Contingency Plan Sudan

Out of the Sud

2008-09-05T14:03:00.004+03:00

I'm officially out of the Sudan now. We actually made it out last Tuesday, but I've been in transit all over the place for the last week and am now getting settled in Western Kenya.

After a month of heavy rains, the reliability of our airstrip in Pagak had become pretty questionable. There is a UN charter flight every Thursday that, for about a hundred bucks, will take you from Upper Nile to Juba in just a few hours. Before the plane touches down, the pilot does a once over to see if the dirt airstrip is muddy or has standing water that will foul the landing gear. Most pilots will just keep the party train moving if they see any sign of water. The Russian guys will land in a swamp. We had a heavy rain a few days before last Thursday's scheduled flight. It's not normally a problem, but the dirt levee guarding the channel that drains all of the water from the high end of the airstrip to the river broke down leaving the airstrip a bit ''marshy.''

At the same time, two of the other guys in the compound were making their exit on foot along the former repatatriation corridor between Pagak and Kuergeng, Ethiopia. In all it is about 25 kilometers or so and takes most of the local Nuer only about three or four hours to walk it. I decided to tag along--I figured that the UNDSS plan would probably leave me in Pagak for an extra week or two and that I would end up walking to Ethiopia anyway. It looked promising for an experience and seemed to be a fitting one for the end of my time in Sudan.

We woke up early, about 5 in the morning. I had my usual breakfast of tea with a half a mug of sugar and powdered cream. I lost my shoes about a month earlier on a previous supply run to Ethiopia and had been wearing blue "floaters", these puffy plastic sandals that I bought for a buck and a half that are moulded to resemble real shoes. They lacked an ankle strap so I fashioned one using duct tape, some nylon rope, and a couple of socks that I cut up for padding. I still had my gumboots, but the water level is too high and the boots would be useless for the trek. When the other guys saw my new homemade shoes, they laughed and Kenneth lent me his sneakers.

As we left Pagak, the trip went as previous ones had, stepping on broken maize stalks and grass to gain traction in the mud. We took a detour around the area with the crocodiles just at the edge of town and continued along the muddy path that leads to the Ethiopian border. Not long after we left the path disappeared and turned into a swamp. The luggage went on heads, and we started wading through it. Within about 10 minutes, the water, which was at about knee level was rising rapidly. For a shorty like me, eventually the water topped out at about my shoulders. Its slow going walking in water. You have to make sure that your feet don't get tangled in the underwater foliage or get snagged on thorns. With the wrong footing it would be easy to dump your luggage from your head into the muddy depths. The rains are also great for taking all of the crap, of which I mean in the literal sense, that usually sits on walking paths and int he bushes and turns everything into a muddy poopy mess.

The border is only a few kilometers away, though it took us about two hours to get there. At the border there is a collapsed bridge spanning a small river that separates two bored looking soldiers from their respective militaries. A month ago, the bridge was easily passable on quad bike but the water was now rushing over the top of it and when crossing, you have to sort of have faith that there will be bridge solidy beneath your feet.

The path that we normally take now looked like a stream. Althogh the fields around it were also flooded, its lack of foliage made it the easiest path for the movement of water. After some time, we reached an actual river that I had remembered from previous trips as a big depression that you drive through, down about 20 feet and then back up again. Now, on either side of the banks there were a bunch of people waiting to cross. Some girls had created a system, by which they would swim giant buckets across the river containing luggage or other carried items away from the water's reach. As you swim across it, you have to cut left hard and hug the tree-line. Immediately the strong downstream current whips you along with it and you have to power through to the other side before you get taken somewhere into what just looks like a tangled mess of trees, vines, and grass. After a few trips back across to pick up other guys in our party, it was back to walking along the flooded path.

About half way, the water level dropped from waist level to nothing and in some parts dried up completely. For these stretches it was punishing. Earlier, the muddy water would help to keep you cool and when you get overheated you just duck beneath its dubious surface. It was now midday and hot as hell. There is mud but, the steamy hot kind kind that you sink down to about your knees and have to pull your leg out with your arms. We only had a few litres of water between us and I was rationing my precious liter with mathematic precision.

After about 7 hours I saw a radio antenna in the distance that lets you know you are about to reach Kuergeng. I poured the last remnants of my water down the ol' gullet and gambled that we would get there soon. What an idiot. Turns out that it was one of those mirages, where you keep walking and it never seems to get closer. By now, the heat, no food, and no water was starting to take its toll. I was grateful for the final stretch-about 3 kilometers of waist high muddy water. I was starting to get heat exhaustion and needed the water to cool off. Only now the water had absorbed all of the midday heat and was like a muddy spa. It took all of my energy to get to dry land and as I staggered out into a village just short of the town, a pissed off Nuer guy started shaking his fist at me. I realized that I had stepped on his levee that kept his village area dry and water was now spilling into it. He saw that I was not really in much of a condition for anything, softened, and pointed out the direction I needed to go to town.

We finally made it. 8 or 9 hours later we reached a hotel restaurant where we had some water, soda, and crackers. My stomach was not really with it enough from the heat exhaustion to have much water, but I forced some in--took half an orange soda and waited to get the sugar levels back to normal. The ride from Kuergeng to Gambella is only about an hour and a half but it was enough to get me back into normal condition. We reached our hotel in Gambella, where I promptly ordered and ate two dinners.

I'll let you know how the trip to Addis, Nairobi, and out here to Nyanza went. The mattatu ride out here was a few hours on a horrible road and one of the wheels fell off, but rural Kenya is beyond sweet. I'm hanging out on a hill overlooking lake Victoria eating 15 cent samosas and giant deep fried Tilapia.

Updates at Long Last

2008-08-23T21:19:00.002+03:00

Hi all. Sorry for the lack of updates for the past two weeks or so. My laptop finally succumbed to the field and is out of commission until I get back. I'm now using an old Dell desktop that is shared amongst three others. That also means that photos are also a no go for a while.

That is not to say that things haven't been lively around here though. After we had our most recent supply drop, we've been having non-stop programming. The week before last, the village health committee got off the ground and we had a three-day, eight-hour training workshop for about 40 people. We trained them on how to deliver health messages in their respective villages and created and action plan for forming a local management committee to take greater involvement in operating the clinic and dealing with issues that come up.

Then we had a second de-worming event at the refugee waystation. This one targeted another 300 children who were given de-worming pills (mmmmm!) and a mosquito net. This was also about the time that we ran out of food at our compound and had been subsisting on scraps of rice and beens for about a week. The waystation has three giant ostriches that are kept there as pets and we started planning for Operation Ostrich Liberation, which is where you sneak into the waystation and eat their pets. Unfortunately, a two-meter tall bird resembling a Velociraptor is unlikely to be hidden in a large shirt.

This week, we had two more training workshops--one for the teachers at the Early Childhood Centers and one for parents. After two or three weeks of bad weather and no supplies the last two weeks have been ridiculously packed. They've also given me a chance to get the documentary filming into high gear. Today, I shot my 33rd hour and have been interviewing parents, teachers, and pretty much everyone I run into. Every person that I've interviewed was either a refugee or child soldier during the war--and this from one of the safest regions during the fighting. I wish I had another two weeks to shore up the footage, there is still a lot to cover and it has only been within the past weeks that I've been able to get where I need to be to talk to people.

Good news though, I am making my escape on Tuesday with the end result of finding my way to Addis Ababa by Saturday. Bad news is that after heavy heavy rains the airstrip is no longer functioning reliably and the road to Ethiopia is covered in a few feet of water. David, Duncan, and I are going to make the trek to Ethiopia on foot through about 30k of what now looks like the Everglades, but with crocodiles instead of alligators. Good news is that once I get to Kuergen and then Gambella, there should be real food! Meat, vegetables, the whole lot. The best news is that after Saturday, I'll be spending my last two weeks going cross country in Kenya and chilling in Nyanza near Lake Victoria. More to come on plans for the developing exodus to food and freedom!

After a Week of Not too Much to Report, the Plane Comes

2008-08-09T13:33:00.005+03:00

Sorry for the lack of updates, but this past week has been pretty slow. Plagued by a lack of drugs in the clinic and no money for programs or to pay salaries, it had seemed as though things had sort of ground to a halt. However, yesterday our charter plane made it in just before the rains opened up and was able to deliver boxes of much needed drugs from the Southern Sudan Ministry of Health.

Hopefully this means that starting this next week we can get back to our programs. Things were starting to get a touch of the old cabin fever for a while. As in, when you hear an engine of sorts outside the compound, you run over to the fence to gawk at whatever/whoever is passing by. Maybe not the best use of time but it does provide for intermittent entertainment. Even better, we've been watching the Olympics pretty much non-stop on the sat TV in the dining hall. The opening ceremony rocked my world.

Weekend Supply Drop and Other Fun

2008-08-03T22:01:00.005+03:00

On Saturday, our long anticipated charter flight arrived. We were to receive supplies, the most important of which were the drugs for the local clinic. Unfortunately, either due to a delay in the delivery to Juba or some other mishap, the only things on the flight were materials for the Early Child Development program, including about a dozen easel chalkboards. Even worse that meant we had to go our Monday meeting about the drug supply problems with less than awesome news.

Despite the small setback with the charter, the weekend was great. A second UN flight came and the UNICEF officer who had been stranded in Pagak and for the past week had been staying in our compound was able to leave. The UN flight brought somebody important--perhaps a new local administrator, as the flight was greeted with far more people than the usual crowd for a plane landing. The rest of the weekend was marked with non-stop women singing and drum music. Homemade hooch (a rough but potent home brew of yeast and sugar) flowed freely throughout town.

Sunday was a nice day of rest. I slept in until about 10 and just sort of fumbled around for a few hours, not doing anything in particular. Lunch was the usual blend of rice and baked beans. Afterwards though, we finished preparing a goat head for a much better and far more satisfying meal. Lately, we've been keeping the head after the goats have been slaughtered. Usually we send them home with somebody. However, the last two times one of the guys has commandeered it for a special treat--Kenyan style. Preparing it is a two day process. First it is put on a rock or grill on the fire. The heat quickly singes the hair and carbonizes the skin, locking in the moisture on the inside. Then you take a knife an scrape off all of the blackened outer layer and repeat until the outside is at the perfect consistency and the inside is mostly cooked. The next day, the head is slowly cooked in water with some spices and greens. After a few hours you have a delicious spicy soup as well as a bunch of delicious meat. Everything gets eaten and nothing is wasted.

After sitting around eating goat, we had a few cold beers and retired for a nice long afternoon siesta. Sudan can be tough sometimes and development work is painstakingly slow but its nice those times when you can laze back embrace it and have yourself a mini-vacation.

Also, in what would be great news, a malaria vaccine has shown effective results in clinical animal trials and is now set to be tested on human candidates.

Back in the Pag

2008-07-30T15:54:00.005+03:00

Made it back to Pagak after two nights across the border in Gambella, Ethiopia. The trip there wasn'tt terribly eventful--an hour and a half quad-bike ride to Kuergen across the border and then another hour and a half drive from Kuergen to Gambella.

We arranged to buy two drums of diesel from some lady on a weird side. Our order wouldn't be ready until the following day so we extended what was to be an overnight stay. Gambella wasn't too exciting but it was sure nice to get out of the compound and have some fresh food. Bread totally rocks my world. Hardcore. Unfortunately Wandera was sick most of the time with some sort of pneumonia so after dinner we didn't really do much.

On our final morning we hit each shop that we needed to visit to buy supplies--disinfectant, rope, and the like. We also cleaned out the market buying up as many fresh(ish) tomatoes, cabbage, oranges, and lentils as we could fit on the bikes. We loaded up the LandCruiser, sort of slipped past the bored looking policeman on the road to Kuergan (who could cause problems for anyone trying to bring goods out of the country).

While we were unloading the LandCruiser at the police station in Kuergan where we had stashed the quad-bikes, some nasty looking rain clouds started in on us. You could see where it was just pounding the trees and grass off in the distance. The foreground was nice and clear but the trees about 500 yards away were obscured by a grey black veil of heavy rain. We started off about two minutes before the rain caught up with us. And when it did catch us, things became tough, real fast. The dirt road from Pagak to Kuergan normally passable by quadbike started to flood so we had to race through the bush where the grass would grind into the mud to provide more traction. The hot humid air transformed into a vicious cold wind as we barreled through it on the bikes. And then we started loosing the food. Every few minutes a cabbage, tomato, or some other precious piece of produce would fly off the back and sink beneath the muck somewhere behind us. I had already lost my sandals, headphones, and lens cap on the previous journey and now the delicious food was now going overboard. A giant hole in the cheap plastic bag holding our lentils opened up behind me and I could feel kilogram after kilogram of tiny beans filling the back of my pants and subsequently became a mushy ersatz turd. The cardboard box on the other quad-bike melted in the rain dumping out the disinfectant and other random things all over the place. We hit a bad spot and the bike started to sink down in the mud and despite much coaxing rolled over on its side dumping passenger and produce into a huge pool of mud and feces. Some kids though, watching with amusement our slo-mo disaster, were kind enough to come help us right the bike and retrieve the lost goodies.

We made it back to Pagak without further incident. Pagak bridge was not yet flooded so we were able to just roll on over. In another week though it will become impassable and the bikes will have to be floated across on an oil drum raft. But for now, we have another few weeks worth of fresh food and two months of gas!

Off to Ethiopia Again

2008-07-26T11:07:00.003+03:00

Heading out in a few minutes to find some food and fuel across the ol' border. I should be back sometime tomorrow or the next day. Hooray for vegetables and lights!

Night time is nice

2008-07-24T20:18:00.007+03:00

Once the generator dies at night, it becomes so dark that you can see more stars than in most places in the world. The air is devoid of pollution and there is literally no artificial light for hundreds of miles. The Milky Way is pretty sweet.

On an entirely different note, you should totally check out this website

The Rains Cometh!

2008-07-24T12:31:00.005+03:00

When I woke up yesterday, there was something crazy flapping behind the curtain. I pulled it away and found this little guy just sort of watching things from the wrong side of the window.

We had a pretty gnarly thunderstorm during the night and apparently he decided that my room would be good shelter from the storm. Fine by me. I opened up the little glass slats that is my window and let him go on his way.

In the morning, I headed down to the clinic to help out and try to do some damage control on the drug shortage issue. While I was there, I helped one of the staff reorganize the store-room into something a bit more coherent. Previously, all of the drugs and supplies were just sort of stored haphazardly in quarter full cardboard boxes around the tiny room. As we started shelving the supplies, I realized quite how out of drugs they were. Aside from a few bottles of antibiotics and Lidocaine, not much else was there. For some reason, though, there was a ton of dextrose saline bags meant for IV drips. Which is great, but it’s tough when there isn’t much else to give.

On my last few visits, I’ve been meeting with patients, which is strange, since many people assume that I’m a doctor because I am white. Which could be bad given that I don’t have any drugs. Two days ago I visited a guy with severe advanced Pneumonia. If you put a stethoscope up to his back, his left lung sounded fine but not much was going on in the right one. Not even much of a rattle or wheeze. Not good. He’s been on, you guessed it, an IV drip as well a high dose of antibiotics. Yesterday the staff was feeding him a plate of brown gruel covered with cloudy murky water.

After I returned to the compound, the sky opened up. Not quite like before, but much worse. It was only about 12:30, but the sky looked like it was about eight at night. Not good. Within about 20 minutes, everything started flooding.

There is a shallow drainage channel that funnels the water from the center of the compound out onto the airstrip. The problem occurs when it comes down faster than the channel can handle. One side of the compound, the one on slightly higher ground, was fine. As for the other one, well…

Oddly enough, by the end of the day the water was gone and things were just back to mudtown as usual. The heavy rains that were supposed to have started weeks ago now seem to be upon us after a brief delay.

Rough Day

2008-07-21T21:31:00.003+03:00

So yesterday the plan was to head down to the ECD center with some meds, mosquito nets, and registration forms to deworm the ECD kids. That was the plan. And deworm we did. About 200 parents and kids showed up for the event.

Unfortunately, the procedures for the actual registration and de-worming were a bit...ahem...underdeveloped. And by underdeveloped I mean chaotic. It started out simple enough. Duncan and Jaffar gave a talk about malaria, how it is transmitted, and how people can protect themselves. They gave a demonstration on how to put together and properly use one of the Long Lasting Insecticide Treated Nets. Later we divided everybody up into about four or five groups and one or two of us manned each one with local translators (except for Judith who had to enlist the help of some of the students from her social marketing youth group). We wrote down the name of each child and parent we treated, checked it against our ECD list, and gave each de-worming pills. We gave the youngest children got a mosquito net. Despite the disordered craziness, it was going great.

That is until the nets and the meds meant for the ECD kids ran out. Leaving a lot of very pissed off people wondering where their goodies were. There were even people there from Ethiopia who had heard about the even through the vast informal network and had walked with kids all the way from Kuergen--about a six hour walk. When we started to wrap up, most just begged for any of the goods. It was terribly difficult to tell them that we only had enough drugs and nets for the young kids that attended the center. Many though, were a bit more vociferous in demanding the nets and the meds. It's entirely understandable, they walked from who knows where, waited for several hours, watched others get meds and nets, only to be denied at the end. On the other hand it got a bit nasty as pleas turned into yelling in some cases. I'm not sure who did it, but I definitely got whacked over the head with a stick or a piece of rope while I was kneeling in the other direction.

As I mentioned previously, aid dependency is a very real problem and yesterday, thanks in part to some disorganization and poor planning, it reared its nasty side. The trick of it all is to somehow continue to ensure that basic goods and services are in some way being produced and distributed, even as NGO's shift their programming away from relief aid towards development. And avoid getting smacked in the process.

Security Level in Upper Nile Increased...

2008-07-20T20:40:00.002+03:00

...due to increased river pirate activity. Seriously, river pirates? What's that about?

Weekend of Mud

2008-07-20T11:21:00.000+03:00

We've had non-stop rain this weekend...which means non-stop mud. Unfortunately, it also means that not much can really be done. Except watch the UFO and alien marathon on the National Geographic--all day. We have satellite TV while the generator is on for its few hours today. The best we can come up with is a UFO marathon? Seriously. In the last five minutes, I heard the phrase "moon germs." Moon germs. Didn't National Geographic used to be a respectable programming network? The other option is the early 1990's movie "The Road to Christmas". Which may be how I spend the day if I have to watch another dramatic recreation of alien experimentation.

Anyhow, here are some pictures of the old mudpound from the weekend. If anyone is interested, I should be an expert on aliens by the the end of the day.

Courtesy of Miss Judis:

On the bright side, at least the rain washed off our dinner! Potato Time!

DIY Haircut

2008-07-19T20:03:00.008+03:00

Success.

Failure.

The Drug Shortage Continues

2008-07-19T09:45:00.008+03:00

Yesterday, we met again at the PHCC to discuss the complete shortage of drugs. The supply of the critical drugs like Quinine is no worse today than it was yesterday (Still nearly at 0), but tensions over it have been steadily increasing. The clinic staff is anxious over the clinic's condition. And rightfully so. They've also been working without salary for quite some time now. Last year, when the same issue came to a breaking point, one of our staff was arrested by the local police for not suppling the clinic with drugs.

I'm afraid, that this is where things are headed again. That is, unless we get the drugs here very soon. One of the community health mobilizers, a 20 year veteran of the war, likened the situation to sending soldiers into battle with no bullets. It reminded him of the time when he was given only two bullets for his rifle before a large engagement, fired them off within the first few minutes and had to run away. That's not something you want your operation compared too. Another second problem is lights. If a patient comes in at night--too bad. Without a generator to supply electricity, the staff have to work by flashlight or tell the patient to return in the morning. SC had provided the clinic with a solar powered lamp, but it has gone missing in action--likely stolen and sold in some market somewhere.

The problem is a complex one. It begs the question--what are the roles and responsibilities of NGO's in post-conflict countries? Especially those that have long existed as a humanitarian emergency that required the direct distribution of aid. Duncan raised an interesting point, that when John Garang signed the CPA in 2005, it signaled the end to most organizations relief operations in Sudan. Many have packed up and left, but others like SC are switching their programming from relief to development. Aid dependence is a legacy of that time that will continue to affect life far after the end of the conflict. And that's why this drug problem is becoming so acute. The bureaucratic foul-ups and transport issues that have prevented the drug distribution aside (and I assure you there have been many), the current problem highlights the increasing divergence of community expectations and the responsibilities of organizations as they view themselves. Community ownership of NGO programming and aid dependence are competing values--you can't have both. At the same time, with an infant government of Southern Sudann (GoSS), public goods are in short supply and organizations cannot entirely abandon certain relief efforts wholesale. Although that was not the intention of the drug shortage at the clinic, it has functioned as such. One day the clinic had drugs, the next day it didn't.

And yet, what happens if a shipment of drugs is able to get through in the next month? What happens after the rush on drugs a month later when the clinic is again empty? You are back to square one--and that seems to have been the case during the period when our staff was arrested over the shortage a year ago and the situation today. Who is to say that won't be the situation again a year from now? Whose responsibility is it ultimately in the long run to keep drugs stocked at the clinic.

We talked about our two-pronged approach. On the one hand, we are trying to get the drugs here. Some are sitting somewhere in the region, but apparently there is no way to get them here given the weather. The roads are flooded. The other is where the idea of a Village Health Committee comes in. Curative medicine is critical. A person becomes sick with a life threatening disease and they need drugs and treatment to recover. Otherwise they die. However, so many of the diseases here are preventable. Not entirely, but with better sanitation facilities, knowledge of the spread of disease, and basic precautions the rates of infection will decrease. If you can involve community stakeholders to become directly engaged in managing and solving these issues than you have a program that is sustainable. When NGO's eventually leave,or the drug supply again runs out again, the region will be less likely to plummet back into a health disaster. The problem is, thats a hard place to get to.

The drug supply issue is threatening to undercut the VHC program. Why should individuals help us mobilize others to spread awareness of a clinic's services if the community can't receive treatment there? The short answer goes back to the importance of shifting attitudes towards accepting and using good health practices. This would continue to reduce of the burden on the curative side of managing endemic health problems and makes for a better, self-sufficient society. Yet this is something that is, at its core, an exercise dependent upon trust-building. Without resolving the drug issue expediently, this trust is going to be in limited supply.

Drugless in Pagak

2008-07-17T21:14:00.004+03:00

Today, Duncan, Titus, Jaffar, and I went to the local Payam administrators to try to get them on board with the creation of the Village Health Committee. They gave us a tentative go ahead and agreed to call all of the local Boma (village) chiefs together tomorrow so we can discuss the process of selecting a man and woman to represent each Boma in the committee. We were, however, lectured at length about the lack of drugs at the Public Health Community Center (PHCC). It seems that not only has there been a complete lack of drugs at the clinic, but also the staff have not been paid salary in some months. The drug shortage is starting to reach a critical level and risks jeopardizing the programs we are working on.

Earlier, I went to the clinic with Jaffar to check up on a woman who was admitted yesterday with a severe case of cerebral malaria. The problem is that the PHCC is at a total lack of drugs, including the quinine that is necessary to treat Malaria. Cerebral malaria is what happens when malaria goes from bad to worse. The parasite crosses the blood brain barrier and the infected individual will no longer respond to a strong dose of prophylaxis (which can only treat malaria while it is still in the bloodstream. Without treatment it leads to coma and eventually death. Despite the lack of quinine, someone in her family was able to buy a dose in the local market.

Jaffar and I went to the two small shops where drugs are sold to see if we could track down some quinine. You need about four or five doses to make a decent recovery from such a severe case (Each dose contains six mini-doses that are administered intravenously). Although the woman had received one, the chances are high that she would soon relapse into a severe case or, even worse, one that is quinine resistant. The first chemist we went to was not only out of quinine, but also most antibiotics and other drugs that would be helpful in treating severe cases. The second chemist had a small supply of quinine at about 60 Birr (about six bucks) a dose. I really wanted to buy the woman a second dose, but with my Ethiopian currency supply dwindling, I came up about a dollar short. Hopefully the woman's family can come up with enough cash for her to finish the treatment.

Malaria season is just kicking into high gear. Last August, of the hundred or so cases at the clinic, seven people died. This August, I am going to try to increase my ground time at the clinic and cover the Malaria season in video.

The other case was a young girl who was bitten by a snake. Again, the lack of drugs means that she will not be able to receive the anti-venom she needs to make a reasonable recovery. They started her on a course of antibiotics to prevent infection, but once necrosis sets in she will have to be sent to a better clinic, perhaps in Malakal (quite some distance from here).

The drug situation is a tough one. Even if we were to have a ready supply of drugs in Juba, like most other supplies, it is near impossible to get them up here. A better solution would be to purchase them in Ethiopia and transport them overland by LandCruiser and quad bike. Unfortunately, the government has a seemingly unofficial policy of "Ethiopian drugs are for the Ethiopians" and it is impossible to get a large quantity of drugs cleared by customs. What needs to happen is a huge stock up of drugs at a central field depot where the clinics can make a long (but possible) LandCruiser trip to pick them up as needed. Especially in anticipation of malaria season. Unfortunately, given the realities on the ground and the difficulties of transport, the drug supply issue is one that will not be resolved anytime soon

Home Sweet Home...at Least for Another Seven Weeks

2008-07-17T09:20:00.008+03:00

The town of Pagak is literally in the middle of nowhere. To get here, you either need to hire a private plane, bum a ride on a cargo flight, or drive across Ethiopia to the border and hop on an ATV or a dirt bike for the rest of the way. If you can manage to get here, Save the Children has a pretty permanent looking compound here right next to the dirt airstrip.

From the airstrip you walk down a dirt "road" that has been gutted with deep channels from our LandCruiser as it tries to avoid getting stuck in the mud. You walk down said muddy path for about 30 seconds and knock on the corrugated tin sheet metal that forms the compound gate . Eventually a guard will wander up, unlock the door and let you in.

Inside, we have about 10 or so little buildings, tents, huts, or other forms of enclosed space to work out of or get away from the rain. The largest is the Dining Hall (or Dining Hut). Its a sweet wood and mud room covered with grass and topped off with a giant UNHCR tarp. About once a month, some of the local staff re-muds the walls to fill in the cracks and crumbled exterior. Outside are the two satellite dishes that provide communication with the outside world. Provided there are no clouds or rain, that is. Inside, we have our meals (Spaghetti, rice, and baked beans--everyday!) as well as a TV and dart board. I've been hitting the darts pretty hard. When the generator kicks off at noon, in the evening, and at night, there's not much else to do. I've unwisely already long burned through my supply of books. When the office gets too full of people, the overflow head into the dining hall and set up shop.

The office itself is actually pretty small--just a one room tukul. But inside we have five desks, printers, and most importantly--wireless internet. Although it becomes impossible to use once more than a few people are using it, its one of those things that you don't fully appreciate until the generator kicks off. Because of the presence of the mighty internet, we usually are in the office until about 11 at night officially working on projects, or unofficially just messing around.

From the door of the office, you can take the network of rock paths (as the rain turns all of the mud into a deep deep soup) to either the kitchen or one of the several rooms in the compound.

Breakfast is usually pancakes or mandazi (fried bread--like an unsweetened donut) and always some hot tea with powdered milk. Nyamone cooking up some pancakes:

There are two types of living quarters--brick rooms and tukuls. I suppose three types--we also have two small two-man dome tents covered with tarps for overflow. All of the rooms are arranged around the perimeter of the compound, which means that at night you can hear just about everything outside--blasting Teddy Afro music, local police on patrol, and people chatting away in their tukuls.

The winner of the compound amenities game is the hot water. That's right, hot water. A while back, someone had the presence of mind to cut in half one of the many old oil drums that we have and use it to heat water throughout the day.

All you have to do is take your bucket walk over to the oil drum, scoop up some of the water, add some disinfectant to kill of all of the worms, bacteria, and all the other crap living in it and...bam! You've got yourself an instant shower my friend.

With all of the crazy moving around that I've been doing lately and the old luggage crisis at the beginning of my trip, I didn't realize until today that I've been here for over a month now. I've started to settle in pretty well--hot water, mud, wandering goats and all. Seven weeks to go!

Way to Go Mugabsters

2008-07-16T22:17:00.005+03:00

Not only has Robert Mugabe managed to intimidate his way into winning the presidency unopposed, but he's also managed to destroy the Zimbabwean economy more than economists had previously thought.

The last estimate Zimbabwe's inflation rate was pegged at around a staggering 170,000% in February. Today it turns out that official assessment was revised upwards a little bit. To a mere annual inflation rate of 2,200,000% This means that, while a Zimbabwean dollar would have bought you a US dollar and then some in 1980, you now only need a mere 250,000,000 of them to buy one today. Way to go!

2008-07-16T10:50:00.003+03:00

Awesome kid de-worming party at the ECD center to be rescheduled Monday due to rain. Maybe we can have a kid scrubbing party instead.

Gettin' Some Community Action

2008-07-15T21:13:00.004+03:00

This morning, Duncan, Judith and I went to the PHCC to meet with some previously trained Village Health guys to talk about forming a community health group to be established and run by local people with our support. As was the case with the women's group, its incredibly difficult to organize something like that within a community of people who have had public goods provided in an emergency relief situation. It doesn't help that in a place where we are wondering if it is ready for ox-powered agriculture or not, basic needs are still so pressing that people need food before they are willing to talk about organizing for things such as a community education program. And many are not getting it. Likewise, its difficult to organize a of individuals to become the primary stakeholders in a group and are willing to take ownership and leadership in its management and direction, especially on a volunteer basis. After decades of direct relief during the war, the transition from relief to development is, at times, unbearably challenging. But you have to start somewhere, even if its with a defunct community group. The objective is to organize a group of core individuals who will in turn lead the mobilization of a larger group--family, village etc.--and give them the support necessary such that the program is sustainable without the direct management by an NGO. It is not to directly provide the services or goods themselves. That way, when the NGO packs up and leaves, those services or goods can be provided sustainably by the local community. Or so the theory goes.

From there, I had afternoon English class. Lot's of "I am Bret" "He is Titus" "He is happy" "She is not sad" and the like. We also played a few games with flashcards of animals and vegetables. We had a 10 minute diversion over whether or not there is cabbage in Pagak. The best part of class was, though that I found a Sudanese guy who is pretty good at English and starting tomorrow will teach the class with me. I hope that if we can get him in front of the class teaching, he can maybe take over for me when I leave. It also still leaves me with about six weeks for crash course teacher training and plenty of time to come up with a curriculum for absolute beginners and the necessary materials for such a course.

I rode the good feelings on over to the NCDS compound where Judith was having her youth group meeting for a social marketing piece on the importance of education. The discussion went fine and I was feeling good until the session started to wind down. One of the guys about my age had said during the discussion that he was willing to come to these sorts of programs and support them because while he was living in Ethiopia he had to go to school barefoot and without supplies. Sometimes he just wouldn't go. Eventually a Catholic organization gave him shoes and school supplies and he seems to have a sincere desire to work with local groups on community improvement. Pretty groovy. Until he pulled me aside afterwards and asked me if I could find him some glasses because he really needed them. How do you respond to that? There are a lot of great groups that collect used glasses donations and ships them to areas around the world where they are needed. Unite for Sight provides people in developing areas with free eye exams and corrective surgery. I had to tell him that I just don't have any glasses but that I would look into some things and get back to him tomorrow. I thought maybe there is an organization or something that I could contact and while I couldn't get anything to him per se, maybe we could work something out in the future for the rest of the community. The sad reality is that even if there were a supply of glasses ready to be distributed and sitting in Juba, the only way to get anything into Pagak is via a $3000 charter flight from Juba or via Addis Ababa and a punishing overland trip across Ethiopia. Sudan's infrastructure is just so poor that even something like eye glasses will remain unavailable in Upper Nile for quite some time.

In Cambodia, these things really wore me down. I remember the girl who would learn your name and then find you everyday to ask for just a little bit of money. Over the years I've become a bit hardened to people asking me for things or perhaps just desensitized. But still, on days like today, somebody asks me for a pair of glasses and I find myself down, brooding in the dark somewhere and sad for what I will have to tell him tomorrow. He took a piece of paper at the end of the meeting and mentioned something about writing me a letter. I hope for my own sake that I misheard him. But I know that is probably not the case.

ICC to Indict al-Bashir

2008-07-14T09:04:00.004+03:00

Although it had been suspected of such for a while, yesterday the BBC found the first evidence that the Chinese government has been providing military assistance to Khartoum--in direct violation of the UN arms embargo on Darfur. Several Chinese Dong Feng army trucks were documented operating in the area. The UN had previously discovered that a shipment of 212 of the trucks had been imported after the arms embargo was put in place, but this was the first time that they had been documented directly.

The trucks, after having been imported, were mounted with high powered machine guns or anti-aircraft batteries. Several witnesses reported a Dong Feng firing its anti-aircraft directly into several tukuls (wood and mud huts) during an attack on a village.

Beijing also had sold A5 Fantan jets to the Khartoum government in 2003 before the embargo. The pilot training that it has provided has likewise been used to devastating effect during the all too frequent air attacks on civilians.

In other news, look for Head ICC Prosecutor Luis Moreno-Ocampo to file charges and an indictment of Sudanese President Omar al-Bashir sometime today over crimes in Darfur. It had previously indicted the his Minister for Humanitarian Affairs in connection the Janjaweed, although the government has refused to hand him over (or even recognize the court for that matter).

The efficacy of the ICC aside, this will be a historic move--the first time the ICC has indicted a serving head of state. Usually heads of state have official or tacit immunity from war crimes or crimes against humanity while they are still in office. This immunity doesn't last once their term is over, which may be why Mugabe in Zimbabwe is fighting his downfall so vigorously. It is refreshing to see that what the Economist called a "blanket of protective immunity" is slowly beginning to give way to adherence to international human rights law.

However, the effect of the indictment may make more difficult an already complex humanitarian emergency on the ground. There have been increased attacks on relief workers as well as AU and UN Peacekeepers. The BBC also notes that the indictment may embolden anti-government rebels sensing weakness in the capital. This especially after a repulsed JEM assault on Ombduran this May in a move that surprised many, particularly leaders in Khartoum only kilometers away.

Cancellation of Duck TV

2008-07-13T20:27:00.013+03:00

For the past week, a family of ducks has been living outside my door. Whenever I wanted to get into my room at night or wanted to leave in the morning, I had to step over the mama duck and her four fluffly ducklings. I sort of started feeding them on my porch so they started coming around more and more. During the day, they would all come over to the dining hut, jump down off of the small cement porch and waddle around the floor looking for some food on the floor. They were awfully small little fluffy guys and its easy to get attached to company like that in a place like Sudan.

Yesterday when I saw the mama milling about outside the dining hut only two of the ducklings were in tow. There is also a cat or some other animal that sometimes hangs out in the compound at night and has killed some of the chickens. I suppose that all animals have to eat, but I had hoped that it wouldn't be the ducklings. I kept sneaking them biscuits and what not so that they would grow up to an acceptable size a bit faster. When I turned in last night, the ducks weren't there. This morning, as usual the mama duck was outside the dining hall but this time she was alone.

Its sad, maybe I've gone "bushy" from too much time here already, but I sure miss those little guys. Maybe its because Duck TV has been a real comfort and entertainment in a place where a wrong move will get you arrested by the military. Maybe it had just become part of my daily routine--get up, step over the ducks, go to bed, step over ducks. Maybe it was because a few days ago I took a nap with the door open and when I woke up all of the ducks were sitting in front of my bed waiting for me to give them a biscuit. Maybe its because they're just so damn fluffy. I wonder if the mother duck knows that her ducklings are gone. Are ducks capable of sensing something like that? I've definitely gone bushy.

In a strange twist of irony, this evening during dinner, we noticed sags pushing their way around on the canvas and grass roof of the dining hut. It was the four paws of whatever cat (or cat-like animal) that had probably done the deed earlier. As we were watching them, the feet suddenly stopped and a stain slowly started spreading in between them. The cat was pissing through the roof. Had it stopped a few feet earlier, it would have deposited its pungent yellow present all over the table with our dinner. Its hard not to laugh at something like that. I suppose it is an appropriate final chapter to Duck TV.

Weekend Art Youth Group

2008-07-13T19:45:00.019+03:00

This was my first real Pagak weekend. Other than less frequent generator use (to keep it from breaking down) not much is really different. There isn’t really anything to do in the compound or around town so we end up just continuing with work or at least what would be work on a regular day.

On Saturday and Sunday, Judith and Odongo put together a youth community art group for kids and teens to come together and use drawing to express feelings and ideas about issues important to them. I came along to tape it for the documentary project and record some interviews.

There are about 10 people in the group from about 15 to 18 years old. I’m not really sure where the younger kids are since those are the ones we were hoping to target. Today, the teens talked about education and drew pictures about a memory or a feeling they got from school. Most drew a picture of the school building itself, where they had gone. Most of the schools also had an Ethiopian flag, as many had gone to school in southwestern Ethiopia either as displaced persons or to receive a better education than they would in Southern Sudan.

One of the girls talked about how in Pagak the schools only teach up to Grade 6. For an education above that (middle or high school), they need to travel to Maiwut, which is 22 kilometers away. It’s possible to continue on there, but she said that if you didn’t have relatives there, then you’re be stuck with Grade 6. It’s much harder for girls to move away to another town or a city, even to get an education.

On our way home from the art group, we stopped by the volleyball court outside of the Payam administrator’s building/hut. A policeman, dressed in old blue uniform and dark sunglasses, came up to us with a huge grin. He made the sign of Catholic prayer, gave us a huge two thumbs up, a slap on the shoulder and kept on wandering to wherever he was going. He reeked of booze.

Getting Down to Work

2008-07-12T16:16:00.004+03:00

I officially started my documentation project yesterday. Earlier, I had pitched an idea to shoot a promotional documentary that the country director could use to keep a record of field projects and hopefully to help push the donors our way when it comes time to renew several of the grants that the Sudan office relies upon for its operations. As I had been struggling before to define for myself my job for the next two months, I latched onto the project as a way to focus my energy while I sort of tread water in the short term.

Early yesterday morning, I met Jeffa, the Pagak area community health organizer, at the compound. Duncan and he had arranged for me to meet and interview a mother, whose young son had about a month long stay at the Public Health Community Center with burns on 40% of his small body. I walked with Jeffa the few minutes it takes to get from the compound to the PCHH. The PHCC was pretty empty as is often the case. The PCHH only receives a case or two per day—usually Malaria. A few SPLA soldiers were hanging out, lying on the benches outside one of the buildings and chatting with one another. I met the mother who was sitting in front of the hospital wing—there are two rooms with about five beds each, one for the men and one for the women. We greeted, shook hands, and I explained what the project was for and expressed my appreciation for her willingness to talk with me.

I was a bit nervous—this was my first case for the documentary. The mother’s smile and the happy boy, who was maybe only about a year or two old and being bounced around on his mother’s lap. I started to get all my equipment together and was utterly unprepared as the mother started to take of the child’s clothes, revealing a near continuous scar that ran from his side and back all the way down his leg. An overwhelming sense of what the boy must have felt at the time washed over me and yet I was entirely unable to empathize with such a feeling of pain.

I clumsily set everything up and did a very short interview. Nothing too much, just tried my best to get the child’s story and be respectful of him and his mother. Even with Jeffa there to translate, the details were hard to follow. I was still distracted. The child had been burned with either hot water, hot oil, or hot something that the child had knocked over onto his body. His mother took him to the PHCC afterwards. Luckily an American couple had visited the PHCC a few months back and left some medical supplies—specifically anti-bacterial gel and disinfectant. During his month stay at the clinic, those supplies saved his life.

I later interviewed Jeffa about the child’s case as well as the services the PHCC provides the community. The PHCC was only finished this year. “Before then, the child would have died,” he told me. Such a thing had just happened a few months ago and too many times in the past years.

I thanked everybody there, especially the mother, who was very grateful even though I had no role in her son’s treatment or recovery. I will hopefully be working out of the clinic more in the future as I start to figure out with Duncan our plan for community health mobilization.

Next stop was over at the Nile Interdevelopment Program (NIP) compound, where Judith, Odongo, and Titus were supposed to hold an election for the women’s group. Unfortunately, right at about the time the meeting was to start, the rain clouds opened up a torrential downpour. The LandCruiser had that day old throw up smell. When we got to the NIP compound, about 40 women crowded under the small roof of the office. Some messages were mixed and about 10 men were also there for the women’s meeting.

The group wasn’t quite ready for an election. Instead, it was a two-hour group session to get everyone on the same page on working together as a community to address and solve educational issues and the Early Child Development Program. It’s a tough challenge to try to get a group of individuals to take charge of a program to help themselves move forward. It’s even tougher in a place like Southern Sudan, where many people feel helpless and need direct aid—food and supplies. The trick of it is to avoid the aid dependence that occurs from simply freely handing out goods. The women are motivated though. They desperately want to learn. They want their children to go to school. They want to improve their economic lot. They want someone to teach them how to make soap. As refugees in Ethiopia, they had free schools and other services provided to them in Ethiopia. In Southern Sudan, they need to take the reigns and get involved in the school, get the training and skills to run the schools and programs after the NGO’s are gone.

There was no election. But the women’s group is moving forward. Next Friday, there will be another community meeting to keep the momentum going and hopefully after that we can have the election and get the program structures in place. It’s slow, but at least its moving.

I took about three hours of film today. I’m having some trouble getting the audio quite right, but with a bit more practice, using my clip-on mic for interviews, and taking more time to think out my shots I should get it down. I’m getting a rapid crash-course in filming as I work. I just hope that these first few runs aren’t a total wash.

Visit to the Maiwut Health Clinic

2008-07-10T21:32:00.002+03:00

Today I went with Bernhard to visit the Maiwut public health clinic and meet with local community health mobilizer and document the facilities (read: take a picture of a non-functioning bore hole). After the last intern had an unfortunate accidental photographic run in with the SPLA, we've been put under greater scrutiny and are subject to more Draconian regulation by the local Payam administrators.

As part of the new rules that we hammered out when I met them the other day, we first stopped by their small office in the middle of town to ask one of them to accompany us to make sure no inappropriate photographs were taken. The subordinate of the two administrators, a quiet Nuer guy, jumped into the back of the Land Cruiser and we raced off to Maiwut to head off the rain clouds in the distance. Maiwut is about 22 kilometers from Pagak but on a mud "road" it takes just over an hour to get there.

Along the way we stopped to pick up a few people who needed to get go in the direction we were headed. This included a couple of old Sudanese ladies, one of whom was drunk and looked like she was ready to puke as car tossed people about on the bumpy road. We swerved through the bush and avoided the muddy areas where cars usually get stuck. As we passed people on the path, most got out of the way but a few just sort of stand there staring at the car. One guy walking a defunct dirt bike stopped not far enough to the side of the road and we hit a real wet spot and slid into his bike. About an hour later (and a few apologies to passerby later), the green tangle of grass, trees, and shrub began to thin out. A lot of the small trees now had been chopped a few feet up from their base and I knew we were almost there. We gave our hitch hikers the boot and pulled into the clinic.

I met with Gach, the community health volunteer at the clinic and got a quick tour. Bernhard and I went out behind the clinic to get a few pictures of the bore hole that had been recently drilled for water.

Out in front of the clinic was the only public awareness sign in the county. I went up to it to get a closer look and was pretty amazed.

We didn't really have much time for anything more than introductions as the storm clouds that had been looming earlier were no longer just on the horizon and the sky began to open up. We tore off home to get through the bad spots before the rain would make it impassable. Impassable means sleeping in the bush for the night or ditching the car and walking home. The ride that was merely bumpy before, took on a whole new dimension as the dirt path now became just a guideline for the direction to head. We veered and skidded through the tall grass and through brush, with the car getting some serious air time. At times, the LandCruiser couldn't get through the mud and needed some good old fashioned pushing.

Most of the time, we all just had to hang on as the driver did his best to power through the mud but avoid sliding off into the bush. For the most part he was pretty successful. At one point, though we fishtailled a little too far and the back of the car slid into a tree.

As we approached Pagak again, more or less in one piece, the rain started to let up and the last leg of the road was not all that muddy. Unfortunately, the drive had taken its toll on one of the locals riding in the back and she retched all over the back seat of the Land Cruiser. And possibly all over the administrator who had insisted on monitoring my picture-taking. At least that's what I was secretly hoping from the seat in front of him.

Pagak itself was dry. The storm had left it mostly untouched and we arrived in a muddy beat up LandCruiser covered in branches and leaves that looked entirely out of place considering the circumstances. I was a bit dizzy by the time I stepped out of the car, and like a late-night drunk, sort of stumbled back and forth until I reached my room and the relative safety of my bed.

Backlog 4: Nearly Home Again

2008-07-09T08:58:00.001+03:00

We reached the Sudan/Ethiopian border by late afternoon. That particular border crossing is really little more than a dirt trail and a collapsed bridge. I quickly hopped up on the roof of the LandCruiser to unload all of the baggage and produce that we had carried from Gambella.

I had finished dropping down most of the bags up top, when I started to disentangle this big bastard of a woven plastic sack full of tiny red onions from the roof rack. Likely its many repeated uses and numerous days in the sun meant that any time I pulled at it to lug it upright, it developed a new tear somewhere and at one point the entire top section I had grabbed, simply tore off sending a few off the roof. As I got it over the edge, my lower back quickly send a signal that all was not well. I called Odongo to replace me up top and hobbled my way across the short metal bridge. The bridge itself is only about forty feet long, and seemed to be about ten too short. It had slipped down from one of the banks of the creek and had to be connected by a small four-foot wide concrete slab just large enough to fit a quad-bike across.

By the time I got to the other side, the shooting pain prevented me from moving much further and I went to chill out for a few minutes on another concrete block off to the side next to some maize and a tangle of brush growing on the Sudan side of the creek. The minutes turned to an hour and I laid back closed my eyes, and tried not to move. A bit later the quad-bike arrived, and Judith and Laura loaded up some bags and headed back to the compound with David.

I heard them drive off, the gearbox grinding and yowling as David quickly discovered the need to engage the clutch before the bike would go anywhere. Duncan walked back over the bridge and chatted with some local boys and again I closed my eyes and just zoned out. Although Duncan was not more than 60 feet away, being tucked away a few feet into the brush I felt very alone.

It’s strange. I didn’t feel alone in a panicky way nor one that made me wish for company. Despite the pain and the heat, I felt an incredible sense of serene calm. I started to listen, and look at everything around me. Lying back, I watched the stalks of maize bow gracefully to an approaching breeze. I counted one, two, then three giant grasshoppers clinging forcefully to the underside of the long broad leaves. A sharp gust of wind would trap and entangle the leaves. A few seconds later, “pop” the leaves would suddenly free themselves and the maize would return to its rhythmic swaying, one or two grasshoppers fewer.

I closed my eyes and listened to the insects, birds, and the kids swimming in the creek somewhere to my left on the other side of the maize and brush. To the other side, some kids and a few men gathered around a friendly SPLA soldier who had brought out a cassette player and started playing music that I could only assume was Sudanese or Ethiopian. Beyond the tattered flag flying above the small SPLA border outpost on the other side of the dirt path, a bunch of hawks were riding a hot air column in a lazy circle and slowly circled their way upward. A group of four boys, perhaps around six years old came and sat on the slab right next to me, not really caring that I was there but also making sure not to disturb me. They chattered away in clip bits of Nuer punctuated by quiet laughter. I watched them as they were talking and wondered what it must be like to grow up in the bush in a place like Pagak. They were so happy, like a couple of school kids just hanging out on a lazy afternoon. Yet their skinny arms and large bowl-shaped distended bellies belied the mood, quietly telling of severe malnourishment. The summer months mark an anxious patience, as the few crops that are planted must mature for a few more weeks before they can be harvested.

As suddenly as they came, the four kids ran off into the brush, and quickly disappeared after only a second, leaving only the sound of rustling plants and increasingly muted child’s conversation.

While I was laid out, entirely unmoving, birds, small butterflies, and a few other odd animals scuttled out of the bush. A small yellow bird landed sideways on one of the stalks of maize. As he hopped his way to the tip, the stalk gradually bent under his weight until I thought he might continue his dip all the way to the ground. He sat perched on one of the many grain stems, its stalk bowed in an upside down “J”, and pecked at the precious grain, sending small green husks off towards the ground.

The world looks very different lying down. There’s a strange sense of detachment, watching everything perpendicular to what the brain is accustomed to. A young man crossed the bridge with a reluctant cow and had to put all his weight into coaxing the animal to walk up the concrete connecting slab. Behind him, an old wild-eyed man quickly strode up with a limp yelling something angrily in Nuer at the man as both went over to the smiling but entirely disinterested SPLA soldier who was sitting and tapping his feet to the Sudanese pop. Occasionally, an old Nuer woman would cross the bridge, usually carrying supplies or a baby basket atop her head, look to the left and be somewhat surprised to find a laid out foreigner lazing about in the bushes. They would stare, offer a quick “Maale” (Hello) and continue on, singing or simply muttering to nobody in particular.

Eventually, I heard the mechanical “brrrrrrrrrr” of an approaching quad-bike and the moment was broken. David had returned and it was time for me to finish the last 15-minute leg of my journey home. For a moment, maybe an hour, I simply just was—existing with a heightened sense of the small details of life around me. For that moment in time, I felt like one of the grasshoppers in the maize, watching and listening until a gust of wind finally dragged me away.

Backlog 3: Gambella, Ethiopia

2008-07-08T21:29:00.005+03:00

On the morning after the workshop, it was time to leave coffee, cold beer, and fresh delicious food. There was a problem for half of the Pagak crew—some of those without visas had arrived earlier that week to an airport with a closed immigration counter. Laura, Judith, and Joeseph (who had his passport, cash, and other documents stolen in Gambella a few weeks ago) had to make the 12-hour drive overland from Addis to the border. Duncan, David, and I hopped a quick 40-minute flight from Addis to Jimma and again from Jimma to Gambella near the border.

We had an evening as well as the full next day to putz around in the small town while we waited for the other crew to join us by car. The first night, we took a somewhat unsatisfactory meal (cold beef and potatoes) at the hotel and went into the town center where the market is. David and I went into a sort of dive bar (if such things really exist in rural Ethiopia) while Duncan did some printing next door at our contact, Teshome’s, shop. I sat down on a wooden bench against the wall of a small dark room that smelled like a locker room with stale beer poured across the floor and hazy cigarette smoke wafting in the air.

The main attractions in the room were two long tables that resembled pool tables with six undersized pockets. Teshome was challenging another guy to a game that’s name I can never remember. It took a while to figure out how the game is played, but it seemed to be a cross between pool and bocce. Players take turns throwing four balls at a blue target ball. At a base level, players must send their ball across the table to get it closest to the target ball while knocking the other player’s ball away. In the middle of the table, three tiny plastic pins resembling miniature bowling pins. A player received four points for knocking any of the pins over after hitting the target ball and two points for getting any of his opponent’s balls in a pocket. Each game takes about a minute and a half and players play until the winner reaches a specified number of points. A referee, who collects money from each player as well as bets from those watching the game, pays out the winner of the match and the process starts again with two players.

The next morning I hit the market early. The market is pretty small compared to others—some used clothing, tailors, and vegetables. I went to the other side to find a guy who makes rubber sandals out of used tires. He took my foot measurements and a few hours and two bucks later I came back just as he was putting on the final touches. I sat with him for a few minutes, chewing khat leaves from a branch he had offered me. Its bitter but after a while has a mild stimulant effect like caffeine or nicotine. While I was sitting, one man came up to me, told me that he had a brother in Canada and asked me to take me with him. As soon as I politely declined, another told me that he had a brother in Pagak and asked me to take him back with me when I returned. Again I had to decline.

I returned from to Teshome's shop at the edge of the market to find that somebody had started an argument with Wandera and an Ethiopian colleague over something none of us could understand. He kept demanding to be taken somewhere, but wouldn't tell us anything more coherent than that. He demanded to know who the lead driver of the vehicle was, and we each sort of buckpassed him off declining responsibility for the vehicle. "Do you like your life?" he would ask each of us before mumbling something about the vehicle. He came up to me with the same series of questions before telling me not to be afraid. "Do you like your life?" Thinking he was from immigration or the police, Teshome had him sit in the passenger seat and started to pull out all of our paperwork from the glove compartment. That's when a friend of ours who knew the man gave us a "he's crazy" gesture and we followed him out the back door of the small store our car was parked in front of. We escaped down an alley and had some tea while we tried to figure out what was going on.

Inside the car, the man suddenly grabbed the UHF radio and started calling in positions and other seeming nonsense although our LandCruiser's radio is not functional. Eventually he demanded to be taken somewhere and smashed the windshield with his fist leaving a spider crack on the passenger side. Judging from the damage, I can only imagine the punishment he had inflicted on his own fist. Take him he did. Teshome drove off with him to the nearest police station to sort things out.

Over tea, our friend told us of how he knew the man from a while back as he had employed him in his store. He was, in fact, mentally ill and in a prior incident he had upturned and stoned a parked motorcycle. He was bright to be sure. His English had only the slightest trace of the strong Amharic accent in Gambella. He had worked for Medecins Sans Frontieres as a radio man calling in the car's position as it passed through checkpoints. His mother had died a few years earlier. His father had similarly fled Ethiopia for Kenya during a flare-up of community ethnic violence only to die during the political violence in Kenya this past December. The day before, his father's remains arrived in Ethiopia. As I heard his story, I went from feeling confused and angry to sort of just numb. How are you supposed to feel in a situation like that? Suddenly the moral clarity of the situation simply disintegrated. I heard that there is a state mental health treatment facility in Addis that he might be taken to for treatment. I seriously hope that is what happens. I hope that he is not treated poorly at the police station. It makes me sad to know that this is not likely to be the case.

We finished our tea and continued on. From the market we took the LandCruiser to the river to have it washed. We headed back in the direction of our hotel, stopped short of the bridge that separates the outskirts of town from the market, and pulled off onto the dirt road that led to the riverbank below. About two-dozen men were bathing on the riverbank and amongst them were a group of young guys throwing soapy water on a shiny new white Mercedes SUV owned by a church group that was half parked into the river.

We pulled our beaten up LandCruiser in front of it, paid a guy 30 Birr (about USD $3) and watched them take of months of caked on dirt and grime. While the LandCruiser was getting a facelift, we crossed the bridge and headed down to a construction site on the opposite side of the river. A new little hostel/hotel is being built on the bank of the river where we will eventually stay for future cross-border trips. Our local staff guy started chatting up one of the construction workers and we sat talking and chewing fresh khat for about an hour. After an hour, we thanked him for the khat, picked up our car from the river, and headed back to the hotel to meet up with the overland group to retire for the night. The next morning, we hit the local market to stock up on kilo’s of beans, cabbage, onions, and other fresh food for the next few months.

We tied down our bags as well as well as the newly purchased sacks of freshies to the rack on the roof and piled in. Since it hadn’t rained we were able to take the LandCruiser all the way to the border, where we were met by one of the ATV’s for the last 15 minutes of the journey.

Backlog 2: Addis Ababa

2008-07-07T15:08:00.006+03:00

Ethiopia is a pretty groovy place. We first had spent the night a hell-hole hotel in Gambella where the overflow rooms may once possibly have been a cinder-block restrooms with rusty orange water leaking from the toilet and walls. The Gambella airport is more of an airstrip, one runway and a lone building that more resembled a school portable than anything else. We were told the day before that the president was in town. Not the president of Ethiopia (Ethiopia has a parliamentary system) but the president of Gambella. He had stayed at our crappy hotel the night before and the dozens of blue camouflaged police sitting in the forest with their Kalashnikovs across their lap testified to his presence. The same entourage showed up to the airport in a tinted car and the same police fanned out in the field across the airstrip. The flight from Gambella to Addis was short—only about an hour, but an hour by plane makes a huge difference in where you are living.

Addis is up in the highlands, where it rains nearly every afternoon but is neither hot nor humid. There is a nice blend of Orthodox Christian and Islamic culture and you can smell amazing food (doro wat, shiro, and a slow cooked boiled beef) as you pass by the small local restaurants. We stayed at the International Livestock Institute, which despite the name is very cool. There was no livestock although there were plenty of people running around in white lab coats. It is more of a huge compound with beautiful landscaping, friendly guards in funny uniforms, and comfortable hostel rooms and access to the InnerTube. Best of all, the rooms had running hot water and a large bathtub, although the general water shortage in Addis meant that it was only available during parts of the day.

About 20 of us came from all over Sudan for a retreat to get everybody on the same page with the different programs that Save is running in the South. Given the state of infrastructure in Sudan, it was actually far cheaper to send everybody to Ethiopia then spend 150 bucks a person

to house staff in a tent in Juba. Not to mention that The Plane only comes to Pagak every Thursday and only if there has been no rain during the previous week.

The workshop itself was fine. A presentation and overview of the Sudan Office’s programs was helpful in getting me up to speed with strategy and Save’s program plans for the next few years. The next few days were spent going over and smoothing management issues—logistics, grant management, procurement cycle, etc. that while not too pertinent for we three interns, but at least gave us a better idea of the day to day issues and problems involved in running an NGO.

Best of all during the first day, the Pagak crew had some free time to do some exploring while everybody else flew in late from Juba. Judith and I went to the National Museum at the insistence of the taxi driver and saw some sweet archaeological finds, including this—a 3.3 million year old fossil of a child australopithecine (and an artistic rendering thereof) that was recently discovered in Ethiopia.

On Thursday night, we all went out to an Ethiopian restaurant that had live music and dancing. The four man band had a guy on flute and three on electric versions of traditional string instruments. At one point (after a few drinks it should be noted) a few of the Kenyans in our crew joined the dancers on stage. Charles, David, and Joseph went up to help one of the singers with a song in Swahili. The singing continued on the bus ride home with a song list ranging from crazy gospel to The Beatles to country.

During the week, it seemed everyone got sick at least once—either from the rapid change in altitude, or from bad food somewhere. My second day, I discovered Ethiopian coffee—about ten cents for a perfect espresso. Combine that with a bit of equally cheap whiskey and a forgotten reminder to drink water and I found myself down for the count one night with some funky altitude sickness. I couldn’t really sleep or find one of the friendly guards who usually patrol outside to pester for some water. At about four in the morning I got a hot water pitcher, filled it up with city water from the bathroom and boiled it for a good 20 minutes. I didn’t realize that it would be about another hour before the water could cool down enough to drink. I threw back a few Advil and gingerly downed the pitcher of still hot water, with just enough time to catch an hour or two of sleep before the morning meeting.

Backlog 1: After three days in Pagak, off to Ethiopia

2008-07-06T20:04:00.002+03:00

We were lucky. We needed to cross the border to Ethiopia and when I woke up in the morning, it looked like rain. We have a Land Cruiser sitting at the Police station in the Ethiopian town of Kuegan, about 25 km from Pagak. If it had rained the night before, we were to put on the Wellingtons and slog our way to Corgan on foot.

Our luck held and the dark morning clouds never transformed themselves into the torrential downpour that usually turns the loose clay dirt into a mud bath. Two days earlier, an attempt to leave the compound by Land Cruiser was aborted 20 meters past the gate when it got stuck in the mud, as did the truck sent to wench it out. With the ground muddy yet passable, we loaded the two ATV’s with our luggage and crammed ourselves onto whatever space was left on the bike. Two guys ferried four other of us to Kuergan, only to turn around and make the trip again with the remaining staff.

Although the area around Pagak is sparsely populated with little vegetation, we found ourselves increasingly deeper in the bush. The trees grew larger and more densely packed together. Tall wild grasses grew to the sides of the narrow road and occasionally would slap us in the face as we maneuvered around muddy ditches. We passed a lot of tiny villages with friendly Nuer who smiled and waved at us as we passed by.

There were also hundreds of Sudanese walking the same path to Kuergan—a walk that takes about six hours. Strong tall women balanced baskets of supplies, or gourds full of water on their heads as they were returning to Pagak county after purchasing needed goods across the border.

At one point we crossed the border—a concrete slab that spanned a narrow stream. Jimmy had to gingerly navigate the ATV down a small concrete ramp that was just a few inches too narrow for it. On either side a couple of bored looking soldier sat in a chairs watching people go past. No ID checks, no questions, just cross the bridge and you are in Ethiopia. Should you need to avoid any entanglements with the authorities, it would have been a simple matter to just hike around the “bridge” and cross somewhere else.

Although it hadn’t rained the night before, the dirt path (road?) was still incredibly muddy. Bits of mud and cow crap would get flung up from the ATV’s tires and pelt passengers and passerby alike. At one point I had let go of my bag and it slid around my shoulder and hung off to the side of the vehicle. By the time I had pulled it back into my lap a second later it was already coated in mud.

After about an hour, we reached town. Compared to Pagak it was a sprawling metropolis but, in reality, it probably only has about ten thousand residents. We waited to get cleared at the police stationed and, after about a minute, they opened up the corrugated metal gates and let us in. A squad of heavily armed policeman gathered were gathered just sitting and hanging out to the side of one of the buildings with their Kalashnikovs in their laps, laid against a tree, or on their backs. Not far away, next to a few guys hanging out around a couple of dirt bikes, was our Land Cruiser. And not far away enough was a bit of a sausage party, as some of the policemen were taking a bucket bath and keenly watching the new arrivals.

The ATV’s and their drivers turned around to pick up the rest of the staff and we quickly tied our luggage to the roof of the Land Cruiser and checked to make sure it would still start. We had about three hours of waiting time, so we went to the local “hotel” and ordered a liquid lunch—two warm but delicious St. George Ethiopian beers. We then hit a small shop where we had a bit of tea and then it was back to the Land Cruiser for a short nap.

After the rest of us made it to the police station, we took the Land Cruiser on a bumpy hour’s ride through the green lush Ethiopian countryside to Gambella, the city where we were to stay the night and fly out of the next morning to Addis Ababa. Along the way, there were a bunch of crazy birds, a baboon, silly pheasants, and even a Gennet cat. After a series of detours, wondering which dirt path to take, and past several “Crushing Stations”, we pulled into Gambella just as night fell. We checked into the hotel and I began trying to wash off layers of caked mud in shower that looked like somebody had just died in it. After dinner, I hopped back under my mosquito net, and penned this entry. A pack of dogs had just started a fight outside my room and I contemplated where I had placed my E-ticket from the day before.

Backlogs and Videos

2008-07-06T19:39:00.002+03:00

I just got back from Ethiopia this evening and have some backlogged videos and entries. I'll try to get them up as soon as I can, provided the generator doesn't break down again. Enjoy!

Video from the Vegetable Market in the small but lively Juba Marketplace.

Landing in Nasir where we made our first cargo drop. I couldn't really see out the window so I just leaned out the car window and pressed the camera against the plane window that was a few feet below me.

Cargo Drop

2008-06-27T21:11:00.006+03:00

From Juba, I took a mid-day cargo flight to Pagak. In the morning I rushed around town to get my exit visa from the Immigration office before we head to Ethiopia. I returned just in time to catch a ride to the airport in one of our Land Cruisers. Thursday is the day the Buffalo flies. The Buffalo is an older two prop workhorse of a plane that can haul up to six tons of anything across the country. The rear of the plane has a cargo ramp. You load/drive your cargo up and away you go.

We followed a huge truck filled with supplies, drugs, and other medical equipment to the airport, nodded to security, and drove on out to the runway to the plane. On the far side of the runway, a huge white UN C5-type cargo plane was unloading supplies into canvas covered trucks. The truck in front of us mistakenly raced off to the other plane and had to be called back. As it pulled up to the Buffalo (a white Buffalo at that), six guys jumped off and we began to unload several hundred boxes and pack them into our plane. First though, we took off t

he radio antenna from the Land Cruiser, deflated the tires, and drove it into the cargo bay of the Buffalo. Once fastened down with straps, we started transferring the boxes to behind the Land Cruiser and anywhere else there was room. It took a long time to move all those damnable yet lifesaving boxes by had. I had stupidly packed my empty water bottle away earlier that morning and the runway was radiating the full fury of the midday Juba heat.

About an hour later, as we were finishing up, the three-man flight crew wedged their way from the tiny door in the fuselage past all of the boxes and the Land Cruiser and took up positions in the cockpit. Some other guy I had never met before and I got into the car and the rest of the boxes were placed around the side of the Land Cruiser pinning us snugly in place.

As the Buffalo cranked up its engines and slowly, but powerfully, made its way airborne, the inside of the car started to hit at least a roasting 50 degrees C with full humidity. Since I couldn't turn on the air conditioner, I thought that I would be a smart ass and roll down the window, put one hand on the wheel, lean my arm out the window, and pretend that the roar of the engine was actually that of the six-piston Toyota and that I was cruisin' down the street. "That's right, ladies. What up?" I thought, staring at the boxes tapping against the back window trying to get in. The guy sitting in the passenger seat ignored me and pretended to sleep. As my two backpacks vibrated their way off of the hood, the effect was thusly ruined and my short-lived fantasy came to an end.

The flight itself took about an hour and a half. Once we had been airborne for a while and the plane started to cool off, I dug into my bag and found the German Capri-Sun that I had stowed away in Nairobi. Now 30% weniger Zuker!" it informed in on the front. We passed the enormous Nile River, a lot of green pastoral land, sparse forest, and I knew we were far away from Juba.

We touched down somewhere. Maybe we were already at Pagak, but I couldn't really see out the windows with all of the boxes in the way. As I exited the vehicle and sidled past the boxes, I followed the crew out the passenger hatch on the side, jumped down, and fought the blinding light to see where I had ended up.

The second I jumped off the plane and looked around, I was instantly taken aback for a second. Standing in front of me were about 50 people just kind of curiously looking at the plane and the sort of Asian-white guy that it had produced. About a hundred other people came running towards the plane as a guy started to shoe the kids away with a big stick. Fo

r about a minute, I found myself completely alone wondering what to do. The sleepy guy wandered off somewhere and was nowhere to be seen. Do I find somebody? Do I continue to stand there like an idiot? I chose the latter. A second later, a Save the Children Land Cruiser came driving from the village and the local program manager welcomed me to Nasir.

We enlisted the help of some of those standing around, and unloaded all of the boxes from the back of the plane and stacked them up on the dirt runway. It only took about a half an hour and a gracious medical staff thanked us for the supplies. The Public Health Community Center in Nasir had been absent drugs and basic medical supplies for quite some time. I jumped back into the cargo hold, found a seat this time, and we took off again for Pagak.

The Pagak airstrip is literally right next to the compound and the rest of the town. You could toss your stuff over the wooden fence and it would probably end up next to one of the brick rooms we stay in. A bunch of smiling people greeted me and I finally met Judith, Laura, Jimmy, and the rest of the Pagak SC staff. They gave me a warm welcome and helped to settle me down in what will be my new home for the next two and a half months.

On Abyei

2008-06-25T22:19:00.004+03:00

For the past few days, I've set myself up in the Operations office where there was a free bit of desk. Its not usually too busy except for the guy in the radio room calling whoever needs to be called and the static he usually gets as an answer. The other guys in this particular office are pretty easy going and someone is either playing some hip-hop or Ethiopian music on their computer.

Today, John, a staff guy from Abyei came into the office urgently needing to send an e-mail to someone in Khartoum to clear up a finance issue. I loaned him my computer and we started talking about how things have been going up his way recently since last months fighting.

In the middle of May, BBC and the other major newswires had reported a major three-day clash in the contested area around Abyei town. Abyei is a currently a special administrative area whose territorial status was to be determined by the Abyei Boundary Commission and a future referendum. At the micro-level, there has been conflict between the local Dinka, nomadic Messeriya herdsem who claim grazing rights, and Khartoum backed Messeriya militias. Political elites on all sides have mobilized and armed followers using ethnic appeals. Abyei holds immense economic importance to both the Northern and Southern governments, with 2005-2007 oil revenues of USD 1.8 billion. There are also elements within the National Congress Party and the Messeriya who may see violence as a tool to re-negotiate the Abyei Boundary Agreement or even scuttle the CPA. Consequently, Abyei in recent months has threatened to become a national flash point for the return to war as the Sudanese Armed Forces, SPLA, and local militias were deployed to the area in increasing numbers. Last month, things began breaking down in a big way.

John, it turns out, works for a Save the Children program in Abyei town and was there when the violence broke out. It was my first time to hear from someone what actually had gone on during those days when the fighting was worst. He heard gunfire late one night as SAF units and the local police had a skirmish. The next day the SAF moved in with more troops and clashed with units of the SPLA who increasingly deployed more heavy weaponry. On the 20th, SPLA forces attacked the SAF camp in Abyei town and began setting up checkpoints in the areas under their control. The SPLA began checking people's ID's and whether they could speak the local language. If a person was found to be Arab, he was in a world of deep shit.

A month later, the town is much quieter. The governments of Khartoum and Southern Sudan agreed to deploy Joint Integrated Units to maintain peace in the area. Both also reached an agreement to use international arbitration to settle the boundary dispute. NGO's immediately resumed their services and projects.

Yet the town is nearly entirely destroyed. Most buildings had been either shelled or burned to the ground, as were any vehicles and motorcycles left on the road. Vacated NGO compounds were torched in the fighting or, more likely, by looters. John told me that one of the few things left at the SC compound was the enormous safe with their cash. It was too big to haul away and crude attempts to open it would have destroyed the cash inside.

The human cost though is staggering. No one is really sure how many were killed during the fighting, but as a result, over 50,000 were displaced and the town still faces and emergency situation. John tells me that their most pressing need is potable water. A river runs near the town, but the water is unusable. Many more bore-holes are needed. Fast. Although the fighting has ended, a major disaster clearly remains. Those worst affected now are sadly those who have the least to do with the conflict.

2008-06-24T21:28:00.005+03:00

From the marketplace I made my way towards the Nile, which borders one side of Juba (maybe it cuts through it-I'm not really sure). In the area along the bank where I made my way to, there were a few Kenyan bars and guesthouses. Although I saw a bridge upriver where you can cross, most parts of the bank that I could find were all fenced in with

chain-link.

From the other side of the fence I sat and drank a Stoney ginger beer from the Kenyan bar and watched two Chinese guys fishing for Tilapia. The bar was playing a mix of African reggae and American songs from the 70's. For a moment I felt pretty absurd sitting in the shade and watching the slow lazy river, sipping a soda, and listen

ing to Willie Nelson. Hell, I've never even listened to Willie Nelson in the states.

From the Kenyan bar, immediately I found myself confronted by a serious juxtaposition. I could still hear the pulsing reggae music behind me but in a field sitting outside the gate, some old Armored Personnel Carriers from the war were sitting abandoned and rusting in a nearby field. I took a few quick photos despite knowing that such things could land me in a bit of trouble (no more, I promise).

Walking further down the road, the side of the road was littered with more and more derelict APC's that seemed like they hadn't been touched for at least a decade. In between their old metal corpses, rows of wooden houses and thatch roofed tukuls stretched from the road into the field next to it. Families went about their business. I found myself stopped for a moment when, wedged between two of the houses was a broken-down rusted tank with some kids sitting on the destroyed turret. I could still hear some old 1970's country music coming from the river.

Juba's a funny city. On the one hand it as changed radically in the past few years. Its population has swelled, roads have been put in, the airport is bigger, and at night you can visit the city's new hotels and dance clubs. Security in the city is pretty calm and there is no heavy military presence in many of the public areas. Even compared to Nairobi, soldiers and armed police are scarce. Yet sometimes you find relics of a time that was really not that long ago. I find myself reminded that the CPA is only three years old.

Even when we try to forget, abandon, and move on from the memories of war, sometimes they just continue to sit, staring at you silently from the side of the road.

Juba Marketplace

2008-06-24T08:58:00.000+03:00

Lately, I’ve been trying to get away from the compound to walk around Juba. Yesterday, I managed to find my way to the Juba marketplace, which was only about a 15 or 20-minute walk away. I really miss the throng and frenzied activity of markets in Cambodia and Malaysia. The one in Juba is a bit smaller, but certainly does not disappoint.

The market itself is divided into ethnic enclaves—Sudanese, Kenyan, Ugandan, and others. Over the random music blaring from many of the stalls, you can hear a chattering of Swahili, Juba Arabic, and many other local languages.

Along the main road that cuts through the market separating the upper third from the rest, there are kiosks hawking sodas, fruit, and used clothing called Mutambo. There were a lot of people stopping into small stalls, “saloons,” to have their hair cut or braided. If you duck off of the main road and into the narrow maze of stalls, you have to push your way through a bustling vegetable market where you can buy leafy greens, several types of bananas, as well as relatively fresh meat. A loaf of bread costs about 10 Sudanese pounds (about 5 dollars). Juba really is one of the most expensive cities in Africa with a rapidly growing civil service and heavy NGO presence that causes the demand for most goods to skyrocket. Given the Southern Sudanese economy’s post-conflict lack of industry and poor infrastructure, a lot of the goods, and particularly produce must be imported from Uganda.

Pushing deeper into the market, there are larger buildings where old gas powered machines crush grains and seeds into a fine powder. There were also several shops where five or six men stripped were sitting and stripping old used tires and sewing them into black rubber sandals.

People of all types were crowding the narrow passageways between stalls, although Westerners were conspicuously absent. Juba, in general does not have much of a visible military presence. However, at the market, there were Toyota trucks with the backs filled with heavily armed SPLA soldiers patrolling the main street. In greater number however, were the soldiers perusing through stalls, buying goods, and chatting with women who eagerly tried to hawk them whatever it was that they had to sell.

I didn’t take any pictures so as to avoid being a jerk to everyone there, but I did enjoy just walking around and chatting with people. Juba Arabic is not so similar to Egyptian. Combined with a lack of English, communication is quite a challenge.

I did manage to take a short video from inside the vegetable market, but given that the shared satellite Internet is usually far slower than dail-up, I doubt that I can get it uploaded anytime soon.

SC Alliance Kickoff Ceremony

2008-06-21T16:22:00.000+03:00

This morning we had a kickoff party at the compound to celebrate the merging of operations between Save the Children US, UK, and Sweden. The three organizations have operations in 8 of the 10 districts in Southern Sudan with not too much program overlap. Beginning today, they will operate from the same compound and pool resources and programs to improve cost efficiency and improve communication.

There were a few government officials as well as the country directors for different NGO's and UN agency's in attendance. From right to left: Country Director for Save the Children Sweden, Representative for the Minister of Gender, Social Welfare, and Religion, and the Minister of War Heroes.

The staff and invited guests listen to speeches and discussion of program areas:

Together, the new partnership, called Save the Children in Southern Sudan, will have 429 staff and operate programs in education, early childhood development, health, water and sanitation, child protection, and thedemobilization and reintegration of child soldiers.

Mattito Watson, Country Director for SC US gives a speech before cutting the ribbon:

After the ribbon is cut. From right to left: Country Director UNICEF Sudan, Mattito Watson Country Director SC US, Country Director SC Sweden, representative for the GOSS Minister of Gender, Social Welfare, and Religion:

Cake!

I will try to get some photos of Juba up but I will link them off of my Flickr page to avoid uploading twice. The satellite internet is pretty sketchy and photos take about 20 minutes to upload. I'll upload them at night so as not to eat up all of the limited bandwidth.

Still in Jubtown

2008-06-21T08:49:00.000+03:00

There were some logistical problems with the cargo flight that I was planning on taking to get up to Pagak today. It looks like I will be in Juba for a few more days unless something opens up. Today there is a ceremony with SC UK and SC Sweden and some other NGO/UN officials. The Nairobi office that had previously administered much of the Sudan program has now closed down and the Juba office will be the base for SC's Sudan operations. I'll let you know how things go today.

Made it to Juba

2008-06-20T17:36:00.000+03:00

At the end of my first week in Nairobi, I finally got my luggage situation all sorted out. Once the call came in that they had found some luggage that may or may not have been mine, I didn't really care--I was just glad to talk to somebody who didn't keep blowing smoke up my ass and telling me to be patient and that this was all a process. After getting cleared by security and talking with the baggage guys for a while, I found both of my backpacks under a pile of suitcases pretty much in the same condition I had sent them. Every night I kept imagining them wandering around Nigeria somewhere and had pretty much given up hope that they would be found. Not too bad. I celebrated by eating three lunches. Justice baby!

I took a ten o'clock flight from Nairobi to Juba, Sudan, which lasted about an hour. After touching down at the airport and stepping out on the tarmac, I was a bit taken back by the sudden change in weather. I had gotten used to the nice cool air in Kenya and forgot what it was like to like in a hot humid hell. Today actually was just fine, but I had apparently gotten spoiled in Nairobi. Juba airport is not so big. Mostly its just a huge runway with a large building to the one side. Two huge white UN cargo planes were taking off and several of the white UN cargo choppers were sitting in the grass. Walking inside, I was greeted by a sign from an oil company welcoming me to Juba and Southern Sudan--"Our Country, Our Land, Our Oil, Our Liberty."

Juba is a huge city. More in size than in population. The dusty streets are filled with white Land Rovers as well as teenagers on motorcycles. The Save the Children compound was only about a 15 minute ride by Land Rover from the Airport. The Country office is composed of a couple of small buildings surrounded by a brown wall and a gate. There are about 20 staff and everybody has been very friendly. Juba is a safe city--one of the safest in Africa. Sometimes though, people do break in to the NGO compounds looking for anything of value. Late last night, the SC compound was hit by a small group who beat up the guard and wrecked the safe.

The guesthouse is just a short walk down the street. I'll head over there once the generator cuts off at 7 (in about 20 minutes). I'm excited to head out to Pagak tomorrow. It hasn't rained for about a week so the ground out there should have dried up enough to walk around without it becoming a mud bath.

Thanks everyone for all of your help and support this past week. Even without having any of my stuff, I felt great just knowing that I have such a good group of friends.

My next update should be from Pagak. One of these day's I'll try to get some pictures up.

Headed to the airport...

2008-06-19T13:49:00.000+03:00

...to follow up on a call that some bags may have arrived.

Plan B

2008-06-18T11:28:00.000+03:00

I have a suspicion that my luggage is probably gone. The past few day's I've just been hanging around the hotel while both Kenya Airways and Delta keep dicking me around. To save money, I've bought a bunch of bananas from the market and have been eating those for lunch and dinner. Come to think of it, I've only eaten lunch or dinner once since I've arrived. F that. Today I decided to try and find a way of getting some cash wired to me so I can re-outfit myself and get up to the field site. Nairobi is fine except that fighting with the airlines everyday and making no progress is like being in purgatory that costs alot of money. Late at night is somewhat depressing knowing that the next day is going to just be more of the same. I keep having some hope that my luggage will show up but deep down I know its likely having a new life somewhere in Nigeria. I need to accept it and just move on. The most difficult thing has been coming to terms with the fact that the documentary I've been planning is no no more. I have my video camera and a few tapes, but my charger and batteries are all MIA. I think its begining to finally sink in and I'm ready to get on with things. My new plan is to try to keep moving forward and hopefully keep getting stranded closer and closer to Pagak.

Nairobi is an expensive city. Mostly since I'm a total noob and don't really know where anything is outside my immediate surroundings. In the last few days I think I've located everything that I need--power cord for . Except the only underwear I can find is designer underwear at 40 bucks a pair. Again, F that. Seriously, I think its time to go commando in the jungle. Ironically, the only place I can find to buy clothes is a hip hop store and a Woolworths. I think once I get some cash I'm going to show up in the field all gangstered out.

I'm working out a plan to get up to the compound in Juba on Friday so I can finally start buying new equipment today. Now that I have a better idea of the money situation, I think I will treat myself by eating dinner tonight. Hell yeah!

Stuck In Nairobi--Time for a Plan B

2008-06-16T12:35:00.000+03:00

At the begining of this week, I was back in the U.S. and Sudan was one of the furthest things from my mind. Today is my third day in Nairobi. I left the U.S. a few days ago on my way to Sudan via the sweet Atlanta to Lagos, Nigeria air route. Problem is, my luggage was apparently n0t notified of the transfer at Lagos and may be wandering around somewhere in West Africa. Which is cool. Except that I'm now stuck in Nairobi until I can get this sorted out.

Luckily I still have my carry-on bag, which not so luckily only contains a video camera with no batteries, a pair of socks but no shoes, and a few hygene supplies. I missed my flight to Pagak, Sudan but have had a few days to catch up with myself after a crazy few months and a 21 hour flight that at one point had me rushing around the Lagos airport with a Nigerian soldier while airport staff played Elvis's "Love Me Tender" on repeat for two hours over the PA system.

I filed a lost baggage report with Kenya Airways, although unfortunately they have no record of receiving my baggage. Delta conveniently only has an e-mail contact address for questions and concerns, so it seems incumbent upon me to start working up a contingency plan for getting to Pagak with all the needed supplies.

I figured 'Contingency Plan' is an appropriate name for this blog. I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to have to go with the flow for the next few months while I am in East Africa. Lesson 1: Plans are great, but need to be flexible. Super flexible. Having a bit of extra cash is helpful too.

Hopefully, the next time I post I will have more positive news. One way or another, I'll keep you updated. Welcome to Africa.