Who's Who

Work and play

Without the people I would not make it through the day. Just thinking about them makes me smile. It’s not the roaringly-hilarious kind of funny that I am talking about, but the chuckly-I-would’ve-never-imagined kind of funny. Each of them is like a private joke, and together that makes a lot of jokes – enough to get you through the day.

Before I came here I had brooded for hours, trying to ‘prepare’ myself for what I would find – in terms of the work, the people, the history, the war, the peace and the political process … and of course the ‘tribulations’ of doing humanitarian work in ‘Africa’. What I hadn’t even given a thought to were the people – not the Sudanese folk, but my co-workers. Yes of course they are a bunch of inefficient bureaucrats and yada yada yada, but without them, this story doesn’t even go half the way. They are important, you see – you learn about them and their experiences, as much as you learn to do your job. I think that it should be a part of your ToR that you spend at least 15% of your day gaining ‘anecdotal experience’! And their experiences and their circumstances are quite distinctive … they are of every ethnicity … they just been just about everywhere … speak every language possible (sometimes one person herself). Its like a mini UN or something … oh, hold on – it is!

Jocelyn and Emmanuel received me at the airport. Jocelyn is an HR assistant, and she is the quintessential Philippine in her 30s – round, chubby face, long black hair, synthetic floral printed shirt and white capris (which too, are of course Philippine in my mind). In an airy style she ordered Emmanuel to put my bags exactly where they should go. Then we whizzed around to everywhere I needed to be on Day 1… first the accommodations, and then in the office. Immaculate execution! Jocelyn loves routine … and rules! Emmanuel is chill, but all I saw then were his latest Matrix-style sunglasses – quite a rarity in Juba!

At the office, there was Peter Butili – Sudanese, smiling, short and stocky … upon introduction he was delighted to offer me the other desk at his office. I later found out that his delight was partially due to the fact that I had off-loaded one of his core responsibilities … but I’m not bitter. Peter can give you more local news and analysis in a half hour than can Anderson Cooper with his imitation of a speeding human train. And he knows people in every government office South Sudan … it shouldn’t be long before I meet the President.

Ditas (head HR) is also Philippine. She smiled more than actually telling me what exactly the Code of Conduct and ToR that I signed would do to me. She said it was mostly common sense anyway. She makes life easy … she was the one that told me they wear sandals to work, prompting me to bring all of my open, summer footwear. She was so casual that she even offered her phone code to call internationally! Yum yum.

Our office head, Raja, towers above everyone there – he is authoritative, but is also witty, warm and un-intimidating! If you can put those qualities together, you’ll understand why I find him the most unruffled person I have come across. I don’t know why no one has thought of this yet, but if we were to put him between the Turks and Greeks in Cyprus, that problem would be solved before the end of the summer! And to top it off, he introduced me to all the department heads himself!
I wanted to start the Raja Fan Club, but apparently it has been there since he joined.

Now with the second-in-charge at the office, I didn’t have such a wonderful unification. Ann’s Guyanese, and a power-woman. Her frame and her looks belie her tough personality. On first encounter, I remember wondering how she managed not to stop traffic in Juba … but as I went on around the office minding my own business, I was duly enlightened of her policing abilities that would be sufficient to send any traffic – even Juba’s – right on its way!
It happened like this – with or without reason, I had stepped out of my office into the hallway … with none of the world’s greater problems on my shoulder at that point, I was returning quite absentmindedly when I passed Ann and three other colleagues … she stopped and turned back to ask me who I was. Then she asked if I worked here … which should ideally have given me the clue about who she was, but I ignored all interventions from my sixth sense, including the fact that the others who knew me, didn’t jump in to do introductions … and began explaining to her in very simple terms what I do at this office … she stared at me quite hard, and the colleagues’ eyebrows went higher and higher … but I continued missing the point. Ann said nothing – and thinking that she wasn’t understanding, I might’ve simplified my project details for her … arrghh. Situma behind her, was going slightly blue from the need to laugh, and had there been a table separating us, I would certainly have received a sound kick under it, but no such respite graced us that day, and I went on explaining – and embarrassing – myself for a good two and one-quarter of a minute! I might’ve stopped after realizing that it was more a monologue than anything else … and she continued briskly again, followed by the others, … walking right into the office of the second-in-charge. I had just explained to my semi-boss what my job was. Life can be cruel.

My office with Peter Butili looks like it might only be a temporary arrangement. Thanks to my loud mouth combined with my low-life status, I might have actually talked my way out of this office. A glass window separates Peter Butili and me from our number one man of business, Girmai. He was on holiday, and my first three weeks were spent in concern about his absence as I needed to get his help on something. But when he arrived, he spent no time in informing me that he has absolutely nothing against interns, but he would like someone else doing my job – because obviously my job was extremely important to the office – and that he would also like to move in another employee to my location. Mm-hmm – I said I completely understand if he needs to have his supervisees near him … but I guess until that point, I didn’t understand, because before we ended our short but productive meeting he informed me that I need to keep my voice down for the time being because noise carried. Oops. So I’d gone and lost myself my office.
But my consolation was that Raja had assigned me my duties, so he obviously knew my abilities! Hah!

The rest of the people are crazy in their own way I’m sure, but I’ll wait to find out about them a little more.

What may not be the ideal setup, but has to happen in Juba is that there’s no work-life demarcation. You spend 10 to 11 waking hours at the office, and then you return to camp to find most of the people there, so it is imperative that you at least not take an intense dislike to anyone! I am happy to say that everyone was just too wonderful my first week … Situma, our Air Ops guy asked me to do a headstand, and when I did not, proclaimed me a sane person, and invited me to join the group of the real crazy people. The Crazies usually sit in one place, and find names for the others … someone who’s eating too much jam – ‘jam finish-ist’ … one who is forgetting to pay their share – ‘bill-avoidist’ … someone who is always late – ‘tardist’. And believe me, in this place, there’s no avoiding the public eye … everyone is in everyone’s face. Then there’s George from Cameroon who is possibly the loudest person in Juba … if you’re going to argue with him, you had better bring your spare pair of lungs, and your wit – last week, I saw him eating what looked like my leftovers … “George!!?!! What is THAT???? You’re eating my curry!”
“Ma friend, it is youh curry? I say your name is nowhere on it!”
“I don’t BELIEVE this! How could you DO THIS!”
“If you do not bee-leeve, I suggest you walk to the fridge and check inside, so you can beeh-leeve, before I eat my lunch! Do you want to go look now?? I’M WAITING!”
I could only fume and point my shoes at him.
“Little gahl! There’s nothing at the bottom of youh shoes!!”

Sigh. But when George is nice, he can also be quite charming … one time he asked why a nice person like me was here … wasn’t I too young? How would I survive? Of course, when I shut him up, he became even more curious and interested. Great I thought! I was setting myself up to be harassed by big men who were hardened by living in the field …
Fast forward two weeks –
Grace: “Farheen, please make him change the channel … this is enough!”
“George, change the channel”
“No!”
“george! Why noT?? You have the remote!”
“And SO?? Mah friend, I’m watching Africa Magic – cant you see!?”
“I can seee!! And I don’t want to see it!”
“You go change it!”
“George! …. Geor-ge! … Don’t let me get up”
“This GAHL!!!! Three of them in any house, and everyone will GO MAD!”

*Victory!*

And there’s Etienn! He is just there... for everyone to throw their demands at him, just because he is the elec. engineer! That has partly to do with the fact that all our troubles stem from stopped air-conditioning, stopped geyser, stopped air-conditioning, busted light, non-functional fan, stopped air-conditioning, fridge droning, stopped air-conditioning, and stopped air-conditioning. Poor thing – he and I are good friends because of the bonding we had when I had to be rescued from a ditch. Although ditches are a common phenomenon and quite visible, but why we found ourselves in this one is just fate! But thanks to that, I have another friend.

Eva is my buddy at the camp. She is Czech, and I think established her own identity slowly but surely, so I just follow her meekly! When she had first told everyone that she was going jogging in Juba in the morning, the collective jaw at the camp dropped with such a clang!=. But of course when she continued to do it, they all forgot about it. Jocelyn, with her love for rules, had made such a fuss that one would think Prince Harry had escaped to fight in Iraq! But Jocelyn keeps her own self busy, trying to control a campful of Crazies … each morning she threatens to leave for work at 7:15 which gets everyone scuttling about like squirrels because that threat could be painful. She dispatches the vehicles. But invariably, she delays and takes us with her. Most days a second vehicle also comes at 7:45 to pick up the stragglers. One of my best memories is the day when my alarm malfunctioned and I woke up at 7:45! Oh my … this should be interesting … I stepped out to see Jocelyn getting into the last car.

“AAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!”

If my late appearance didn’t give her an immediate heart-attack, then my relaxed attitude was about to! I had broken the 7:15 rule – heck I’d broken the 7:45 one! She looked as though she might call the firebrigade to air-lift me to work. But firebrigades don’t do airlifts. And there are no fire-brigades here. Neither are there air-strips at work. So there was nothing to do. Just a little bit of unnecessary excitement. Nothing happened of course – another car came later, and I just watched a little more tv that morning.

It feels like a waste if you aren’t using all that security language you’re taught, and the emergency talk that’s thrown around! Its not our fault that we sometimes feel the need to have our little situations too!

The car is leavinggggggg!!! Right now!!!

May 7, 2007

I know I haven’t explained what Phase III security clearance means when you are out in the field with UNHCR but on a scale of 1 to 5, it is nothing to shrug at. You shrug – and Gordon Brown the Destructor sends you a howler. (We will talk about Gordon Brown’s tendencies some other time for sure.)

What I want to impress upon you is that the security clearance level in Juba right now keeps our young, sprightly souls confined within walls and fences that have been sniffed out by the likes of Gordon … aka, you can only go to certain places, for certain things, at certain times of the day, with certain people, and only by certain means. The certainty of each of those requirements is however complete. So when it comes to minding your own business, you have to have a ‘means’ whereby you can do it or else you just stay put where you are and listen to the radio traffic of other agencies for entertainment! In our case, the means would be the UNHCR vehicles.

Ever since I stepped into one of these, I’ve wanted to write about them. I’m sure it is of very little interest to the average observer, but I find them to be a religion – I worship them! They fascinate me! There are a number of these vehicles that work communally for. That means you have to wait on a queue for them unless, that is, you can jump on a vehicle that is headed towards your desired part of town, after vowing the original requisitioner of the vehicle your first-born. (I’ll have to produce 9 off-springs in the recent future to pay off my standing debt at this time.) If you don’t get my drift already, these vehicles are our life-blood here, the key to our destiny and destination. And they are in limited circulation.

Apart from being fitted with all kinds of fancy gizmos – that can transmit and decode all kinds of HF and VHF wavelengths, but cannot play a simple cassette – these puppies are tough! Their suspensions are like rock. I suppose that is what is needed for the limitless string of potholes that are Juba roads in monsoon, but that is what also guarantees that your drive feels like those bikini-bull-rides at the rodeo, if you’ve ever seen one of those. An occupational hazard is hitting your head on the (literally) 15-ft high interior ceiling as you bump along to work in the morning. But you never use seat-belts … uh-huh! For safety and stability, you grab on to the interior handles along the windows. These handles are a blessing in other ways because the land cruiser is so high that I have to heave myself in by grabbing one of these!

All – barring none – of the UN vehicles are Toyotas. Toyota must do some amazing business with the humanitarian community; I wonder if they have won any awards. (I see some Range Rovers also, but I guess the UN is too destitute for those!) There are all different kinds of Toyotas though – Land Cruisers, Tacomas, Corollas and even Coronas, and they range anywhere between 15 and 3 years old. At UNHCR we only move in the land cruisers because of the number of people it can accommodate, and the proportion of our time we spend in the field.

Each vehicle must have a driver, who is local. He (she?) is aware of the local
language, geography and often the politics. You are to be accompanied by him to all public places and if he senses that something might be up, you’re outta there! My first driver from the airport was Emmanuel, and I now take all my demands to him. He’s a great guy, soft spoken, instructive, and endlessly patient. All the drivers have interesting stories as they are locals, and have been in different places during the war. As a testament to the drivers’ patience, I watch them drive the 5-speed land cruisers, never able to go above second gear. That’s a pity because these things are powerful! I’m also sure that given a chance they could off-road like a charm but mine-protocol bars us from ever stepping a wheel out of line.

