I do hope this is skimmed milk

Another couple of weeks, another bunch of remote places, another few thousand radios. Ok, I’m getting used to this now. There were trees, more mud huts, more mud and lots and lots of black people. Does this crate the necessary imagery in lieu of my lack of camera? There are actually more pictures on flikr, none taken by me, but all from my most recent journey out in to the bush.

This trip (two combined in one) was actually different in a lot of ways. Most notably because I was running the show for 2 weeks - my boss was on leave. This, in and of itself was thrilling, and from this fortnight I understand why managers get paid just that little bit more. Christ, it was like babysitting. Bickering aside, there were some very good days and I think this is because I’ve heeded the advice of a good friend in a similarly uncivilized location (Dudley, UK) and am much less fighting the situations in which I find myself, and more just letting them unfold. In most cases the situation does not go exactly as I planned, but the outcome is as I wanted and those who felt that they should have been in control, felt so. A win – win situation all round. What’s been good:

I’ve discovered that I speak the language of civil servants. I knew my time in local government would pay off. I’ve found myself addressing groups of County and Payam (level below a county) Administrators – in a very Humphrey Appelby manner - and getting exactly the response I was hoping for. I quite enjoyed this, as you can imagine.

I stayed for a few days at a UN compound upcountry in a town called Rubkona. I now have first hand proof that the UN does almost nothing apart from swanning around in white vehicles that non UN staff are not allowed to look at let alone ride in. But I got to stay in one of their plush converted shipping container-turned rooms (cut 2 holes for windows, one for door and one for AC). The AC felt particularly decadent, but it was my birthday – also celebrated by an orange, apple, grapefruit, and mango. I was having fantasies about fresh fruit, and almost immediately as if by divine intervention, I saw a man selling fruit on the side of the road (the first I’ve seen in Sudan). I made him very wealthy. I’ve been blessed by such moments at just the right intervals over the last couple of weeks to keep me generally quite happy. Another was finding a woman who makes strong Arabic-style coffee, but with ginger and tea with cinnamon, and sitting in the back of the tent the was serving from, letting the smoke from the sandalwood burned to chase flies away also hide me, and shade the bright afternoon light that streamed in.

In one community, Mankien, I experienced something else new. I think this was in part because until now we’ve been working at a frenetic pace. It was a good sign when we arrived and a woman approached the car simply to greet the newcomers. In every place I have been up until now, people have approached to ask for something. Here was the first where it felt like we were firmly on the receiving end. And it got better.

Peter, Mankien’s head catechist, had been plying me with food and drink since my arrival late in the night a few days before. He found me within 20 minutes of my arrival in the town. I'd not been allowed to buy even a bottle of water for myself, and it was only narrowly that I convinced him that he didn't need to house or wash the clothes of me and my 6-member team (plus 2 drivers). I conceded to have dinner each night and breakfast with him each morning and by 7:45 on the morning of the planned distribution I was washed, dressed and drinking my second glass of strong, sweet and milky tea. It had taken me two days to piece together two facts here: 1 – the milkiness was really full flavored and there was a skin on top of the tea, like you get with fresh milk, 2- there were three cows in the corner of the compound. As I begun to pray that mixing with hot tea would equate to pasturization, my thought process was interrupted by a visitor who wished to speak specifically to me.

I couldn’t guess her age, but she moved slowly. The softness in her eyes was framed by a story of something much harder, as the deep wrinkles mingled with her tribal markings. She introduced herself via Peter, and wanted to thank us for bringing her and her community the opportunity of knowledge by giving them these radios. She was praying for God to bless us.

I stammered a comparably feeble response along the lines of "I'm just deliverin em, luv,” (I blame it on the milk) but Peter translated this into what he seemed to think I should have said and the woman was happy.

And she was just one of many to express her gratitude. Because the surrounding communities were inaccessible by vehicle, the members of those communities who received blue pre-distribution cards had come Mankien. Most had arrived the previous day. Their, up to 4 hour, walk across the swamps had not abated their excitement and processions of drumming and singing weaved their way around Mankien until late in the night. They started again early the following morning. In another community I cocked up the numbers and arrived with too few radios. The local administrator was very worried about trying to explain this to the community, for fear that they would accuse him of keeping them for himself, so he asked me to address the crowd. I did so (more Evita than Humphrey Appelby here), apologizing and asking for their forgiveness. A bold girl at the back shouted in response “it’s ok, what you’ve brought is enough for us”. Mwaaaaa.

That was all sharply contrasted to the place I’ve just come from, where the villages were crawling with soldiers and a lot the men wear women’s dresses – not because cross-dressing is popular, rather because the men have intercepted aid goods intended for women. They fought over everything and fought us at every step of the way. The County administrator’s first question to me was “where is the radio for me?”

When we arrived in the town, we greeted a man and asked for direction to the catholic mission. “You’re not from here,” he replied and studied us for a good moment before reluctantly pointing the way.

I think it’s a result of ethnic homogeneity. Down here in the South it’s almost 100% Dinka, whereas up North it’s a mix of indigenous Nuer, Dinka from the South, Arabs from North Sudan and black Muslims from Darfur. In Mankien they resented the colossal green mosque in the middle of their primarily Christian town (a handdown from the war when the town was occupied by the Northern army), but the ethnic Arab traders who stayed on have become a part of the community. As they all brush up against each other there is friction, but they all seem to recognize the difference. And that probably makes each reflect on himself.

Not down here in Dinkaland, where there is a dangerous combination of pride and ignorance. They are closed off from the rest of the country and the rest of the world. As far as they are concerned, outside has nothing to offer. Our distribution had to stop as a minor riot broke out and ran over someone’s house. All aid organizations have pulled out of this area, stating complications when trying to work with the community.

Ah well, some people got radios. I hope they use them, appreciate them and learn of the world beyond their towns. If I could, I’d have taken the batch back up to Mankien. But maybe these demonstrably ignorant and aggressive people one are the ones in greater need. It’s just good to feel appreciated, I guess. It’s interesting, though, that given that the war ended just 2 years ago, the ex-occupied towns are the most hospitable and developed. This says something about preparedness for independence.

Don’t worry, my arrogance isn’t carrying me away. A couple of things that brought me back to earth: I got sick again (not Brucellosis). I think a touch of Cholera this time – it was not pretty, but I’ve made a full recovery, thank God. Also a near car crash where a goat ran in front of me at 80kph on a dirt road. I really can’t remember what I did with the pedals and the wheel, but I’m quite certain that it wasn’t governed by much logic. The result was a skid down into the ditch on the right side of the road, then up, over and down to the left side of the road, then back to the middle in a large (albeit graceful) arc the left us pointing in the opposite direction. I thanked God for saving us and restoring my humility.

Off again today.

xx