Bad Karma Season

After 5 weeks it was as bad as I’d expected, but not in the way I expected. The rains came early and then stopped meaning that I was only up to my ankles in mud, rather than my elbows. I was still up to my eyes in sodding mosquito nets, though.

My trepidation over coming back was lost in routines and daily processes. It was an all out sprint up to that point and I’d not given myself a single day off in that time. I was very weary. The team was getting sick and were bickering. I’d been bitten my more insects than I can count and the variety of bites ranged from small ones that itch, to huge ones that blister to ones on my arse that felt like golf balls, were incredibly painful, oozed pus and seemed to be growing.

Distribution is always hard, but I really wasn’t enjoying this. On top of the logistical challenges (5 of the 40-ft containers were dropped In the wrong place and were held hostage by the local authorities) the hostility from communities was still very much present. The local hires were even worse and expected payment for merely showing up, let alone for making any effort. There were no requests, only demands. They whinged. They made bad decisions and then came expecting me to pick up the tab. They had no concept of an inappropriate demand. “You have to come back and transport me," he was one of 60 people working. They did things inconsistently: sometimes signing the white cover sheet, sometimes the blue carbon-copy sheet, sometimes every sheet. There was a pathologic laziness, I think attributed to the complete lack of belief of contribution to a common cause. If I had their government I might feel the same. My attitude took a turn for the worse: I was filled with thoughts of “fuck off then, keep your malaria and your country will still be shithole in 10 years time.”

One instance I’m particularly proud of: a hired truck got stuck on a pathetically easy road and was holding up an entire county’s distribution. We arrived to find the driver casually digging one wheel out, the mate doing a very half-arsed job with some sticks (he was still drunk from the night before) and the site managers we’d hired travelling with the nets to their distribution sites just sitting under a nearby tree. I got to digging, but after an hour there was no progress. We were going nowhere, the sun was blistering and we were all in fear of the rains in a place where one good downpour could completely strand you – no going forward, no backward. We were faced with the options of keeping to dig, offloading the 7 tons of cargo to try to move the truck, or abandoning it. I asked our driver to back our vehicle up to see if we could try and pull him out (a long shot, I’ll admit), and he lazily reclined with the others saying “the truck won’t move”. I flipped. “FINE, don’t fucking move and be like every other bloody African sitting on your arse doing nothing waiting for anther white man to come and solve your problems for you.”

He moved the car quickly -- he was still in the dog house for getting stuck on a similarly stupid road only the week before and doing significant damage to the car. The truck actually didn’t move, but it was worth the try. Another driver and one of the guys went back later to help dig it out and it got moving.  I had to load the landcruisers 4 times from the truck to drop nets off. By the time it got moving it only had half of its load remaining. What a frickin waste of money. I shouldn’t have trusted the truck owner, I shouldn’t have trusted the driver.

I know my anger puts me in the wrong, but what bothers me is that I need to continually question everyone’s judgement. My driver got his car stuck the previous week by flooring it when he was sinking in mud. He only dug himself deeper. He then shifted in 4L, revved the engine again to about 5k and spun the wheels up to about 40kph. The stress on the engine was too much – the fan clutch broke, cracked the seal on the water pump, and the fan came off and punctured the radiator. We stood helplessly and watched litres of coolant spilling out and mixing with the mud. The fan had been missing a blade for weeks, apparently, but he didn’t feel that was a significant issue. I should have stopped him, I should have questioned him, I should have checked the engine before we got moving. I should have done a lot of things. It resulted in a $1000 repair for which I had to walk back to the nearest village 15km away. We found a car and some guys to tow us out, pulled the car back to Bunagok, took out the radiator and car-hopped back to Rumbek 4 hours away. We returned with parts and a mechanic . 4 days lost, but at least now I know how to replace a water pump and timing belts. I think I don't shout at people enough - this was just a result of his carelessness and laziness.

My days on work were spent out in the communities organizing the distributions. Altogether it was a slight boiler-room effect, hence my hostility. My off days I came back to Rumbek. The compound was an oasis of calm friendly faces compared to the hostility of the communities. I’d come back feeling raw having been bombarded from every direction – even from my employer. The respect and friendliness of my staff was a welcome confirmation that I was doing at least something right. Their loyalty was expressed a number of ways, but I was most touched by their dedication to the work.  Is it because I just posted job ads for the new project?

Thankfully it only took me about a day out of the boiler room to gain a healthier perspective, but those couple of weeks were just bad karma season. I got back to the compound to find 2 compound staff in jail (jealous boyfriend is a SPLA commander) and another grieving the death of her brother in recent tribal violence. The driver that got us stuck had fallen ill in the field so I had been doing all the driving for about 5 days. When we returned he needed to go in for surgery for piles, but this meant I had to take him to the Comboni mission in Mapourdit for surgery, two hours away. The local government hospital nearly killed another of my employees last year. Whilst Samuel was recovering from his surgery two hours away, his 9 month-old son died. We had an enquiry to the compound– for condolences for him? No, to inform us that he knocked a girl up last time he was in Wau and the family is demanding marriage (would be number 3). I drove out to bring him back to Rumbek and he was racked with grief over his son. 13 died in fighting around Rumbek that week and another 10 or so the week after. Many more were injured...So much for my “off days”. I think the world would remain out of order until the rains properly came. I held a staff meeting with the guys the following Monday and bribed them to keep working with a cash bonus – I called it an education allowance. Thankfully, the project remained on track and way under-budget – mostly due to hard bargaining on truck rentals to move the nets around the state.

I took my 30^th birthday as an excuse to take the first weekend I’d had in 6 weeks. Aside from the morning trip out to bring Samuel back (which did actually give me the opportunity to test drive Monica - our newly returned landcruiser), I just chilled and looked vacation destinations and other jobs. I know that I’m not going to be able to affect the rain or the tribal fighting, but a change in attitude would probably help a bit. A week on a beach and shiny new job (or at least hope of each) would help a lot more.