The vehicles take diesel. For long journeys, they can store fuel like a camel. The 4x4s have two tanks, one in the back and one in front, and can take a total of 180 litres! They are fuelled only once every two weeks – now that’s uber-efficient … *swooning* … I love powerful cars! Iran might be drying up, but we at the refugee agency, have our own tankers! Our reserve capacity is 20,000 litres – beat that!

It’s probably a good thing that only ‘certain’ people can drive a vehicle around here – because otherwise I would have spent the next weeks trying to get myself cleared to be a driver. Besides, although navigation had been one of my strong points in Boston, I cannot seem to figure out where anything here is, ever! Until I am able to do that, life will appear to be a shuttling back-n-forth between the ‘islands’ of the UN, observing Juba – comfortably, sitting cross–legged inside the 4x4.

A night out

Saturday evening at the Camp

It was the usual post-dinner dilemma that I’d seen in my one week at the camp – what to watch on tv. Most were neutral or apathetic to which channel was chosen as they withdraw to their tents soon after, and the usual suspects who bag the remote and set the channel permanently to the English or the French league. I’ve watched more football here than I would care to remember.

Today was different, maybe because it was a Saturday night, but there were more people and everyone was energetic – we all wanted to have a go at the remote, though we were all equally ignorant about what could be watched aside from league football! The friendly bickering continued, and the channels moved back-n-forth. I got a glimpse of Paris Hilton in court, Larry King’s fifty years, Justin Timberlake at some concert, Tony Blair at Madame Tussaud’s, and even a bit of African Magic – the channel for late night soap operas. Some got beers from the bar, while our Italian public health expert talked about the virtues of taking Mefloquin against malaria. It was business as usual. I had eaten too much and the food coma confined me to my armchair at the Rakuba. My biggest concern then was to figure out whether I wanted to return to the dining tent for more watermelon. Deciding against gluttony, I busted out my precious supply of clove cigarettes. It was the perfect moment for a smoke.

As I stood on the sand of the volleyball court outside with the clove, I chit-chatted with WFP James. He’s a decent, laid-back guy and is usually trying to convince people to go out into town – WFP folks like their social life sizzling; we UNHCR people like it mild.

I grinned, "what is there to do?"
He could barely contain himself – “you ask what theya is?? ma friend, Juba is a happening pless, there are bahs, and pubs. You should come out and see! Like today, there’s a dance party at UNMIS!”

Those words in the same sentence seemed like a paradox. The UN Mission in Sudan consisted of all the agencies … and so that meant they were throwing a dance party at their compound! But I admit that humanitarians also need their fun, so why not a dance party? By all means! … you can have one anywhere as long as you have a flat floor and a boom-box … and of course there is no shortage of music with the int’l staff here. And tomorrow they’re showing the Good Shephard – but it’s a ‘bring your own chair, and share your snack’ event. Hmm … very enticing, I’ll have to find a ride tomorrow for sure!!

Peter (Situma) our security liaison, and Eva (Burgetova) walked towards the court, and James started on the ambitious undertaking of trying to convince not one, but three UNHCR fogies to go out for a drink. In less than 19 minutes, we’d all agreed to step out to the Queen of Sheba nearby. Eva and I lazily boarded James’ car in whatever we had on. Now if Situma wasn’t coming, then there was no way I would have taken off with James whom I’d only met. Situma on the other hand is a Kenyan teddy-bear – about my height, and twice my girth, but at the same time careful, vigilant, protective, and very comfortable to be around. Trusting at least him, I decided to roll.

The roads were pitch dark because there were no street-lights or any other lights for that matter. No sane person without an emergency would be seen outside after 8 o’clock and it was already 9. But feeling no qualms while locked inside the UN land-cruiser I just enjoyed being out for the first time past 7:30pm! It was spooky; there are patches of roads – bumpy, dusty and desolate – without any signs of life. An occasional wall or fence appeared here and there, but vanished as soon as the car headlights had moved past it. Our field of view was whatever our headlights could capture, and tonight the headlights died off into the distance without being reflected from anything. There was nothing behind or in front of us. Once or twice we passed another 4x4 at a rotary or an intersection, some of them UN personnel . In Juba, if you didn’t own a sturdy, secure vehicle, then you’re confined to your home after dark.

The Queen of Sheba had at least 15 SUVs parked outside. