wonderful people in HAC are responsible for facilitating just about every type of imaginable hindrance to getting anything done…anywhere! Sometimes they randomly expelled people from Darfur, other times they keep us trapped here for 8 months at a time…but most of the time they simply drive us crazy (hence the picture above…to long in Darfur!). My idea has an equal sting of cynicism to it. Over and over again the talk of the Hybrid is brought up, as though it is Jesus Christ riding down from heaven wearing a big blue helmet to redeem the world. But truth be told the Hybrid is a litany of confusion and possible problems. Besides the fact that it doesn’t look like an actual operational force will be here for nearly 18 months, there are the logistical problems of 26,000 troops, plus 5,000 civilian support staff coming to Darfur and trying to set up camp in this resource scares environment. In addition, the very mandate of the Hybrid seems flawed from the get-go, no disarming of the Aran militias, a perceived bias towards the Sudanese government, which makes the rebel groups hostile, and ever encroaching programmes into the humanitarian sphere.

When feeling helpless at the rushing tide of absurdity there seems nothing more one can do then mock the ridiculousness (I believe that is how the Daily Show works) so on ward we march. A friend noted the other day that watching the DPA being singed in 2006 it was like watching an avalanche from a far away mountain top…you can see the impending doom but no one can hear your warning cries. I think this is as close as I get to a mountain top here in Darfur…should be interesting.

What a World

2007-08-09T05:13:00.000-06:00

When working in Darfur one tends to become a bit Darfur-centric in their worldview. While we may check the news online and update our selves on current events in an attempt to stay “relevant” and “with-it” we never the less have enough going on here to put the rest of the world on the back burner. Floods in India, car bombs in Iraq, US heat waves, all these things remain on the periphery of our minds, unable to dislodge the tragedy and insurmountable task that occupy the forefront of our thoughts. There is certainly legitimacy to this way of thinking, we have a job to do, and work here requires an extraordinary amount of time and effort. But this week I have been reminded of tragedies far away and brought back to the interconnectedness of our world.

I currently find myself stuck in Khartoum over various issues with NS and HAC…and while this is immensely frustrating it has provided me with time to spend with several of my Iraqi friends and colleagues who live here. In particular two men stick out in my mind.

Hassen (whose name I changed) worked for the UN in Nyala during my first year there. Over the months we became good friends and I quickly learned to value Hassen as some who will always go the extra mile for you, can always be trusted, and who does an amazing job at what ever he is assigned. But Hassen’s world is divided; while he is working in Darfur his family is trying to establish a new life as refugees in Jordan. Both his parents where doctors in Iraq, yet in Jordan they cannot practice medicine, they cannot buy a house, and they cannot leave the country. They left everything in Iraq, house, car, business, money, cloths, etc. in order to flee the violence there. And now every six weeks Hassen is trying to fly back to Jordan to make sure their refugee status is confirmed, their bills are paid for, the house (which Hassen bought years ago) is set up for them, and simply provide love and support to his family that feels alone and afraid. His parents, brother, sister, and children are all refugees now, living in a land that does not want them. And Hassen, at the prime of his life, is now the primary caregiver for all of them. But you would never hear him complain, only state how lucky they are that they are all safe and talk about the next task at hand.

Yussef (name also changed) currently works with me. In Iraq he owned his own construction business, providing jobs for hundreds of men and women. Highly educated and successful before the war began, he was forced to flee with his family to Syria after. Able to sell only a few things before leaving, they took what ever they had in left for Syria. They left their home, their offices, cloths, family, friends and also moved to a land that struggles to cope with the refugee numbers crossing its boarders. Forced to take a job with and NGO working in Sudan, Yussef was faced with the difficult task of being separated from his family for months on end or moving them to Sudan. After attempts at both options they have finally settled in Khartoum, and while it is far safer then their home, the strain of the transition shows in all of them.

Yet both these men will say that they are the lucky ones. The ones that got out, found jobs, and can provide some type of support for their families. They point to the other heartbreaking stories of a mutual friend who lost her husband (who was working for the UN at the time) to the US’s first bombing raid while she was 7 months pregnant with their first child or their friends and relatives who are trapped inside Iraq with no where left to go. They have little hope of returning home and try to take in as much joy out of small victories like futball matches and a day without a bombing. And somehow they move forward, live lives, and remain wonderful and amazing people.

Yet sometimes I think it is the vast amount of promise, ability, and simple goodness that the Iraqis posses that make this such a tragedy. It is as though the world has taken a great treasure and squandered it. Who is to blame? I have many ideas and no idea at the same time. I suppose there are to many responsible to hope for any real type of justice for the mess that has been made. But I know it is not Hassen or Yussef, or the millions of the Iraqis who find themselves in similar situations. And I am angry, frustrated, and hopeless all at the same time. What type of world do we live in?

Visits, Events, Bugs, and Being Back

2007-07-21T03:02:00.000-06:00

Besides the obvious cockroaches, mosquitoes, spiders, and ants these are the type of bugs that visit us at night here in Darfur. I suppose a true field of perception is lacking in this picture, but this “little” fellow is about the size of my hand. I should make up some horrifying story about how these bugs eat your flesh or burrow inside your ear at night…but to be honest they seem rather harmless. Most of the time I find them flipped over on their backs trying to right themselves and be on their way. In my more Buddhist moments I help turn them right-side-up, only to find them flipped over again 10 minutes later in nearly the same spot. Now while this creature may be harmless, the rainy season has brought on a rather large number of what is known as the Nairobi Eye. Commonly found in Kenya and known for the red spot on its back this little bug is full of acid and when ever you squish it you end up with acid all over you. I have been lucky and only have burns on my ankle, but many other have ended up with the painful marks on many other parts of the body. I suppose it makes us all think twice before squishing our little insect friends, but it is a painful lesson to learn.

Speaking of bugs…a certain president, from a certain country, that I may or may not be living in right now, is visiting this week. The airport is shut; the national band is practicing, and everyone as on restricted movement as well armed military vehicles cruise up and down the street. And you have to wonder what this person is coming to see. Surely it is not to check on the well being of the civilians, for that is obviously not a concern. In which case it must be to come and make sure that the ongoing military campaign that has resulted in hundreds of thousands of deaths and millions of people being forced from their homes is working. I guess if that’s the point he will find his visit productive…things seem to be going to plan.

Speaking of plans…the UN and the AU have received an “unconditional” guarantee from the Government of Sudan that a large Hybrid force will be allowed into the Darfur region. Now despite the fact that this “unconditional” agreement has already been met with conditions and delays (its only a month old!), and the fact that none of these forces are going to be on the ground until the end of 2008, we are already starting to see the effects. And by effects I mean that all of the rebel fractions, militias, and any guy with a gun are using this time to stock up on supplies and secure land. Assuming that this Hybrid force will actually bring some semblance of stability to the region, all of the armed groups see this time as their last chance to plunder the UN and NGOs and fight for their little piece of territory. There is now a serious security incident towards humanitarian staff every day and no one can even drive their vehicles to the field because it is basically just handing your car keys to the thieves. Some things never change.

Speaking of things changing…a lot of good friends have left now, but there are still many familiar face to greet me on my return. It is odd the strange bond we all have, a type of “Band of Brothers” fellowship of understanding and support…usually in the form of a shared drink or a witty remark. And while I hesitate to say its good to be back, it is after all still a big hot desert with an awful war going on, there is a sense of familiarity that is rather welcoming, so for the time being I will enjoy that.

Airports, Airlines, and the Fun of Arrival

2007-07-03T07:13:00.000-06:00

It seems I left London the day before all hell broke loose. I suppose to a Brit the handover from Blair to Brown could have counted, but after our hanging-chads, recounts, and Supreme Court decisions, I thought Tony stepping down was rather tame. Of course the ensuring chaos of car bombs and flaming jeeps the following day showed how fragile the peace can be. But as I said, I left the “safety” of England for the “danger” of Sudan the day before. But upon arriving at the airport I was not sure I was ever going to get out. Entering terminal 3 at Heathrow airport I was overcome by the sheer chaos that was before me, it was as though by stepping through the sliding doors I had some how teleported directly to Sudan. With the thousands of people standing in ling waiting for check in I had nearly concluded that I would never make the flight in time. Lucky I quickly realized that all of these people where waiting for check in on Indian Airlines going to Delhi and Mumbai (of course!) and that no one was waiting in line for Qatar airlines (again, of course….who goes to Qatar?) and breathed an odd sigh of relief that I was going to Sudan and not India.

While waiting to board the plane that would take me to Qatar then onto Khartoum I noticed that the other passengers where an odd mix Arab men and women and young British University students. Nearly half the people there where 18 or 19 with goofy hair cuts and lots of piercing. Fully perplexed why Uni students would want to go to Qatar I finally asked some young girl who bubbly informed me “like I guess students just love Thailand!” Which I guess made since, but the sheer mass number of them was amazing. I suppose it’s the British equivalent to Spring Break, although Thailand is a hell of a lot cooler then Panama City Florida. I kind of wished I was going with them…but then realized I was heading to Sudan instead…I felt old.

So after a brief 7-hour layover in Qatar I finally touched back down in Sudan. Arriving back somewhere is always an odd mix of excitement and the realization of why you left. This is no more true then in Sudan. There is the blasting heat that greats you when getting off the plane, the race to be the first to get on the transport shuttle (even though it won’t leave until everyone is on), then the ever amusing wait for the luggage. Sudanese (and many other African’s I have noticed) have an amazing ability to buy the biggest thing possible while over seas and then attempt to bring it home! And for some reason when waiting for this giant sized object at the luggage carrousel it is necessary to take as many carts as you can (some families had 8 or 9) while standing as close to the carrousel as possible (with all of your family) and then look confused and frustrated when you have no space to actually get your 500 pound box (no joke, one guy had a full size basketball hoop, backboard and poll) off the belt. It is slightly entertaining to watch…unless you have a bag you need to get, in which case you need to perch on someone’s shoulders to see over the masses and identify when your bag comes out, then fight your way through like a running back trying to pick up a first down.

After that you make your way back out into the blasting heat and hope someone is there to pick you up (which in my case they were not) or that you have enough money for a Taxi (which I did not) or that you can call someone to come and get you (my phones battery died). Luckily a wonderful women from the Dutch Embassy (just love those Dutch!) allowed me to use hers so I could call the Duty Driver to come and get me (ME: “This is Scott, I am at the airport please come and get me.” DUTY DRIVER: “Steve?” ME: “No Scott S-C-O-T-T” DUTY DRIVER: “Your are not on the arrival manifest?” ME: “I am aware of that, someone must have messed up in England, can you still come get me?” DUTY DRIVER: “Are you sure, I don’t see your name on the manifest?” ME: “Yes, I am sure that I am here and that I work for you, please come and get me!” DUTY DRIVER: “Ok Steve”)

In the end its not even worth getting upset, its better just to laugh and move on…besides if I spent my time getting upset every time something like that happened in Africa I would pissed for the next 50 years. So I now find myself back in Khartoum, visiting dear friends and trying to soak up the last bits of civilization (aka good food and a few drinks) before heading to Darfur in a few days. Is it good to be back? Who knows? But I feel like I am in the right place and I guess in the scheme of things that counts for something.

Going Back

2007-06-21T09:26:00.000-06:00

I am not sure if my feet ever actually touched the ground over the past month. In the last 31 days I have flown to Khartoum, Amsterdam, Boston, Chicago, Seattle, back to Chicago, London, and soon back to Khartoum. I have been drenched in warm hugs from friends and family, eaten more food then I thought possible, had my fair share of G&T…and beer…and wine…basically anything that wasn’t Suko, and simply enjoyed a much needed break. But like all “coming home” experiences there where certain things that struck me as particularly curious or funny upon arrival, and as a service to those who might go through a similar situation I thought it best that I share some of these things with you.

Good:
-Being amazed at how consistently electricity can run when not powered by a plastic Chinese generator and a couple of old Sudanese men with sticks.
-Eating food without sand in it.
-Figuring out that if you tell wonderful Dutch people that you just got back from Sudan that they will by you a pint!

Bad:
-Realizing that the smoking habit you picked up in Darfur is gross and must be stopped.
-That G&T does not make you a better out fielder in wiffle ball!
-Finding out that you still answer work emails even when you no longer work for the organization.

Odd:
-That I now sleep with a quilt on even when its 92 degrees outside.
-While driving I keep looking for the next checkpoint I need to stop at.
-Going to clubs and thinking about how they are not nearly as cool as OCHA parties that play “Sex Bomb” over and over again.

So with all that said I am going back. I should be arriving in Darfur in a few short weeks, of course this is all dependent on travel passes and what not, so who really knows. The scary thing I recently realized is that after this next year in Darfur I will have spent more time there then anywhere else I lived since high school…I’m not sure if that’s prize worthy or just depressing. Never the less I do look forward to my return (ask me about that statement in a few months and it might be a bit different) and at the very least there will never be a dull moment…well except of the Eid Holiday when everything shuts down, that’s boring (right Coy and Aaron!). So, if anyone is still reading this thing I will once again be blogging more regularly so please keep reading. Enjoy.

Helplessness

2007-04-29T06:27:00.000-06:00

Shots where fired…and friends where hit. Some where someone thinks it’s reasonable to put a bullet into a 22 year old Sudanese girl. Some where someone thinks it acceptable for a man to drive his way to safety with a bullet through his arm. To someone this makes sense, to shoot, maim, and kill your own people…your own blood.

I am told the shots where fired to derail the peace agreements that have been made. Yet I look around and do not see any semblance of peace…I suppose these individuals are doing a “good job.” And I sit on a hospital bed looking at the face of the innocent who are no longer innocent. Innocents was probably lost to the people of Darfur long ago, but the final blow was complete with the crack of a gun shot.

We all react to tragedy in different ways. But the list of reactions seems to become narrower when we are surrounded by tragedy on a daily basis? How does one move forward in the face of such overwhelming evil? Must we lie to ourselves, trying to believe that we are making a difference? Or must we accept the fate that has been dealt to people who have never had a say in the direction of their destiny. Maybe there are other options, ones that I have not explored…but for now they seem so far away they might simply be impossible.

I wish there was someone to point a finger at, someone to yell at, some sort of accountability somewhere. But that won’t happen and I am too much of a realist to hold out for it. For now there is just frustration, sadness, and angst. And maybe one day I will weep, maybe one day we will all weep…

*Photo provide by Aaron

Tea Shop Talks....Humanities Reflections

2007-04-17T02:15:00.000-06:00

I spent my Easter in a small tea shop in the mountainous area of Darfur. Tea “shop” might be a bit strong of a word. A better description would be 4 wooden pools in each corner holding a drooping plastic tarp that covers the occupants from the sun. For reasons unknown to me, no tea shop in Darfur has every built one of these with a roof over 5 feet tall. I find this odd because Sudanese are generally tall and I know by experience that it hurts when you hit you’re head on the bamboo poll crossbeams that help hold the plastic up. I suppose after a life time of experience you learn to keep your head down…I guess I just need to keep practicing. So while walking into the tea shop and getting up from it can be quite difficult, sitting down is rather enjoyable. There are rarely chairs and we all take off our shoes and lay on the mats on the ground. It really forms the classic Arabian Night image of men clad in white Jalabias reclining on their side sipping tea and Turkish coffee. Granted it is a bit dirtier then the sheik image I just described due to the never ending dust and the fact that the tea owners cook over an open fire on the ground right next to us. But all in all the tea shop is always an enjoyable experience.

So to be honest I had no idea it was Easter that day, in my mind it was market day, so it meant that all of the big rebel commanders would be in town so I had meetings I needed to conduct. So my entry into the tea house was not simply for pleasure, there was work to be done. I found my self sitting with General X, one of the heads of the rebel group that I have come to know quite well over my near year here in Darfur. And while socially we get along very well, exchanging warm hugs and bottles of local date wine, I am more then certain that he is as shady and manipulative as the next government, militia, or rebel leader. Needless to say I approach all of our interactions with a bit of weariness, but over time I think we have both come to feel quite comfortable with each other. So while we are discussing the latest humanitarian needs, recent government bombing, IDP movements, and the regular list of conversation topics we address over cups of tea, the tea shops owner’s daughter (who has become a bit enamoured with the local white guy) comes over to “hang out”. Now when interacting with me the little one (no more the 6 years old) always has a big and curious smile, but remains some what reserved and questioning. But the minute she saw General X she started talking animatedly, climbing in his lap, threatening to cut off one of his dread locks, and simply enjoying herself as any child should. Watching General X teach her how to use my Thuraya (Satellite Phone) to call the AU (which she did successfully, luckily it didn’t connect) and making silly faces at her to make her laugh showed the human side that is so rarely present. Typically there is a certain air of aloofness and demanded respect of the rebel leaders, and while this is understandable it begins to wear on you after a while. But for one hour while drinking tea I was able to see the other side of a man who surely has blood on his hands. How strange the dichotomy of the human soul. Within all of us is the part that can pick up a gun to kill another person, yet the next day coddle a tiny child warmly and fill a room with laughter.

I am not sure if the dichotomy makes me happy or sad…but undoubtedly it is apart of all of us.

Tea Shop Talks...Humanities Reflection

2007-04-14T07:32:00.000-06:00

I spent my Easter in a small tea shop in the mountainous area of Darfur. Tea “shop” might be a bit strong of a word. A better description would be 4 wooden pools in each corner holding a drooping plastic tarp that covers the occupants from the sun. For reasons unknown to me, no tea shop in Darfur has every built one of these with a roof over 5 feet tall. I find this odd because Sudanese are generally tall and I know by experience that it hurts when you hit you’re head on the bamboo poll crossbeams that help hold the plastic up. I suppose after a life time of experience you learn to keep your head down…I guess I just need to keep practicing. So while walking into the tea shop and getting up from it can be quite difficult, sitting down is rather enjoyable. There are rarely chairs and we all take off our shoes and lay on the mats on the ground. It really forms the classic Arabian Night image of men clad in white Jalabias reclining on their side sipping tea and Turkish coffee. Granted it is a bit dirtier then the sheik image I just described due to the never ending dust and the fact that the tea owners cook over an open fire on the ground right next to us. But all in all the tea shop is always an enjoyable experience.

So to be honest I had no idea it was Easter that day, in my mind it was market day, so it meant that all of the big rebel commanders would be in town so I had meetings I needed to conduct. So my entry into the tea house was not simply for pleasure, there was work to be done. I found my self sitting with General X, one of the heads of the rebel group that I have come to know quite well over my near year here in Darfur. And while socially we get along very well, exchanging warm hugs and bottles of local date wine, I am more then certain that he is as shady and manipulative as the next government, militia, or rebel leader. Needless to say I approach all of our interactions with a bit of weariness, but over time I think we have both come to feel quite comfortable with each other. So while we are discussing the latest humanitarian needs, recent government bombing, IDP movements, and the regular list of conversation topics we address over cups of tea, the tea shops owner’s daughter (who has become a bit enamoured with the local white guy) comes over to “hang out”.

Now when interacting with me the little one (no more the 6 years old) always has a big and curious smile, but remains some what reserved and questioning. But the minute she saw General X she started talking animatedly, climbing in his lap, threatening to cut off one of his dread locks, and simply enjoying herself as any child should. Watching General X teach her how to use my Thuraya (Satellite Phone) to call the AU (which she did successfully, luckily it didn’t connect) and making silly faces at her to make her laugh showed the human side that is so rarely present. Typically there is a certain air of aloofness and demanded respect of the rebel leaders, and while this is understandable it begins to wear on you after a while. But for one hour while drinking tea I was able to see the other side of a man who surely has blood on his hands. How strange the dichotomy of the human soul. Within all of us is the part that can pick up a gun to kill another person, yet the next day coddle a tiny child warmly and fill a room with laughter.

I am not sure if the dichotomy makes me happy or sad…but undoubtedly it is apart of all of us.

Weeks like these...

2007-03-15T04:49:00.000-06:00

Respiratory infection! Who gets a respiratory infection in Sudan? I thought those required cold, wet, weather…like the stuff the plagues places like Seattle and Great Britain for most of the year. But Sudan? I am so far away from anything that resembles cold or wet weather its ridiculous. I think the temperature topped 110 degrees yesterday and the closest thing to rain is the amount of sand in the air that blocks out the sun at times. Have you ever tried having a fever in 110 degree heat with no air conditioning…air conditioning, ha! I just wish the power would stay on for more than 15 minutes so that my fan would run properly. Oddly enough this strange plague has taken out three of us in the office; I suggested that the others started wearing SARS like mask so the whole office doesn’t come down with it.

My computer has been in a state of slow decline for several months now. For those of you who know me well, this comes as no surprise. Starting with certain functions not working, or taking nearly 30 minutes to turn on, or the DVD player not working, the computer has been in a state of constant rebellion against me. Today it decided that it would no longer open any icon I click on. This basically renders the whole thing useless because I can’t reach any of my files. Now I understand that computers are fickle and can break down. But what really bothers me is that I ask so little from my computer. I don’t download things, play music and movies, or do anything complicated. I use WORD and EXCEL. I check my email on line and go to ESPN.com. I store some photos and occasionally play a DVD. That’s it! That’s all I do and the things always breakdown on me. Needless to say I have decided to take proper action and I will store my computer in my desk drawer for seven days and seven nights and then it should be working fine.

I should have been on R&R a week ago. Of course I do not have an exit visa that would enable me to get out of here, so in Darfur I remain. There is a very good possibility that I won’t get another break until I make a return visit back to the States. So that would add up to one break per year. Something tells me that it’s not a healthy state to continue in, it seems like a form of work related self masochism. I would consider taking one of the trucks and make a break for the nearest border…but then I realize my options are Chad, Central African Republic, DRC, and Southern Sudan and all of a sudden Darfur doesn’t look so bad.

Woe of all woes! March Madness begins with my beloved Kansas Jayhawks with a #1 seed. The last time I was over seas and the Jayhawks where #1 they lost to bloody Syracuse and stupid Carmelo Anthony. Never the less I am sure that this year is their year, and I will be forced to watch the games on espn 30 second update. So while North American work productivity reaches its yearly low during the month of March in order to catch nearly 24 hrs. of straight college basketball, I will do my best to read about it online the next day and pretend it’s as exciting.

Dignity

2007-03-05T03:35:00.000-07:00

The other night I watched the movie The Sea Inside, which struggled with one mans desire to euthanize himself after a diving accident left him paralyzed from the neck down. Of course the political and ethical questions that surround the practice of euthanasia play a central role in the film, but through watching the movie I found a more interesting question concerning the dignity of human kind.

The individual in the movie who wished to euthanize himself argued that his life no longer held dignity, despite the amazing and positive impact he had on the many around him who loved him. Seemingly he was accorded a great amount of dignity by those in contact with him, yet he held firm to his belief that a life that required other people to clean him, roll him over, or turn on the TV is not a life of dignity.

I live in a world surrounded by the seemingly undignified. Men beg for food, women live under trees with roofs made from garbage; children defecate on the open ground and haven’t bathed in months. When working with these people I try my best to treat them with the same kindness and respect that I would treat any human being. In a way, I try to offer them a bit of dignity in a situation that provides them very little. But in light of this movie I question if my actions can offer any real sense of dignity. The movie seems to argue the dignity is quite simply “in the eye of the beholder”. And in many ways I have seen this to be true. The humble farmer who holds his head high when talking with me, the IDP Sheik who demands a level of respect is offered to him where ever he goes, the women who laugh and chuckle at my poor attempts to speak Arabic. All of these people possess a simple dignity that radiates from their eyes, and it would be there regardless of my presences or actions.

I do not mean to put into question the value of how we treat other people, treating all things, the earth and animals included, with love, kindness, thankfulness and respect has merits apart from any thing else. Yet dignity cannot be assigned or forced upon someone. An individuals feeling of their self worth is defined by them, we only provide a small part of that understanding. I only bring this realization up to demonstrate my own insignificance here. I may provide many necessary and even life saving services, but the dignity and honor that dwell in the people here is far removed from my actions…and that is a wonderful thing.

2007-03-02T05:43:00.000-07:00

It is safe to say that Darfur will never be a tourist destination. Regardless of whether or not the violence ceases, there is not a large esthetic appeal to the landscape. For the most part Darfur contains endless miles of hot, flat, dry bush landscape. The occasional wadi or rock out-cropping serve as the only major landmark in an otherwise bleak savanna. During certain months, like now for example, the air fills with dust that blocks out the sun and makes you think a rain storm is coming, only to later realized how wrong you where as sand hurls through your window. And for the most part we learn to adjust to this landscape which helps make R&R all the more enjoyable.
But occasionally I have been fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of the beauty that this harsh land is capable of. In the middle of Darfur exists two inactive volcanoes from a time long ago. Reaching heights of over 3000 meters they form the highlands of Darfur and provide the most breath taking scenery this land has to offer. Steep cliffs and gullies line the road on the way up the mountain side and springs and waterfalls form brief seas of green in an otherwise desolate land. Higher up the mountain the hot desert air gives was to the cool breeze of the mountains and pine trees cover the hillside.
The area remains remote, the rugged hills and mountains forming a fortress that the non-signatory rebels call home. Untouched by most NGOs, we have been lucky enough to gain access there for quite some time and have traveled the land extensively. And while heart ache and suffering dwell here just as much as else where in Darfur, the surrounding beauty provides a constant reminder that there is something more then death and destruction. Of course the nearly 50,000 IDPs streaming into the area due to bombing campaigns serve as a strong reminder as to the work that must be done, the ability to take a step back from the insanity and view the beauty around you is a breath of fresh air the brings life to the soul. For now, this will have to serve as my R&R.

You think working here is hard, just try getting in!

2007-02-19T07:49:00.000-07:00

The general absurdity of Sudan is often to hard to grasp. There are of course the common dangers one would expect: war, theft, disease, etc...but one quickly views those attributes as part of the job and begins to grow a thick shell around themselves to deal with such hardship. But its the daily ridiculousness that tends to penetrate that shell and slowly drives one mad. Take for example trying to get in and out of the country...or even just moving about inside the country. These are issues that the rest of the world has seemed to come up with a pretty simple formula for, but Sudan has chosen another path.

Below is a document a colleague put together for new INGOs trying to work in Sudan to help explain exactly what is involved in working here. It would be funny if it wasn't my life.

The process to get an initial visa into Sudan consists of :
1) Approval by HAC Director General and Approval by HAC Security Dept was1 day to several weeks is now 3 weeks to I month (cost still free)
2) Approval by Immigration was 1 - 2 weeks is now 3 days (cost was US$ 50 now US$ 46)
3) Approval by Foreign Ministry was 1- 2 weeks now 3 days (cost stillfree)
4) Visa stamp in passport in Sudanese Embassy (US$ 55-100)

Once a temporary visa is granted and staff arrive in Khartoum NGOs need tochange this to a longer term stay visa and work permit. These have to berenewed each time the ?Moratorium? is extended and requires the following:
1) Initial Registration Dept of Interior still 1 day (cost was US$ 30 nowUS$ 41)
2) Approval by HAC Director General and Approval by HAC Security Dept was1 day to several weeks now 7 days (cost free)
3) HIV/AIDS test or exemption for first time only still 1 day.
4) Work permit Ministry of Labour was 1 - 5 days now 7 days to 1 ?2months (cost was US$ 75 now US$ XXX) (Can be valid for up to a year)
5) Approval by Immigration was 1 - 2 weeks now 2 weeks (cost was US$ 100)

Both with a temporary stay or a longer term visas you also need a travelpermit to get to Darfur. This requires the following:
1) Approval by HAC Director General 1 day - several weeks (Free)
2) Approval by HAC Security Dept 1 day to several weeks (Free)
3) Issuing of ID HAC card / permit in Khartoum 2 days (US$ 10) (not beingdone now)

Another requirement for travel out of the country is the exit and re-entryvisa which is only valid for one trip. Each of these require the following:
1) Approval by HAC Director General 1 day - several weeks (Free)
2) Approval by HAC Security Dept 1 day to several weeks (Free)3) Tax clearance 1 day (US$ 1)
3) Approval by Immigration 1 - 2 weeks (US$ 87)

Should staff finish their contracts and intend to leave Sudan NGOs alsoneed to pay for a final exit visa1 day ? 1 week (US$ 48)Yet one more permit required is the state HAC card which allows NGO staffto travel out of the state capital. This was previously issued for a yearbut recently is also linked to the extension of moratorium. Recently HACin South Darfur has said that it needs to be paid US$ 10 per staff member(national and international). If this is applied and extended to the restof Darfur would result in an additional cost of nearly US$ 130,000

I'm not sure which is better, that I have to get a visa to LEAVE the country or that it could take any where from 4 days to 4 months to complete the process...by offical guidelines.

So if anyone is interested in visited just let me know and I will see what I can do for 2008!

Distain for Important People

2007-02-12T06:41:00.000-07:00

Darfur is a mess. I understand that to anyone who reads this blog with any type of regularity this is becoming a redundant statement. But let me provide the quick run down: more NGO trucks are stolen each week, our staff was robbed at gunpoint in the field, the government has bombed the Jebel Marra region in which we work and displaced over 130,000 people, we can’t reach our project areas in the south due to insecurity, and it appears that nearly every rebel group in Darfur is about to splinter into a million gun toting pieces. All of these things, added to the normal difficulties of working here, are making our jobs increasingly more frustrating.

So what would the answer to this be…how about a high level visit by our politically incorrect CEO, a former US senator, an ambassador, and just for a kicks lets through in a few high ranking government officials as icing on the cake. As the casual observer might guess, a visit like this is a bit of a security nightmare. But I suppose it would all be worth it if they where coming to visit our projects, discuss on the ground issues, and offer us their support and gratitude for our work here…if that’s what they where coming to do. But important people, like the above list, don’t do things like that. They prefer to fly all the way to Darfur to visit for 5 hours on the ground, stay at the most expensive hotel in the capitol, have a meeting with one man, and take pictures of suffering African IDPs in an area we don’t even work. And important people want snacks at our office so they can make a bathroom break, and need refreshments in our trucks that should be in the field, and they want you to walk up and shake their hand in a sense of awe and wonder as though you actually give a shit that they have chosen to speak to you. Lets not even get into the fact that we have had to postpone nearly all of our projects (i.e. dying IDPs in the mountains) in order to arrange all of this, or the enormous cost of flying the important entourage from the US to Darfur, or even the several years of life span that have been taken away from the head of mission due to the amount of stress and pressure placed on his shoulders from his superiors. All I’m asking for is bit of respect, maybe a thank you, and good work…maybe they could take the time to learn our names (although there are 7 of us, so I understand that’s a stretch)*

Maybe it’s all worth it in the end. Maybe we will get a whole lot more money to help people who desperately need it. Maybe their classically posed photos holding yet another dying African child will awaken the conscience of the world. And maybe these important people are really nice if you just get to know them. But in the short term I am glad their gone, I wished they never would have come, and I hope they don’t return. If this is humanitarian work then I’m out.

*insert sarcasm here

Broken

2007-01-29T01:19:00.000-07:00

In Aldous Huxley’s A Brave New World, humanity ventures to the forgotten wastelands of civilization, the Savage Reservations, to catch a glimpse of the pain and suffering associated with birth, family, monogamy, and old age. In the New World which the majority of humanity now finds themselves, life is a euphoric paradise conditioned in their minds to suit their inevitable role in society. Pain, disease, sorrow, desire…all of these are done away with in order to create a world of heavenly happiness, a world of pleasant conformity that allows no trace of sorrow to slip through. In a very real sense, humanity has found heaven on earth. Yet anyone who has read Huxley’s work comes to undeniable conclusion that this Brave New World might have more in common with Hell than Heaven.

Over the years I have often come to question the character of God, a being that in one breath is all powerful, all knowing, all loving, all just, and yet has created a world that is so full of horror and pain that it stands to reason that some of these attributes must stand in contrast to the others. An illogical God if you well. I recognize that I am simply restating a question that haunted all religious tradition throughout the centuries, be it Christian, Buddhist, Jewish, Islamic, etc. The inevitable paradox of God’s nature and power, seemingly standing in contradiction to one another for all eternity. The Christians throw out Calvinism, Free Will, Open Theism, Predestination, and The Fall in an attempt to reconcile this paradigm while the Buddhist simply admit that life is suffering but through suffering brings life and enlightenment. Each religion battles this question in its own terms and amazingly enough, are able to come up with a wide variety of answers. Yet maybe what we are missing is the beauty and truth that is captured in this seeming absurdity of reason.

Possibly it is the very flawed character of humanity that enables the truth and beauty that we have come to value so highly. We are a society that values the tragedy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet and can look upon the sadness and angst of Vango’s masterworks and recognize the beauty in those dark brush strokes. It is through the heart breaking loss of a lover that we truly find ourselves and our reaction to injustice and suffering that define our character. So much of our individuality is wrapped up in our likes and dislikes, yet a “perfect world” could never exist unless we all agreed to collectively like and dislike the exact same things. It is the imperfections of our world that define and shape our being; heartbreak and love, danger and courage, violence and peace, anger and mercy. How could we truly know the depths of our humanity with out all of these things? Oddly enough, it seems as though it is through a shattered glass that we best catch a reflection of ourselves and of God.

Yet here I sit in a land where so often the darkness seems so dark and the pain so painful that one has to question if it all worth while. Would I trade all of this, my very self, for a Brave New World of happy sameness? Yet even here, in a place of so much suffering, children are born, weddings are had, laughter is shared, and individuals are defined and strengthened through the perseverance of such trails. Even here there is beauty and hope…and life.

Who Will Protect These?

2007-01-23T23:09:00.000-07:00

As many of you who watch the news or keep up with this blog are well aware of, the situation in Darfur is hitting staggering new lows. During the last few months the signatory rebel groups have splintered into numerous new fractions, the Arab militias/ Janjaweed have expressed raising anger towards the government, and the Sudanese military has increased its attacks on rebel strong holds in East Jebel Marra. Within the greater context of Darfur specifically and conflict ravaged countries in general, this cycle of violence and escalation in hostilities is somewhat normal, although depressing. But in recent months the targeting of INGOs and the UN by rebel groups and government a like has taken a drastic up turn.

On December 18th two INGO compounds in Geraida (the largest IDP camp in the world) where attacked by armed militia resulting in the sever beating of both national and international staff and one of the international members being raped. During the raid numerous shots where fired at the personnel and 12 vehicles and supplies where stolen. That marks the third and most violent attack on INGO compounds in the month, and puts the number of INGO vehicles stolen in the past 60 days to well over 30. These attacks have resulted in all the INGOs evacuating the camp, leaving over 130,000 people without access to basic needs. In addition, the splintering of the rebel group who supposedly controls the camp means that no one knows who to hold accountable for these crimes.

More recently, an NGO compound in Nyala was raided this weekend by the Sudanese National Security based on reports of drinking and the presence of Sudanese nationals, male and female. Under Sharia Law non-Muslims are allowed to consume alcohol, but Muslims are strictly forbidden. Additionally, Muslim women should not be at such an event unaccompanied by their husband. During the raid 19 UN and INGO employees where severely beaten, the women harassed, and all of them thrown in prison. While the UN was eventually able to secure their release the Sudanese government is demanding the immediate arrest of several UN staff members in total defiance of the UN’s immunity under their mandate. During the course of the negotiations the Sudanese Government placed the head of OCHA in prison while he was representing the INGO community to the government in an attempt to resolve the issue through proper channels. In response to the excessive use force, threats, and the refusal to respect established international law the UN has ceased all operations of 48 hours and are considering pulling out altogether.

Things remain tense throughout Nyala and everyone is faced with the difficult question of how to continue to support those in need when the protection of staff and security of the operations in nearly impossible to control. Like Goma in 1994, the humanitarian community is pressed between the proverbial rock and hard place. The increase in fighting is displacing thousands and the winter season means conditions are more difficult then normal. But with access restricted and safety unpredictable at best, the problems simply seem to mount. The next few weeks could certainly be defining for Darfur…and sets a very important precedent for the rest of the world.

How is it that the lows are always able to get lower?

Da Bears Da Bears Da Bears Da Bears

2007-01-22T12:53:00.000-07:00

It has been a while since I last up dated this but an event of such momentous proportions has occurred that I simply had to write and share my joy with the world! THE BEARS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL! Now while there are numerous other things taking place in Darfur right now, I feel that I so rarely get an opportunity to write the simple emails of daily joy, and this moment my friends is truly joyous, that I will postpone for a day on the Darfur drama to reveal in the Bear's victory!

Now I am sure there are many of you out there who could care less about the Bear's victory...if you live in any country other then the US for example, or if your from New Orleans...but I ask you to simply open your minds a bit and grasp hold of a beautiful part of American culture, tail gate parties, grown men running into each other at full speed, body paint, wearing animal logos on your head...its all part of what makes America great (that and freedom and democracy and blah blah blah...). But this victory is something of a mile stone for the US...like Independence Day or the millennium...because you see, 21 years ago the greatest Football team ever assembled brought victory and glory to the fine city of Chicago, bringing the world together under the chorus of the Super Bowl Shuffle. Now, 21 years later a new Bears team has emerged to re-capture the lost spirit of the mid-eighties (power bangs, bright colors, and zebra striped elastic pants...I mean who wouldn't want to recapture that spirit?)

I recognize that this posting is a bit delayed...but you must take into account the difficulty of trying to watch an American football game in Darfur. After searching long and hard to find the game live on my Arabic Satellite TV, I was crushed to discover that it wasn't possible. But undaunted I was able to find a replay of the game the following day. So I spent my Monday avoiding email and even making sure not to watch the BBC for fear of them venturing into the realm of US sports. So this evening at 7pm my time I settled in for 2 hours of what might be described as one of the more beautiful events in sports history. Of course no one here could care less so I watched the game alone and my shouts and cheers fell on apathetic ears. So now I will try to share my joy with the world through the exciting world of blogging...enjoy!

Enough rambling for now...I will write a more depressing blog tomorrow, but for now I will go to sleep happy!

Beaches, Beer, Hammocks, and Motorcycles

2007-01-14T06:41:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately I find myself writing this post from my all too familiar office nestled in the heart of Nyala. Only a few short days ago I was lying on the beautiful white sand beaches of Zanzibar Island and now I find myself in the surprisingly cold(winter in Sudan...who would have thought?) dust bowl of Darfur.

After 6 months straight in Darfur (stupid American travel restrictions…why can’t I be Swiss, everyone loves the Swiss) I finally got a much needed break. To be honest it was a bit of an anticlimatical moment. During the 6 months, I sat anxiously waiting for news of the travel restrictions being lifted…and then one night over dinner a friend from USAID casually mentioned that I was free to move again. I was expecting fireworks and parades…all I got was a pat on the back and a valid travel pass (which in my mind was the most valuable thing in the world at that point). Wondering where I should go two options lay heavy on my mind. The first was trying to make it back to Chicago for Christmas with the fam, the second was Zanzibar Island with friends from Boston. Now while family is very important to me, the idea of passing up white sandy beaches on the Indian Ocean for cold and dreary Chicago just didn’t seem sane. So instead of winter hats and mittens I threw some shorts and sun screen into my bag and jetted off to wonderful Zanzibar!

I was there for nearly 3 weeks, during which the most stressful thing I did was play in the afternoon volleyball game (which I was able to do with a beer in my hand) or walk down the beach to find which restaurant I wanted to gorge myself on sea food at. Most of my day was spent sleeping in hammock under the palm trees and the sea breezes rocked me back and forth. By sunset I had usually worked up enough energy to float in the ocean and a glass of wine before dinner.

That’s not to say that my time wasn’t full of excitement. There was a toga party where I thought Europe how to play “flippy-cup” and “beer pong” and of course no New Years on Zanzibar would be complete without honoring Freddy Mercury with lots of cool mustaches! Drew and I had plenty of motorcycle riding along the wide open roads of the tropical paradise and we even managed to dazzle the locals with our Frisbee ability. After three weeks of this life my body and mind have recovered enough to will myself back to work in the ever increasing mess that is Darfur.

So to all who may still read this blog, I hope that you had a wonderful holiday and I wish you all the best. Sorry about the lack of photos…my camera was unfortunately swiped by someone who is surely getting a good laugh at the photos on my camera…o well such is life.

And don’t worry I promise to write some type of melodramatic post about the deteriorating situation in Darfur some time in the near future…but for now just let me bask in my Zanzibarian memories and pretend that all of this sand around me still means I am at the beach.

Hoping for the Worst

2006-12-13T07:33:00.000-07:00

The current state of Darfur has sunken into such a quagmire that it often leaves one hoping for the worst. The Darfur Peace Agreement (DPA) was signed May 5th, 2006. At the time many thought it was a serious step in the direction of peace, but a closer look would have revealed it as an ill conceived plan forced through by powers who wanted a quick solution. Eight months later we are left with the broken pieces of a peace treaty that was doomed to failure. The rebel groups have splintered into a million fractions, each fighting for position and power amongst themselves. The GoS continues to use the DPA as a type of shield to defend itself from all international condemnation concerning Darfur. Throughout all of this people continue to die and more families are displaced into huge IDP camps.

Yet as bad as all of this sounds, it is just clam enough to prevent any real change. Tensions remain high throughout the region and conflicts erupt in various parts of Darfur, yet more and more they become the common place theme here in Sudan. With out a unified force the rebel groups have no chance of achieving any type of real victory. Each group simply tries to seize power in what ever small corner they can control. Mean while the GoS continues to prove its brilliance against international pressure. No UN troops are on the ground, the AU’s mandate remains weak and useless, and INGOs are hassled and expelled at will. Every month that the status quo remains the same is a month that those with blood on their hand have won.

All of this leads the individual to hope for the worse. At least if the fighting erupted on a large scale the world would be forced to do something. At least if the DPA officially fell apart it would pave the way for a lasting peace deal to be signed. At least there would be an end in sight…at least…

For now I hope for the best…I still believe in peace…I am still willing to look for some type of progress…but I’m getting tired…everyone is.

The Little Things

2006-12-03T09:20:00.000-07:00

It’s the little things in life here that make it livable here in Darfur. Let me explain some of the little things in my life that have improved recently.

1. The local cell phone service is controlled by the Sudanese Gov. This service is also what we are dependant on for our internet service. When ever a big troop movement is planned or a large scale offensive it is common for the Gov. to turn all the cell phone service off. Well it has been down for nearly a week now. And while it’s kind of nice not being able to receive more report request for your boss, it gets to be a bother after a while. Well, yesterday the cell phones came on unexpectedly…little thing number one!

2. Apparently WFP is the largest transporter of alcohol in all of Sudan. I have lots of good friends in WFP. I had several good cold beers last night…little thing number two!!!

3. I discovered the other day that amongst the millions of Arabic satellite channels we receive, there is one channel called Sports Net America. And on this wonderful glorious channel you can find real live American Football!!!! Now of course to watch it live requires late nights here in Darfur, but with the internet always down I can just wait and watch the games on reply the next day…and with no commercials (Sudan TiVo if you will). Of course with no other American’s around I tend to watch by myself but never the less at the end of the game I am happy, so Florida defeats Arkansas…little thing number three!!! (although let it be know that I hate Florida...go OU)

4. So sometimes countries don’t get along so well with one another…for example Turkey and Greece, North Korea and South Korea, Bolivia and Chile, the US and anyone not called England. Well remarkably enough the US and Sudan have not been on the best of terms lately, so all American’s have been unable to travel in or out of Darfur for the past four months. This comes as a rather large blow when working here, especially in light of the fact that you are supposed to receive one week R&R for every eight weeks of work…something about keeping your sanity. Well after my six straight months in Darfur I had resigned myself to ringing in the NEW YEAR Sudanese style and had mentally prepared for another few dusty months. Well for reasons unknown to anyone the Sudanese Gov. decided to lift all travel restriction yesterday and we all received emails from the US Embassy informing us of the immediate change. Now of course when we all arrived at the government offices with our US Embassy letters in order to get our travel passes we where promptly informed that “these letters are from Bush and are lies” as the proceeded to rip them up in front of about 50 American’s trying to get to Darfur. Regardless the restrictions are lifted, it’s simply will take a bit longer for the news to trickle down to the lower levels. So for me the end is in sight (by end I mean long vacation) and at least I can start thinking where I might like to spend part of January…little thing number four!!!!

Stalemate

2006-11-30T06:48:00.000-07:00

Sitting with rebel soldiers nestled in the deep valleys of the Jebel Marra mountain range, one gets the appearance of a very different conflict then seen from the government side. But as always, appearances can be deceiving. The rebel commanders talk flowingly about fighting against injustice, for a homeland, for a voice in the government. Amongst the tragedy that surrounds this conflict it is easy to want to be swayed by these smooth talkers. One wants to believe that the fighting has a purpose, that there is some sort of noble goal at the end of this long struggle, as though some kind of grand ideal can make all of this bloodshed worth while.

The truth is often much harsher then the surface reality. Speaking with some of the rebel soldiers, one of them explained to me his love for Israel. The fact that he was a Muslim of course made me curious about this statement, especially in light of the fact that he had never met an Israeli. He went on to explain that all SLA (non-signatory rebel group) love Israel because Israel kills Arabs and the SLA supports anyone who kills Arabs. His story progressed into the details of how Arab nomads had raided his village and killed his family and how his goal now was to kill any Arab he saw.

This is not an attempt to form a commentary on the young boy’s remarks. I cannot begin to understand the type of pain that must come from witnessing the death of your family at the hands of others, nor comprehend the type of anguish that would lead a person to want to kill another human being. I am also not trying to make a statement about Israel and Arab relations and its role in a world context. I am simply trying to point out the unfortunate foundation of this conflict and many other like it throughout the world. In the end it comes down to the simple misunderstanding, mistrust, and ultimately hatred of the always feared “other”. In the case of this SLA boy the word Arab will suffice for the “other”, but just about any other group will do…Palestinian, Jew, Black, Mexican, etc. The easiest person to hate is the one you do not know. So we all collectively keep our distance and build our walls, as though not knowing the “other” will make them go away.

We live in a world of walls in a vain attempt to keep fear out. But in the end our self made walls simply separate us from the unknown and serve to multiply a fear we cannot control. The rebels use the mountains of Jebel Marra as much as the government uses a military check point. But as long as these lines are drawn in the sand and the walls are hidden behind there cannot be peace.

This is the reality of Darfur… as much as it’s the reality of every where else in the world, and we keep building more walls and wonder why we can’t live in peace.

Our World

2006-11-15T09:35:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school my US history teacher had a small sign in her room that read “What a great day it will be when the Education system has a billion dollar a year budget and the military has to have a bake sale to build a new tank.” I would often stare at that sign and wonder what that type of world would look like.

The reality is that I have no idea what that type of world would look like. I live in a land surrounded by guns. Every soldier, policeman, check point, and security guard is holding a gun in their hands. Rebel soldiers pile into stolen NGO trucks with rocket launchers hanging over review mirrors, hand grenades strapped to their belts, and AK-47 slung onto their soldiers. Military gun-ships patrol overhead while troop carriers rush down the street. This is land captivated and conquered by its own self destruction. And while some would be quick to point the finger at the Sudanese, Somali’s, or Afghanis, the fact is that we all live in the same prison.

I hate guns. I cannot emphasis this point strongly enough. You see a machine gun in the hands of a child more then once and you cannot think of these inventions as anything but evil. I have heard the arguments for guns all my life. “Our right, defense, sport, etc…” I no longer care. I give up my right, I will give up all sports, I will not defend myself…but the thing that grieves me most, the thing that is most troubling to me, is the fact that I can still not be a pacifist. I am too much of a realist. I know that guns have become an intricate part of humanity and the reality is they will not disappear. I know that in a world of guns evil people can only be stopped with more guns. I myself have argued that UN forces with a stronger more forceful mandate are needed here in Darfur. I advocate for the very thing I loath. And I am certain now that these words will be the saddest words I have ever written. What type Pandora’s Box have we opened that allows us to create something that’s sole purpose is our own destruction…

My mother is a grade school art teacher whose student won first prize in the area wide Peace Poster Contest. Many other art teachers don’t take the extra time required to promote a Peace Poster to their students…I suppose they have other things to do. The day the student was honored with the award happen to coincide with Veteran’s Day. During the ceremony a local veteran spoke on the courage and sacrifice of serving in the military…and a small child was given an award for celebrating peace. Peace at the point of a gun is not peace, it is prison no matter which way the guns are pointing. And my heart breaks for those who must hold the guns.

Why is it that we as humanity are so willing to dismiss peace as a wishful dream and leaders like Mahatma Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King as once in a life time individuals never to be seen again. We glorify war in movies, TV, and toys…dress our children in military fatigues for Halloween…and play video games where the goal is to shoot every thing in sight. We live in a world that must set aside a special day once a year to get children to draw pictures of peace because they would never to it otherwise. I am ashamed of the world I live in…

Shot in the Butt!

2006-11-08T06:48:00.000-07:00

They told me the shot would reduce the pain in my head and neck…what they didn’t tell me was that the way it worked was that the shot hurt so bad you quickly forget about the pain in your head and neck! It was like having someone surgically implant a softball in your butt with a rusty spoon!

Oh yea…so the reason I was getting the shot. Well the past two weeks I have been having terrible headaches and my whole body felt like it wanted to fall apart. So being the brilliant doctor that I am, I assumed it was the flu and rested and took plenty of fluids. After a few days without improvement I figured it was my bad mattress that was causing my neck and back to hurt so I switched beds. Still no improvement. Then I thought maybe it was all the field work I had been doing this week and the horrible roads and bouncing trucks where responsible. But after a few days back in Nyala away from the roads there was still no improvement. I was stooped.

So finally my stubborn pride succumbed to the pain and I decided to go to the doctor. (Mom and Lisa please stop rolling your eyes with disgust). So after a meeting with WFP to fight about food reduction I drove over to the UN clinic (ironic I know) and got some blood work done. While they where waiting for the test to be completed they told me I could lie down on a bed and they would give me a shot for my headache…at the expense of my butt!

Well it turns out I have Typhoid (kudos to you who figured that out by the picture)…just add it to the list of numerous other tropical diseases that have called my body home at one time or another. Of course I have already made it through the work week and now will simply be sick for the party on Thursday and poker on Friday…such is my luck.

Change

2006-11-07T02:15:00.000-07:00

In the most heated (and expensive) mid term elections in US history a reported 40% of eligible voters are expected to turn out. In most countries around the world that number would not even allow for the vote to be considered legitimate, but in a land that speaks so strongly about the values of Democracy and Freedom that is a good turn out. How sad is it the a nation of people who are willing to invade, bomb, sanction, and marginalize other countries for their lack of democracy so willingly throw their right away when election day comes.

Even the papers in Khartoum talk about the mid-term elections in the US. It seems that everyone knows how important these events are except the United State’s own citizens. The choices you make today affect the rest of the world…a fact that is so often lost on those with the vote. Here in Darfur the US has put intense public pressure on the Sudanese Government to end their campaign of violence, while at the same time they fly top military leaders of the government who are responsible for the atrocities to Washington D.C. for talks about the “War on Terror”. A country cannot “have its cake and eat it to”, a fact that is effecting the lives of millions of Darfurians on a daily basis.

Changing the world and helping those in need does not require every person of wealth to leave their homes and become aid workers in far off lands. Action takes many forms…and today the action needed is simply to exercise your right to vote. The foundation of change is made from knowledge and action…and today the pebble you cast into the pond will send ripples around the world.

Community

2006-10-27T01:26:00.000-06:00

So much of ones sanity is dependent upon those around them. Those individuals that you live with, work with, laugh with…they become a support system, a type of conversational release lever. In Darfur that ability to commiserate with your fellow compatriots becomes a type of life line to the world of normalcy.

We are, in a sense, a family…all be it a highly disorganized, dysfunctional, and rather eclectic family. But in a way we are all in the same boat. Each person here knows the frustrations of working here. Daily we face the same grind of security threats, population displacements, arguments with the government, with HQ, with donors. Each one of us knows how hot it really gets, how hard it can be to drive through a wadi, and how difficult Sudanese Arabic can be to learn. There is a collective knowledge here that we all depend on, because no matter how much those back home love us and willingly listen to our stories, they will never truly know what life is like here.

The intensity of life here seems to speed everything up, especially friendships. It only takes a few short months to develop a network of friends that would be impossible to live without. Due to the sever lack of night life and other recreational activities, friends become your only true break from the world of work and poverty you surround yourself with the rest of the day. Often it is just a break for tea or a small dinner party…but it’s those brief moments that allow you to feel normal, to feel relaxed.

But it is the intensity and reliance on these relationships that also contribute to the down side of relief work. While friendships may form a warp speed, they also seem to disappear even faster. Contracts end, personnel gets shifted, and people simply go home. In the blink of an eye the group you had over for dinner the night before is gone, dispersed to every corner of the world. We all try to fight the fight of keeping in touch, emails and phone calls, the possible meeting during and R&R…sometimes we win, more often we lose. It is like university at light speed…yet when our four years is over there is no Darfur Alumni group or class reunions.

I suppose it’s the yin and the yang of our work and I should be thankful for the time we had together…but as bags are packed and airport runs are made its hard to always look at the positive, saying goodbye just gets old after awhile.

The System

2006-10-22T05:59:00.000-06:00

I have often wondered whether I am the type of person who works to change the system or simply works around the system. Now to those of you who have know me since my days in high school you may be laughing about how obvious this answer must be. But there has always been apart of me that feels that the nobler, and possibly more effective thing to do is to fix a broken system, take it head on and work for positive change.

I still believe that might be true, but here in Darfur the philosophical point seems a bit mute. Here my priority is to get the job done, system or no system. The job got done last week. After a bit of political maneuvering around the UN, we were able to partner with some wonderful medical INGOs who where willing to brave the road north with us and administer the medicine to battle the Cholera outbreak. We gave nearly 150 patients IV treatments in our school house turned clinic and distributed another 2800 Oral Re-hydration Kits to the community at large. The number of cases has begun to shift down wards and enough light has been brought to the plight of the people in the area to get people talking about a more permanent clinic in the region.

That’s not to say that the finger pointing and denials of responsibility don’t continue amongst the “Big Boys” of the humanitarian world, but at least in our small little corner the work got done, supplies where delivered, and lives where saved.

And lets not pretend I have really grown up all that much since high school…we all know how much I love working the system!

Special thanks to the medical teams that partnered with us, you’re the best!

F$&%#&^K!!!!

2006-10-16T00:41:00.000-06:00

The worst thing is letting people down. It’s that look on their face, the one that’s trying to say “its all right, I understand…I know you tried your hardest” but in all actuality is saying “I knew you wouldn’t come through, I knew I would be abandoned.”

The Cholera outbreak had started two weeks ago, but insecurity had kept the humanitarian community away until we arrived. The outbreak was worse then everyone had thought and was getting bigger each week. The thing about Cholera is that its strips the person of their dignity just as much as it strips them of their life. Uncontrollable diarrhea and vomiting dehydrate the body in a matter of hours as life slips away. The disease is a putrid mess, usually infecting those trying to care for the sick. We had come to run the assessment of the situation, do some hygiene promotion and chlorinate the water sources. More then anything we were there to drum up support from the UN and medical community back in Nyala to intervene.

After some phone calls and emergency meetings we were told that a helicopter with a medical team and supplies could be sent up the next day. For a brief moment I had that feeling in your heart when you know your actions have made a difference. And it was almost true…no one would have come up to East Jebel Marra if we hadn’t driven there. Even though the UN still has the roads closed due to security we had made the right choice, our actions would save lives…

That feeling always seems to come to a screeching halt. Its three days later, no helicopter has arrived and I am back in Nyala trying to fight for any assistance I can get. The UN has hijacked the operation, various groups vying to get their name on the intervention so they can say “UNICEF prevented a Cholera outbreak” or “WHO battles Cholera in Darfur!” What a load of shit! We still have people on the ground there calling us twice a day with new death reports and yet no one moves. We are willing to drive up tomorrow and carry all of the medical supplies and doctors in our own vehicles and still no one moves. The various NGOs and UN agencies are fighting about who will supply the medicine and the endless buerocracy known as the UNINTED NATIONS drags on! The closest commitment we can get is a helicopter some time next week to Saboon…which might still do some good except that the Cholera outbreak is in Gubo and the two metric tons of supplies aren’t going to fit very well on the backs of the donkeys that would have to make the two hour trek…of course the same trek would take 5 minutes by helicopter.

I head back on Friday, with more supplies to chlorinate the water and run hygiene promotion campaigns…its something I suppose, but try to tell that to those who are already dying. Fuck, we are supposed to help people and we finally have a clear cut case where our direct intervention can save the lives of hundreds and we bull shit about who is doing what and getting what credit! I’m tired, really tired…

pray for the dignity of those who suffer

Champaign Wishes and Caviar Dreams

2006-09-30T04:08:00.000-06:00

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

2006-09-13T02:27:00.000-06:00

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

2006-09-13T01:41:00.000-06:00

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....

2006-09-08T09:45:00.000-06:00

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.

The good, the bad, and the ugly...

2006-08-26T01:56:00.000-06:00

Such seems to be cry of life in Nyala at times...life everywhere I suppose...

The Good
Only a few places in the world do Thursday night and an old warehouse make for the perfect party spot. Various NGO trucks line the muddy streets and a few Christmas lights offer the appearance of decor. Yet this scene has become a wonderfully regular occurrence for those working in S. Darfur. Yet this evening was not marked by music or dancing, but rather the awe inspiring light show taking place outside of the warehouse. Rumbling across the plains of Darfur a huge thunderstorm was fast approaching, shooting streaks of lighting across the clear vast sky. The sheer size and violence of the storm was hard to capture in person and impossible to translate into words...yet standing on the terraza watching Mother Natures cinema we were all happy to be in Nyala at that moment. Good times even here.

The Bad
Over the past two months nearly nineteen NGO trucks have been stolen at gunpoint throughout Darfur by rebel groups as well as three large oil trucks that where stolen from the AU at the cost of two soldiers lives. The trucks roofs are surely chopped off and painted green, permanently transforming the vehicles from humanitarian trucks into Tactical war vehicles. This stock piling of arms and transport is unprecedented in Darfur and in less then a month the AU troops will be gone...with no one coming to replace them. IRC released a report yesterday stating the violence against women is getting worse in the camps. It will only be a short time now until the world sees the sham of a peace treaty fall to pieces. Bad and getting worse.

The Ugly
Saturday is my day off and I was looking forward to sleeping in a bit...until I was awoken by the bleeding of a sheep coming from behind my room. This is not uncommon; I am typically awoken by some various animal (donkey, goat, dog, giant bug, etc...) several times a night. The problem arose when the noise coming from the sheep was cut short by a quick choking sound and numerous voices saying something in Arabic. Quickly I remembered that today was the going away party of Sarah (my good friend and current co-worker) and that this morning was the time to slaughter the sheep for the dinner. So reluctantly I pulled myself out of bed, grabbed a cup of tea, and walked over to the sheep hanging from the tree outside my room to begin to help...so much for that time of vegetarianism...ugly, really ugly.

Sand Print

2006-08-23T04:01:00.000-06:00

Sand it one of those substances that belongs in very specific locations and should be enjoyed in vary specific circumstances. A prime place for sand is on a beach, in front of an ocean, lake, or other large body of water. The enjoyment of said substance is found in the building of sand castles, burying your feet, or laying your blanket across it for sunbathing and relaxing. Sand might also be permissible in other contained instances such as a sandbox for children to play in or possibly placed in a small glass jar so that the various colors makes some sort of picture. These are perfectly acceptable locations for sand and in its proper locations I would admit to being a fan of sand.

Now let me discuss where sand is not acceptable…most notable anywhere with high winds and a rainy season. For example Darfur is a horrible place for sand. For one there are no large bodies of water to sunbath along and the hundred plus temperatures would seem to deter even to the most avid sun seeker. In addition, Darfur has a rainy season which sends torrential down pours of water upon the arid land, forming large wadis, huge sink holes, and unseeable sand traps. This brings me to the next place sand does not belong…leaning against my truck window! Unlike the sand I know in the US, sand here in Darfur is tricky…it may look like solid ground one minute and the next be a sinking pit of doom of which even Tarzan would be helpless to extradite himself from! Such was the pit we found ourselves in yesterday. After 5 hours of shoveling, two winch systems burned out, and the truck progressively getting worse with each attempt, we conceded victory to the sand monster and head in for the night with hopes that a new morning and some reinforcements might prove more successful.

A few other quick notes of where sand doesn’t belong…in the air looking like a rain storm but actually being a huge stinging dust storm, in my sheets, in all of my food, in certain parts of my body, and in general anywhere where I can’t be drinking a Margarita and watching a sunset!

So much for sand castle daydreams…

2006-08-19T23:27:00.000-06:00

The hardening of the heart is often like the calluses upon ones hands. The calluses are the results of hard work, and while painful at first, as they build up they strengthen the hands ability to work in difficult and otherwise painful situations. Such often seems to be the case of the hearts of those working here in Darfur. During the day we head to the field to battle Cholera outbreaks, deliver much needed food aid, build sanitary water pumps, and provide schools for those who have never had a chance to open a book. Compelled by their heart, most workers here understand the suffering of humanity and have taken the step of action, willing to entangle their lives with the lives of those who are hurting.

Yet when the day is over we walk back to our compounds, past dilapidated huts lining the river bed covered in garbage, past the barefoot children holding out their hands for food, and past the very misery that sits right outside our doorsteps. We try not to look, or kindly tell the children “no, not today” and go about our way, through the doors of our own personal sanctuaries. Each individual exhausted in their own way by the day’s labors and frustrations. And as the days go bye the huts, and hands, and horrors simply become part of the scene of daily life, almost like the country side passing by the window of a speeding car. We have all learned to “live here” and yet, as our hearts become more callused I often wonder what the price has been.

Painful Paths

2006-08-12T04:48:00.000-06:00

War is a game for boys in young men of which we are all forced to play and in which we all inevitably lose.

The rain pours outside, turning village paths into swollen rivers as the sound of rain drops drowned out any other sounds. Dry, in our dimly lit hut, I sit with a variety of boys and men playing dominos in an attempt to pass the day away. For now we are all able to rest, my supplies are packed away in the truck and their AK-47s are piled in the corner. Sitting with me in the hut are the SLA soldiers who are assigned to protect the town of Saboon. Laughing and joking we could be anywhere else in world, except we are not any where else, we are in Darfur, in Fur country, in a rebel stronghold. Each man has decorated his body with numerous hijabs to protect him from the enemies’ bullets. Instead of talking about the latest football match they discuss GOS troop movements and relay their fears to me that they believe the government is planning something big in the region. And hundreds of miles away rebel leaders and government officials direct operations and make power moves, while here on the ground boys die in some vain attempt to usher in manhood. What is manhood if it only offers death? It seems that in the end humanity if only made to suffer in this absurd brotherhood of arms. Leaving me only to ask what type of injustice must be suffered to desire peace at the point of a gun?

Wadis, roads, checkpoints, and parties...

2006-08-05T04:17:00.000-06:00

Darfur is a patch work of controlled areas by various armed groups. Within a 30
klm area one could pass through villages and checkpoints controlled by the Government of Sudan (GOS), the SLA (one of the many rebel groups), the Janjaweed, or roaming nomads who have turned into bandit/opportunists during the ongoing conflict. The borders of each stronghold shift like sand blowing in the vast desert and attacks often happen without warning or purpose. This can often make travel a rather precarious situation at best.

As the clock strikes 6pm on Thursday evening and all of us ex-pats flood out of the doors of the weekly security meeting we are all looking forward to the weekend (Fri/Sat here is Sudan) and the upcoming party that ICRC is throwing. Our work day is done and we can finally relax...that is until Sarah gets a call on the radio that our Water and Sanitations team has gotten stuck in a Wadi (river beds that get swollen with water during the rainy season). Normally this would be no problem; this happens all the time to everyone and our trucks are designed to handle it. The problem being that no one is supposed to travel through check points after 6pm and NO ONE should be on the road outside of Nyala after dark! Our truck is conveniently located between the last SLA checkpoint and before the first GOS checkpoint in an area that sees random Janjaweed activity. With no other options, we send two more trucks out to get them unstuck hoping that we can race night fall and get everyone back in time...this plan could work...that is until the rescue truck also gets stuck in the wadi, and when I mean stuck I mean then entire 10ft high truck is submerged under water!

Again our trucks are designed to handle this, but the delay has cost us the last few precious minutes of sun light putting our staff in a dangerous situation. The options being heading back into SLA territory where a bunch of high teenagers are standing guard with guns, staying in the middle of no-mans-land with no proper supplies, or trying to make it into GOS territory at night coming from SLA territory...none of these are good options. We opt for the latter figuring that Sarah, Aaron, and I can head out to the GOS checkpoint and let them know our team is coming.

Unfortunately the normal way to the checkpoint it blocked by a flooded Wadi and out attempt to find another way in the dark gets us very lost in our race against time. Finally the car is stopped and I jump out to convince two local Sudanese to get in the car with us and take us to the check point (Only in Africa would this even be an option). The two wonderful men direct us, as Aaron uses his broken Arabic to explain what’s going on. The flood plains where the checkpoint is located are a vast array of confusion and darkness and before we know what is going on we are being yelled at in Arabic to stop the car as several AK-47 are being pointed at our vehicle...aahh we have found the checkpoint! After making "introductions" and sharing some cigarettes, Aaron (bless his 5 months in Egypt) explains what has happened and Sarah is able to secure passage of our vehicles as long as they come with their hazards on so the guards don't shoot them. The team finally gets back around 10pm, soaked from the neck down after wadding through the wadi, but otherwise unhurt and in remarkably good spirits.

We even have enough time left to make it to the party where a few quick drinks of the local "underground" alcohol (its made from dates, but taste more like gasoline) calms the nerves a bit and gets my dancing feet going for a few rounds of Salsa. This is life here, brief attempts at normalcy in an otherwise chaotic land.

Peace

A comedy of errors

2006-08-03T01:01:00.000-06:00

Consider this the lighter side of otherwise heavy and preachy bloggs, enjoy.

Upon arriving in Nyala I found myself bunking in a small shoebox of room with a large Kenyan named Jim who runs all of our Food Distribution work. And while Jim’s jovial personality and endless wisdom about relief work (5 years in South Sudan and 2 in Eastern Chad) allowed us to become fast friends, it did not convince me that two grown men should be living in a tiny sweat box for the next year. So with that in mind I began my exploration for a new room. I quickly located a nice room on the back of the compound that amounted to a screened in porch. Based on the intense heat the pours down on us most days this option looked perfect for me! I spent the next day moving my bed, dresser, table, and most importantly tying up my hammock! In a stroke of genius I also installed plastic tarps on the outside and rolled them up under the even to pull down in case of a rain or sand storm…as far as I could tell I was all prepared.

…so the first night in the new room I spent with a 24 hr. flu bug that has been going around the office, so the next evening I remember that I have two Cold/Flu Sleep pills (thanks Heidi) that should assure me a good nights sleep. As I rest my head back on the pillow a cool breeze covers my body and I drift away looking forward to a good nights sleep. The next thing I remember I am waking up with the sound of a waterfall raging all around me…oh yea did I mention it’s the rainy season now…it turns out that while I was sleeping a huge storm front has moved in and decided to dump several months worth of water at one time. My ingenious tarps are doing me no good rolled up under the eve and getting out to unroll them would simply defeat the purpose of having them. So like a caption going down with his ship I grabbed my only long sleeve shirt (the wind was blowing like a hurricane) and wrapped myself in my sheet to battle the storm. As the rain begin to let up I began to drift back into a victorious slumber, unfortunately the storm had knocked out our power so as soon as I closed my eyes the generator (located behind the wall right next to my room) kicked on with the roar of a lion. Of course the generator dilemma was short lived because the rain quickly picked up to Noah’s Ark levels. Still I was undaunted…until I realized that the cross beam above my bed was collecting water and raining it down right on top of me. I attempted to then move under my bed, but the small pool that had been gathering on the floor from the water blowing into my room prevented that option from succeeding. Finally with my head held in the shame of abandonment I made a mad dash for main living area of the compound, only to find myself sprawled out on my back on the floor when I discovered a leak in the ceiling of the entrance way. I eventually crawled my way to the living room where I curled up on the floor finally looking forward to at least a few hours of precious sleep…and then the power came back on, along with all the lights, TVs, and radios in the house! As I turned everything off all I could do was laugh, I’m not sure if it was a laugh of insanity or pity or simply realizing how funny all of this would be if it was happening to someone other then me. Never the less as I finally fell asleep with the Muslim call to prayer ringing in my ears I had an odd smile on my face…such is life I suppose.

Rambling thoughts, journeys unfold...

2006-07-28T08:56:00.000-06:00

Its the green that strikes me as I land, unexpected and yet welcomed...the rainy season is here, I've known it for a while, but the lush hills and storm clouds in the distance offer a picture of something vastly different then the heat and squalor the media captures. This is Nyala...at least for a few months, the rain offering a reprieve of sorts to the millions who call this home. In a way I suppose my presence here is supposed to offer a sort of reprieve as well to the people of Darfur...I feel like the two months of rain might be more effective...

Walkie-talkies blare, Land Rovers roar, security reports are issued, and crewfews enforced...the tired eyes of the locals and workers pass by in the blur of sorts, off to the office or the field or the home or market. Life goes on, in all place life goes on. It’s the sad and beautiful truth of our existence as human beings...captured daily and splashed across our televisions. Here it’s up close, the weekly security meeting speaks of raids conducted, roads that are unsafe, and shots that have been fired. While at home BBC talks of places far away; of bombs dropped, civilians starving, and fear gripping millions across the world.

My head swims. I'm angry, frustrated, sad, and confused.

500 civilians are dead in Lebanon and the world does nothing...friends say they won't be going home to Beirut any time soon, faces cry on TV, and thousands huddle in bomb shelters in Haifa when air raid siren go off...and somewhere someone believes that its worth it...

The DRC is set to have their first "free" elections in 40 years...the police shot at a local political rally and the Catholic Church has called for a boycott on grounds of vote rigging...

Hugo Chavez thanks Russia for selling it military weapons...

Exxon Mobil made $10.4 Billion dollars in profits this quarter, a 36% increase...

The rain has stopped for a moment. It’s quiet in the muddy streets, I think I'll go for a walk and try not to think about any thing...at least for a moment.

Journey of Arrival

2006-07-20T11:08:00.000-06:00

As the searing heat disappears into cool of the oncoming evening the sun cast a dusty glow over the city. Stretching as far as the eye can see a vast array of unfinished brick building, standing only one or two stories, occupies the landscape. The half completed houses, steel rebar poking out from the top, plastic tarps forming makeshift roofs and windows, and ally ways lined with rubble and old bottles. This is the ever familiar scene of a third world city. Dust clouds raise and vehicles rumble over unfinished roads and children play in the street with what ever objects are available to them. This is Khartoum, as much as it is El Alto or Lusaka or Phnom Pen. It is the striking similarities that define the forgotten cities of the world, voicing a credo that seems to say “almost.”

It is a land that has become so familiar to me that I nearly call it home, hesitating only due to the realization of the injustice that statement would represent to the people who do not have the choice to leave it as I do. As night approaches and we make our way through the streets crowded with UN Land Rovers and military vehicles I am certain that everything is new to me…and that I have been here before.

Roadblocks along the way

2006-07-19T12:41:00.000-06:00

In any true adventure into the developing world one is bound to run across the ever enjoyable buerocracy that rules the day. Take for example getting a visa into Sudan...now this is a process that is to be handled by the office in the states and once the issue is resolved my visa/passport will be FEDEX to me with no problems (ha). So the journey beings...

1st snag-The Sudanese Embassy decides to send my visa/passport back to my home address in Chicago instead of to work. This might only be a minor problem if they would have gotten the address right; instead they made an interesting combination between Chicago and Boston.

2nd snag-In order to save time my wonderful family (I really do thank you for all of your help) decides to FEDEX it to me. FEDEX explains that it will get to Cairo by Tuesday and be delivered to my hotel. On Tuesday I get a call from FEDEX that informs me that the package has arrived...

ME-"Wonderful, when will it be at my hotel"
FEDEX GUY-"well it is being held in Customs, so we need a copy of your passport and a release form from you"
ME-"ok fine, so will I get my package after that"
FEDEX GUY-"NO"
ME-"WHY"
FEDEX GUY-"Customs has to hold the package for 24 hours after receiving the release form in order to inspect it and process it"
ME-"What, that's nuts, its frigg'n passport, what is there to inspect"
FEDEX GUY-"that's the rules"
ME-"why didn't you tell me this before I sent the package, I could have sent it to you three days ago"
FEDEX GUY-"It's not our job to know the customs rules and regulations; we didn't know they would do this"
ME-"Aren't you and international shipping company, if it's not your job then who in the hell is supposed to know!"
FEDEX GUY-"also you have to pay a 140 Egyptian Pound customs fee"
ME-"Again, something that I should have known before all of this!"
ME-"So you can at least promise me that you will drop it at my hotel tomorrow night"
FEDEX GUY-"no, our last currier takes his route at 4pm, and you package won't clear customs until 5pm"
ME-"so let me get this straight, I hired you to deliver my package two days late, make me pay extra customs duties, and to come and pick it up myself"
FEDEX GUY-"YES"

Well that's life I suppose, never the less I have my plane ticket (another fun story) and my visa/passport is secured. I will arrive in Khartoum at 5am on Thursday and go from there. Always an adventure.

Small Paths to Far Off Places

2006-07-16T02:38:00.000-06:00

Throughout my years of travel I have found that the most beautiful and heartbreaking part of the world in which we live is our interconnectedness. No matter how hard we humans try to live a life of isolation we are unable to do it. More and more each day the acts at one end of the world effect people on the other. I am not speaking merely of world oil prices and the effects of globalization, although the statement is true there as well. But rather I am thinking of the interconnectedness of human individuals.

Over a week ago a plane crash in Pakistan took the life of my friend's fathers. A year ago I would have never even heard of this crash and it would not have affected my life in any way. Now I hear of this accident and my eyes fill with tears and my heart breaks knowing the pain and sorrow that my friend and her family must be going through. I am frustrated by the fact that while I can get this information in a heartbeat, I am still separated physically by thousands of miles of space. Des[ite my frustration, my emails and phone calls offer me an opportunity that was not available a mere 15 years ago…a chance to reach out in a small way to someone I love.

This is the pain and the beauty of our global body, when one part hurts we all feel it. I would not trade the joy and happiness of my relationships around the world for anything, but the price to pay is that now the bombs in Gaza, the killings in Iraq, and the plane crashes in Pakistan are apart of me in a way they never where before. We should all be thankful for this, despite the pain it may cause. It allows us to remember those around the world in our hearts and prayers and hopefully moves us towards action to ease the pain…even if it can only be a phone call or an email.

I love you Saman, we all do

Faces along the journey

2006-07-07T01:16:00.000-06:00

Traveling is a vivid collage of life's details, the pain and the suffering next to the beauty and joy that make up the lives we all live. As we separate ourselves from the familiar and venture into the unknown we are able to more clearly see these details.

Often in my travels the pain and injustice seem the most striking and capture my mind and heart which is then poured out on paper or in conversation. But the true beauty of the road are the faces that you meet along the way that offer you a glimpse of something that you didn't know before...something that changes who you are...

Ben was formerly in the Special Forces for the Israeli Defense Force until a suicide bombing terribly injured his leg and almost cost him his life. As we sat and spoke about life while enjoying a few glasses of wine he taught me that it is still possible to respect and even love your enemies even under the most difficult of circumstances...he gave me hope

Stumbling across the Jordanian border I found myself at a bit of loss on how to continue my way to Amman, until I ran into Yngvil. Yngvil works as the Middle East correspondant for the major newspaper in Norway and currently lives in Jerusalem. Her fluent Arabic and years of experience in the area made travel a breeze and her perspective on the conflict opened my eyes to new angels. As she shared about her interviews with Yasser Arafat, Palestinian militants, and Israeli Generals and their humility or pride I saw the weakness in us all and continued to be humbled

With a sketch book, pencils, and chalk in his bag David has made it from Scotland through Egypt and onto Jordan with a wide array of material. David won the biggest art scholarship in Scotland last year and has dedicated his project to following the path of the Alchemist of old from Egypt all the way to Hungry. His mere sketches of Petra took my breath, but his explanation that he views himself as the apprentice, the one who is truly transformed in the process of alchemy, is what took my heart. Never stop the changing force of life.

As the border guards went through every item in my bag as I tried to make it back to Israel, Samir waited patiently for me so that our bus to Tel Aviv won't leave me behind (delayed two hours at the border!). Samir is a Palestinian with Israeli citizenship who laughed and shared smiles and jokes with me even as we passed the prisons along the road that hold thousands of Palestinians. You could see the frustration in his eyes as we passed them, but a hope in his voice that at least we would learn something by seeing them as well.

Hey Mate! Rang out from waiting room, as a friendly Australian stuck his hand out at the Egyptian Embassy. Tim has been traveling all over the world shooting a documentary on how different societies deal with the social problems in their home countries. From the US to India and now the Middle East he has lived with the homeless, the oppressed, and the broken in order to begin to understand how they live. With a huge smile on his face he gives every person he meets a thumbs up and a resounding "thanks mate!" He tells me all this is new to his young and easy life back in Australia, he is eager to learn and eager to love...if only we could all be like Tim

This is just a tiny dip into the richness of the people I have met along the way and how they have changed me. This is the fun part of life, where joy is found...and I am so thankful.

Tanks line the road

2006-06-29T07:30:00.000-06:00

As I sit at my computer watching the images flashing across Al-Jazeera on TV I am joined in gripped suspense by millions across the Middle East. In less than a week the already hopeless situation of a Palestinians in the Gaza strip has spiraled towards destruction. Israeli tanks crowd across the southern boarder as jets scream across the sky launching missile attacks against bridges and electrical plants. Some where amidst the dark and destruction a 19 year old Jewish boy sits in captivity wanting for political powers far greater than him to decide his fate.

Sitting in Amman I can hear in the people’s voices the fear, anger, and mistrust of Israel continue to raise as each day passes. Those voices ask a similar question "Why is it that when Palestine captures an Israeli soldier it is kidnapping, yet when Israel captures 20 Hamas government leaders it is called arrest?"

Underneath the anger, the desire for revenge, and the frustration that both sides certainly feel there are hurting and broken people. Somewhere people are weeping for what has been lost. Somewhere God is weeping for what has taken place. And somewhere else people turn off their TV and go about their day.

A friend of mine once said "We are all wonderful Muslims, Christians, and Jews...but we are terrible humans."

Salaam

The road to Masada

2006-06-25T02:56:00.000-06:00

Masada lies at the southern end of the Dead Sea. Once built as a palace for Herod, it eventually became refuge for Jewish rebels under Roman occupation. After the second temple was destroyed in Jerusalem, the few rebels that where left headed south to Masada, a huge fortress that sits high on a single plateau over looking vast stretches of desert and the Dead Sea. Nearly 1000 Jews, men, women, and children fled to Masada with an entire Roman legion in pursuit. The Romans completely surrounded the fort and for nearly 3 years built a siege ramp in order to attack. Finally the ramp was completed and the walls of the fortress where destroyed, leaving nothing in the way of the advancing Roman forces. Having no where to go the Jews where forced between certain slavery or death. On the fateful night before the Roman forces advanced through the destroyed walls, all of the inhabitants of the fort, including women and children, committed suicide as their final act of defiance against Rome. Today the Jewish army takes a loyalty oath on Masada before beginning their time of service, a type of symbol of the Jews desire to live in a free homeland.

As I walked the ancient ruins of this place all I could feel was a deep sense of sadness. Thousands of years ago Jews chose death over occupation and oppression, today they find themselves the occupiers and oppressors. I am saddened because the Jewish people feel that this is necessary action to create a home, and I am saddened that death is the only option the Palestinian’s feel is available to defend a home. How terribly sad and ironic it is that two peoples can share such an understanding and yet are never able to truly see the other side.

This is a land filled with religious pilgrims who have come here to view the history of their personal faiths. Yet the glaring reality of the tragedy of faith is missed completely as they board their buses and buy their postcards. What type of faith is this?

Kill the Buddha

2006-06-14T09:09:00.000-06:00

It is said that if you meet the Buddha along the road you must kill the Buddha. In order to gain true enlightenment you must remove the one final standard set ahead of you and live as a lamp unto yourself. So much of our lives revolve around the standards and expectation of those around us. In the words of Howard Roark "If any man stopped and asked himself whether he's ever held a truly personal desire, he'd find the answer. He'd see that all his wishes, his efforts, his dreams, his ambitions are motivated by other men."

How clearly these words resonate in my ears, a type of alarm for a life lived half asleep to the directions, expectations, and opinions of those around me. And while I would not champion the total individualism of Ayn Rand's Mr. Roark, there is still much truth to be grasped in those words. In a few short days I depart for Sudan, taking the first steps on a new path that has been long coming. This blogg hopes to capture a small bit of a new life, and allow those of you who care to read it, a fuller understanding of what is going in Darfur. I offer no pretense for the words to be written on these pages, I only promise them to be honest. Enjoy the blogg; comment, critique, ridicule, and ignore at will because in the end the entries are probably more for me then for you. Regardless, I thank you in advance for taking the time to read, I hope that it is worth your while.

Peace