This time I mean it

I did handle the transitions much better: so much so that I didn’t have anything to whinge about for months. What I didn’t handle well was the checkbooks. This is the problem with delegation. One of my staff stole 2 checks from the finance officer, forged signatures and made off with $14,000. The cowardly little shit left his wife and child behind who were imprisoned for a day or two, but then released and now have to check into the police station twice a day. She faces constant harassment over the fact that her husband is a crook and stole money intended for local benefit. Despite the fact that it’s a big town, people still know each others business. We don’t expect her to stick around for long. The police are inept and corrupt and are busy with lots of local cases to worry about. Karma will get him I hope.

Other than this, my time since November was not incredibly eventful. The project rolled on with the usual sets of wonders and challenges. It became apparent much too late that I wasn’t spending enough – how odd work is. The project looks set to close with over $300k left in the budget. I proposed buying an amphibious 2-seater plane. The boss said no. I got a deputy: an international employee and looked upon this as an exciting challenge – real management, rather than just bossing underlings around.

I got a nice break over Christmas to London and to Barcelona where I saw a friend from university I’d last seen 12 years ago who’s been busy making babies. I met her newest addition, number 3. Compared to her, my time on the planet over the last 12 years seems very unproductive.

I fell in love with London again,and at winter-time no less. I’m sure the weather and vacation state of mind had a lot to do with it. I loved walking the streets in the crisp sunny days and clear nights. I loved the anonymity and bustle. I realized this on a train on the way into Waterloo: looking out the window on the right as we approached Vauxhall after the Sainsbury’s, the afternoon sun shone on the 1970’s functional tower block of dark brown concrete and I realized that this is where I belong. I also realized that there was little chance of being able to come back immediately unless I was willing to endure a few miserable months of unemployment in the spring. I think I did the right thing by shelving these thoughts. I’m beginning to understand the momentum of life and that smooth transitions take a couple of years of intention and small changes to achieve. It’s funny that for so long I desired an international career and now I’m trapped on the outside. For me to come back and get the kind of job I want to be happy is going to take a few more years out here.

In March I got to see Cairo and family in Amman. Cairo was fun, but wow, travel takes a lot of effort. My idea of a good vacation destination is now somewhere where I can just sit in one place and drink green tea. Everyone in Jordan looked very healthy, especially my grandmother. I think there’s something in the water... no really, I smelled chlorine for the first time and I think the municipal water supply is finally piped and treated. This is why I like public services.

Coming back to Sudan in mid-March, I knew, was to be my final trip back to work and in a way looked forward to finishing things up over the next 12 weeks or so. This would be a longer stint than usual so I equipped accordingly: fruit, Tupperware, protein power, a kilo of green tea, three of honey. Egypt air lost my luggage. Bastards.

One of the reasons I’ve become a lot more content with work is because I finally got a boss I respect: an ex-Lieutenant Colonel from the Yugoslav army, Zoran. He gets points for the name alone. Despite the fact that he keeps rubbing my head, we get on very well. Thankfully I only see him in person an average once every 2 months. He’s practical, listens, reasons and is decisive and clear.

So me, my Liberian deputy and my team pushed on with our project work, we educated some communities, we made them aware elections are coming. Thus far we estimate reaching over 500k people (that’s 5 times our program target, by the way – go us). I’m very aware, though that our pithy messages of “Go Vote!” or similar are not going to do that much good. Sudan, particularly the South, is about to have one of the most complicated elections on the planet. Each voter will have to vote on 12 separate ballots. The winner for the president of the republic (from which almost every opposition party has recently withdrawn) requires a majority. The president of the south and state governors require pluralities. The legislative assemblies at each level will work by proportional representation, but with 3 lists: a constituency list, a party list and a women’s list. Illiteracy is estimated at over 65% in the population and over 90% amongst women. With many never having held a pen, the mechanics of simply getting in and checking the right box will be the biggest obstacle, let alone evaluating the choices for a good leader. The National Electoral Commission, who we exist to support (read: “whose failures we are making up for as they sit in their air-conditioned offices in state capitals”), released thousands of mock ballots – the only instance in my opinion where they’ve demonstrated any foresight or initiative. Then Silva Kiir announced that subversive Arabs from the North might come to confuse people with false papers. Most solders are illiterate too, so can’t read the “SAMPLE” stamp on each of the mock ballots and have been hauling anyone seen with them to jail. Thankfully none of my staff are among this time.

It is exciting, I must admit. The enthusiasm in the air is tangible. People want to know what to do, who to choose, and when the changes will start happening. They understand this is the staging event for the referendum. There are flyers and posters and campaigns and marches and rallies just about everywhere. I tried to attend one, but keeping a low profile is impossible when you’re one of the only khuwajas in the village and I got invited up on stage. It’s a fun time to be here but I’m leaving before the shit hits the fan.

A lot of foreigners fear peoples' expectations for what the elections will bring are high and we’re not sure what’s going to happen when people get disappointed. I think counting is going to take weeks, not the 3 days it’s expected to. No one has yet admitted (and with good reason) that the polling centres will not have sufficient capacity to accommodate all registered voters within the 3 days of polling. With 12 ballots observers predict that it will take a person at least 45 minutes to complete the process. A huge number of people registered with mobile teams, but there will only be static polling centres and not in a 1:1 ratio. The final registered voter’s lists and other vital bits of equipment (such as ballots and boxes), had still not reached polling centres 2 days before the elections. All is done with paper lists, so a person will have to guess where his/her name is. Merely finding a person’s name, in communities that typically have only 5-10 is alone going to be one hell of challenge for the poorly educated polling centre officials. People will likely have to wait hours to get into a polling centre and if their name is not there, they’ll have to go to another centre to try to find their name again. The average Southern Sudanese is well-accustomed to disappointment, though.

It’s not for these reasons I’m leaving. I’m leaving because I finally got another job. In the project brief of the new gig for the donor, my new employer described me as a development professional with 10 years' experience. If I’ve ever felt like I’m living in an episode of “faking it” this is it. If only they knew two of those years were spent as a…neuroscientist!

I didn’t want a big event over my leaving, partly because I hate events and partly over the shame that this is the second time I’ve done it. A few did actually respond to the news with “again?” Having left once before I’m not that interested in a complete retrospective, so I wanted to move discreetly, efficiently and un-emotionally. I asked my logistician to prepare purchase request for a flight to Nairobi. Victor, the driver of whom I’m fondest and who can’t read carried the request for a quote to the local ticketing office. He returned with a suspicious look “When are you coming back from Nairobi?”

The goodbyes quickly started coming and, like last time, were very touching. I think everyone held a minor reserve in their goodbye representing their skepticism about the fact that I was really going and not coming back. I tried to get around to each of the state offices so it was an odd series of staggered events. Zoran quickly organized meeting in Juba but one of his opening statements bothered me: ”despite having a reputation of being harsh or mean…we know he has a heart of gold”.

Heart of gold?

It might be because I wear a perpetual frown, or because I’m overcompensating for the fact that I think I’m a pushover, but it seems I have developed a reputation for being a bit of a git. I think I prefer that to having a reputation as a wet. This is why I hate send-offs as the recipient: I’m supposed to just grin and be thankful.

I got on best with and will miss most those that I didn’t directly manage – the cooks, the cleaners, the guards, the drivers. Those relations were easier to maintain as friendships and those goodbyes were the hardest, in part because we simply didn’t have the language or the words. I was trying to make a dent the remaining amount left in our budget so over the last couple of weeks have been rapidly buying things like water tanks and submersible pumps to replace the hand pumps at the boreholes in our compounds; shirts, uniforms, jackets and boots for the guards and cooks – there’s only two months left in the program, but what the hell. This was mistakenly perceived as my devoting my final efforts on the program to make their lives richer. Although not quite right, I accepted the glory. I’m allowed that much, aren’t I?

I’m glad to be leaving now and glad to have gotten to this point. What started out as a 6 month temp contract two years ago has developed into some great experiences: anecdotal, developmental, personal and professional. So that’s it. Like the goodbyes from my staff, I guess I, too, think I might be back. I cut my teeth on South Sudan and with a referendum next year and a lot of work to do after I might be lured back again. There’s little point in planning, though: I expect that things won’t go to plan. If I’ve learned anything over the last two years, it’s that.