trapped in Juba

Juba jail:



I was supposed to be writing this from Pagak, and for that matter I was supposed to be writing this from my laptop. But, as I’m realizing, little in this country comes to fruition as planned (abyei CPA failure?). My excuse for the delay in updating this blog and responding to respective emails: my laptop bit the dust. Week one in Sudan, woohoo!! Thanks Noah for encouraging me to be demanding; I’m now writing from a work computer (windows – yuck!) and my lovely MAC is en route to Nairobi, though something tells me it wont be functioning til the end of August upon my return to NY. To continue the cynicism/irritation: heavy rains and bad logistics have resulted in three flight cancellations and so, I’m still in Juba, unsure of when the next charter flight (a Buffalo cargo plane) will take off. I’m totally ready to get out of this crazy shit hole. Summering in Sudan is a lil like summering in NY, in that I went dancing in a tanktop and open toed shoes, spent time on the water, and bar-b-qued with friends, but honestly, I really just can’t wait to get to Pagak (my field site in Upper Nile) so that I can start working. Despite having a good number of new comrades, and a handful of old, I’ve been more or less consistently on edge since arriving. The cadre of 15 y/o boys with AK47s, the impossibly slow internet, movement restrictions, and lack of work for me to engage in, is taking its toll.

Laptop gaffe aside, I’ve been spending too much time on the computer. This is partly due to the fact that it takes roughly a minute to get any website to load but also because I feel like I don’t have anything else to do, which if you know me at all, you know that my impatience grows exponentially with downtime and that I do not handle boredom well. Shit, I certainly didn’t come to Sudan because I have a penchant for inactivity. I’m growing frustrated that my work for the past two weeks has involved reviewing project documents that amass to little more than rhetoric. I have a hard time imagining that the data and information I am looking for – who are our partners? What are our defined expectations of said partners? Who is and how many are being served? What has actually happened over this grant period? How many trainings have occurred? What documents were involved in those trainings? What are the national policy frameworks in place supporting this engagement? What did that consultant do? – is simply non-existent. How could this organization not have reporting frameworks for such a big project?

I’m desperate to get to the field, meet the education manager, talk with people on the ground, and figure out what is actually going on. I suppose these calamities are endemic to this part of the world, at least at this point in time. NGO politics and government politics (which in this case are more or less enmeshed in NGO politics, as so many of the government’s ministries are propped by NGOs on the ground) aside – Sudan is a straight up incredibly difficult place to be. I never knew how severe seasons could be and no-one has hesitated to tell me how impenetrable the rainy season in Pagak will be. The rains begin in June and every day until September, the skies drop more and more. I’m told that I wont be able to leave the compound for days and weeks on end and that the likelihood of me being able to leave (given the mud that prevents both cars from driving and planes from landing) the village drops exponentially as the summer moves towards fall. I am beginning to ask why exactly, knowing that essential to community development work is access to the community, the country director accepted an intern to this location during this season. The how of departure (medical emergency departures, that is) was already answered; UNMIS will rescue me and their helicopters don’t have to actually land…

Mike reminded me that my life here is as worthless as anyone else’s (thanks, bud…) and today, on the two year anniversary of my step-sister’s tragic death, I am thankful for the opportunities and protection that I’ve been afforded. Knowing full well that I am not here to fix or save Sudan, I will try and take this for what it is and shut my face up long enough to appreciate the undeniable opportunity for learning that I have. It’s times like now where believing in God would make things make more sense in a way. My newest friend, Sammy, has a profound belief in God, and for one of the first times, I don’t find it unsettling. Sam’s story and life is nothing short of incredible. He fled his home in Bor, in Jonglei state, where John Garang (former leader of the SPLA/leader of the secessionist movement of south Sudan) was from, with his younger brother, barefoot with other children in 1987. It was the last time he saw his father alive and the last time seeing his mother or home for nearly 20 years. After 8 days and nights of walking/running through the jungle – no roads then either - to the sounds of gun shots, bombings and air raids, he reached a refugee settlement established for youth in Ethiopia. When war broke in Ethiopia he moved, again by foot, with others to Kakuma camp in Kenya. Thus far his story is not unique – there were over 350,000 stories like this from southern Sudan alone, not including the millions who were internally displaced – but it was hearing this story from a man my age, who is now my colleague, who’s brother was resettled in the US, but who himself was unable to be resettled because of a database spelling error in his name/ID cards, who put himself through school and university in exile and alone without family, who has now returned to his own country as a logistics manager for a huge international NGO with aims to go to law school and become a politician in the near future, and who has the most positive outlook and earnest, soulful expression of anyone I’ve ever met, that really effected me. I’ve heard the first part of Sam’s story multiple times and read it even more often. I’ve worked with resettled refugees and in refugee camps. But it was this time that I felt his story and felt the conviction of southern Sudanese. I suppose that it’s this sentiment that leaves me with an iota of hope for this place – and a taste of the sweet irony of the arrogance of ‘empowerment’ and ‘capacity building’ programs that cant even put a basic assessment together.

Here are some photos from screwy Juba – that I had to take from the window of a moving vehicle lest my camera be confiscated... Send me good thoughts.

Street scenes:
There aren’t too many streets lined with shops in the part of town where I am living, but if you drive through rocking “downtown Juba” you’re sure to find many storefronts to this effect:


You’ll undoubtedly encounter plenty of mud and reckless trash/pollution - this is a beyond mild example:


Not entirely sure what these rocks are used for, or if they are sold by weight within the emptied jerry can, but thought the scene photo-worthy:


Street scene, a shot of what I am told is the old Juba movie theatre:


typical local homes - tukuls made of mud, grass and generally whatever plastic sheeting is available: