Transitions

As always, it’s on the journey back when I start panicking. That’s about right, I think - any sooner and it would have ruined the precious days I had to enjoy myself in the city. I’d been ruminating on the precursors of these feelings for about 24 hours so I’d diagnosed them as a combination of trepidation, anxiety and guilt. I have felt all these before, in this situation before. Sitting in an American departure lounge at sunset took me back most immediately to my life in Atlanta: a leapfrog of a memory recollection going back almost 9 years, 3 careers and what feels like a couple of other mes.

It’s the return to me that I think I feel this over. In Atlanta it was the same – my house, my car, my job and the utter the lack of distraction: once I’m left alone regardless of how comfortable or not the situation I’m going back to, I panic. Those past times I was most frequently leaving family. I used to feel the same on my weekend trips home during university. I feel shame over this fear of loneliness. I think I’m supposed to be confidently forging my own life but I it’s times like this that I think I’d much rather just seek to live in the company of someone else. Maybe that’s the guilt I feel: having stopped paying attention to anything and anyone other than the one I’ve been sleeping with for the last week or so.

If I were to summarize the trip in a word, it would be ‘intense’. I only had 3 days in any one place. I got my new passport in London. I met my new niece. I saw my father for the first time in almost 10 years. I spent the better part of an impromptu romantic weekend in bed.

Because it feels like I live only for a week every two months, I emerge from here with a huge and overriding sense of need - not just for physical contact, but also for conversation, intimacy, food, music, even the fluff of pop culture that I used to disdain. One accomplishment of this overall experience is that I think I don’t let these feeling surface as much. Another is that if they do show they're somewhat justified. I’m better at managing the (perhaps) over-importance I place on each interaction – or maybe I’m just better at choosing to interact with people who are less perturbed by them. This transition: here-there-back-again is almost as big and as difficult a part of the experience as just being here is.

It was a good trip and a hard one to come back to work from. I was so engrossed in being away that my return was poorly planned. I didn't download any tv series or movies and I forgot to buy dried fruit. I simply didn’t have the energy to do it. I think that means I’m getting tired. I also found out on return that my boss wouldn’t approve the trip for me to go and pick up our new cars from Nairobi. Arse. It’s going to be a boring and fructose-less two months.

The first few weeks were rough. I wasn’t on my game and the challenges kept on coming. I was making progress, but without my rhythm I was missing opportunities, wasting time, not thinking things through, and not rising to events as fast as I should. This is a dangerous position to be in. As with my feelings of complacency before, I know this is when stupid things start happening. But rather than slapping myself into shape, I tended to cower and just hope that nothing bad happened.

Progress was most evident in the new offices and new staff that were up and running across all five of my states of operation. Real work was being done, and communities that otherwise would have been missed were receiving messages of the importance and how to register to vote. On top of the usual challenges of a huge area, poor roads, poor communications and near total illiteracy rates, we also had to contend with the fact that the electoral commission still had yet to release (or decide) exactly when, where or how people were to register. My staff has grown to 66 and I’m working through about $200k a month.

One of my staff, Yeni is working alone in Western Bahr-el Ghazal - a hotly political and under-populated state, and in whose capital, Wau, I have my new office. I’ve been unable to find a manager for that position for murky reasons, my first two choices dropping out so Yeni has been doing a reasonable job working alone. If I were on form I’d have gone with Yeni when he arrived to personally make all the necessary introductions and probably would have been back to visit to make sure his progress was ok. I’d made initial introductions to the authorities in August, but the rest I left if for him to do while I got back to dealing with the 90+ messages a day that were arriving in my inbox, the visiting finance director and minor drama in 4 other states, including lost equipment, a motorbike accident, dissenting key members of staff and a missing $5000. Everything seemed to be happening in a fairly regular order but with alternating events at the opposite ends of the country. I simply needed to be in 2 places at once and realized that I really need a deputy.

I got to Wau to check the progress of my new office opening to find it in good nick, thanks to Acuil’s efforts. It was the sight of this place that motivated me to opt to stay longer than my initial 3-month contract. I could see myself being comfortable here – a spacious, real office, a real house, running water, a kitchen. It was fully functional by the time I arrived and I indulged in a monthly internet subscription that was fast enough to allow video and audio streaming = live radio (cost = $1000 per month). On my first night there I cooked my own dinner while listening to radio 4. I could have been in Chalk Farm. The only things missing were the orange juice, the hommous and the broccoli.

I’d caught up with Yeni to find his progress mediocre. I dispatched him to a far corner of the state to ensure we made at least some impact in each county and decided myself to go and progress things in the closer places where he’d made somewhat of a start. Over two days I moved around tasking community volunteer groups with public events. I congratulated myself for finally getting off my arse and doing something useful.

The spell was abruptly broken as I returned to Wau on the second afternoon – a Sunday. As I got back into network coverage my phone began ringing almost incessantly but the caller could not get more than a few words out before the line cut. I got back to an empty compound. The manager of a nearby NGO compound came up moments after I arrived with the news that our people had been arrested – Acuil included.

I was called to the house of chief of police where the group of very simple community volunteers and my very savvy compound manager, Acuil were sitting in the courtyard. “Your people have been arrested making an illegal registration in the community.” I spent the next three days running between the offices of national security, the police, the public prosecutor’s office and the office of the complainant – the State Electoral Committee: the body we are meant to be here assisting.

A sour and petty Chairman was upset that we had not come to his office to make a personal introduction before starting our work in the state. Despite having authorization (and the all important stamped and signed letter) from the national committee in Juba (and his bosses), he felt – somewhat rightly - that we should have presented ourselves first. I accepted this and apologized for our oversight. This I understood. But what the bastard wouldn’t do was retract his complaint – uncaring to the fact that 11 people were sitting in a jail that smelled like a toilet.

The group was moved from the national security offices, who said they had no case, to the CID cells – they smelled even worse and actually doubled as a toilet. They also, I later found out, had no charge, but since they were holding them anyway started looking for one. They were having trouble so started questioning me and my organization. “You are Arab and a spy from the North or from Israel!” It was a rare moment of irony in a few days where I felt powerless, vulnerable, and afraid of being at the whim of illiterate idiots. They basically said they wouldn’t release them – making excuses about needing a letter from national security (who had already called to clear them) and the need for a written redaction of the complaint form the electoral committee (who were sulking).

One of my staff from a neighboring state cam to assist – an ex-politician with clout and the ability to speak for hours about somewhat related, but not directly relevant topics to the matter at hand. THIS is the support I needed. What we westerners interpret as directness and clarity here is perceived as insolence and impatience. He handled the situation very well. I also realized that they all knew each other from years ago and from serving in the militias. I wasn’t sure if the need for explanation and the running around was only for my benefit.

At the end of the third day there was still no formal charge. At that point a calm and reasonable public prosecutor revealed that there was also personal complaint from one of the police officers, but that just seemed to be an ex-comrade taking advantage of the opportunity to express and old grudge against Acuil. Whilst leafing through his copy of the Sudan Penal Code, the prosecutor said that he couldn’t find any charge that either complaint could be turned into so said we could take everyone home…”but you might have to bring them back tomorrow.” We found somewhere for the group to stay the night and dropped off lots of soap and bottles of Dettol.

I now much better understand why people here care more about status and favor than doing an assigned job well or to completion.

The next day I was driving off to another site in the bush and realized both how lucky I am to have come out of that experience safely for myself and my team, and how lucky I am to be having these experiences. Although stressful and worrying, I’m now suddenly energized, committed and determined. This might just partly be because I can now see how much it matters and how hot a subject what we’re involved in is. I can see what we need to do to make sure that this doesn’t happen again and have put these things in place. I feel similarly about many things – including clearing the blocked fuel line on the way back from said bush. At the risk of sounding self-congratulatory, I think I’m doing something that few people could pull off and I’m doing it moderately well. This is worth working for, even if it does taste like diesel. Maybe I am confidently forging my own life, after all.

I need to remember that. The new office with its 24 hour power, fast 24 hour internet and facilities for cooking and washing up makes a big difference, too. I’ll be on the road a lot for the rest of the time I’m here, but coming back to that will make the experience more pleasant. I can again listen to and disdain the pop culture fluff as it plays in the background on internet radio, and feel connected to the world in the way that the BBC worldservice just can’t do for me.

I’ve stopped looking for jobs as it feels like I’m getting nowhere. Nothing I see advertised in the UK excites me and I’m getting no love from the applications I‘m sending to other international roles. My polite reminders that I’m still here for the leads I had don’t seem to be maturing and we’re heading into slow season for Thanksgiving and Christmas. This means I’ll be here till at least until March. If I’m staying till then, I may as well stay for the elections in April. It would be a shame to miss them after all this. That means staying until May 2010…a lot longer than my initial 6 month plan, and again longer than my planned 3 month return stint. 2 years is reasonable though. I’d have no problems making a clean break then, regardless of what’s going on here, or what there is to go to. Maybe my stashed savings should stay stashed for that unknown.

I’m in London for Christmas break: 23rd to 5th, with maybe a little trip to Europe somewhere in the middle. I’ll try and manage this transition better than the last.

Second Chances

The welcome back was incredible. I’ve never felt so appreciated. It was amazing how quickly I felt unimportant in London. I thoroughly enjoyed that month and a half off and highly recommend it to anyone working. The break was so good because I was clear of my previous obligation and certain of the next that was coming. I landed on my feet, but not in the position I’d expected. The job in Afghanistan didn’t come through – so much for certainty. After 8 weeks and 3 interviews they decided that they couldn’t hire non-Americans. I think it was for the better as it seemed to be a little on the fly: definitely not the ideal situation when in a war zone. I found this out only a day after turning down CHF’s offer of return so Sudan for slightly more money. Arse.

I called CHF back (NB: I did not grovel) and said that I would be available to help get the new project started and could come back short-term (if they were lucky). An HR bod called me back after a day or two to offer me $300 a day as a consultant for a 3 month contract. I figured it would take her a day or two to realize how much money that was and to call me back. They did so with a new offer - revised downward, but still favourable. In the absence of better offers, I accepted a start date of the following week.

That was a good week. I would look up at flights crossing London thinking that I would soon be joining them to jet off and do something useful. I love having a sense of purpose and quickly forgot the frustrations of working in Sudan for my organization -- besides, it would only be short term. While the break was good I quickly missed feeling important, wanted, valued and unique. I quickly got tired of London life. Conversation is complaint, people incessantly whinge and only talk to share their “nightmares” from the previous day: no hot water, having to wait all evening for the internet repair guy to come…

So back to Sudan for 12 weeks. Too much luggage again. It was a little surreal coming back and the first fortnight felt much like a dream. I was confident I could run this project in my sleep having written the proposal and worked in the same place and capacity for the last year. It’s not complex, and although getting through the very long to do list would require a frenetic pace, at least the tasks were clear.

The frustrations started before arrival. It was unclear whether or not I was booked on the flight until 10pm the night before to fly at 10am the next morning. They hadn’t arranged a visa, a hotel or transport in Nairobi. These frustrations I can manage, though, as long as I expect them and their approximate proportion.

I slipped into the routine of work relatively quickly, allowing myself a week of adjustment. The greatest effort was learning to care again: that unpaid tax, the yet to do final report.... I bounced between thoughts of how happy I was to be back and how thankful I was that I would only have to put up with these frustrations for 12 weeks. I predicted that this was actually going to be a little mechanical… someone had warned me that nothing’s quite as good the second time around.



6 weeks later Isaac Bol died. At that point I just didn’t have the emotional resources to mount a response. I didn’t act soon enough by sending him in a car to take him to the hospital. For that I felt extreme guilt. So much had not happened that was supposed to while I was gone and in the absence of leadership petty fighting a bickering had broken out in the team. It had taken me this long to wrest back control on the project and make any kind of dent in the new project I was supposed to be implementing. I uncovered incidents of fraud, theft and outright incompetence that had led to the loss of a lot of money, and the potential for a lot more.

Security outside the compound seemed to be falling to shit. 140 were killed in a single week in Jonglei. What was disturbing was that this wasn’t for the usual purpose of cattle or child raiding, it was just internecine violence. The attackers had very new Kalashnikovs. I was stuck in Juba for a week as the town underwent surprise disarmament. 2 MPs were caught fleeing the city with cars full of anti-aircraft guns.

There’s a common practice of referring to the boss as ‘father’. Any head is generally seen as the provider, benefactor and caregiver. And while this position is served, serviced and respected, it is also the point of call for assistance in times of need. Although I love all the attention and respect I’ve earned by my large and growing team, the fairly constant stream of visitors to announce births, marriages, sicknesses, emergencies, needs, requests for loans on top of the day job can get a bit overwhelming.

I got back to Rumbek after 3 weeks on the road. That week, one staff was stung by a scorpion, another ambushed and lost one of our motorbikes, and Bol fell seriously ill. I was the port of call for all cases. The local government hospital is appalling – I learnt this on having to retrieve Makuac the previous year from an appendix surgery from which he went septic twice. The nearest reasonable care is in Mapurtit, 2.5 hours away by car. At 4pm, it was too late to send a car. I didn’t want to have the driver out that late and he’d racked up much too much overtime. In an off-handed manner I told them to wait until the morning and if Bol was still unwell, to go to the hospital then.

Did I kill a man just because I wanted to avoid having to shell out 5 hours of overtime pay? By the time they reached the hospital he was in worse shape. They radioed 2 days later to tell us he died – acute cerebral malaria and syphilis.
I think there was nothing more I could have reasonably done – I tell myself. No matter what I do, it’s never enough. This place will consume me if I let it. While waiting too long to send a car to save him was an error, I did well to send one immediately to retrieve the body. This, I later found out, allowed him to be buried at home and for his family and to hold a service for him. I attended the funeral that weekend that lasted a 11 hours and I was a star guest. His widow, family and pastor made constant references to my presence as further evidence of my respectfulness, generosity and uprightness… all the while me thinking that actually, I contributed to his death. I took and made best use of my second chance without knowing it. Sadly there wasn’t a second chance for Bol.

They slaughtered a cow on his grave. It was a colourful day: fluorescent red blood, spilling on the ochre red soil and the feet of the liquorice-black pastor with the bright purple shirt next to the pale white guy who was trying not to look awkward. I wanted a photo.

Ramadan came and went. This time was easier than last year. No real illness, but I lost 8kgs. I looked forward to my leave in 2 weeks.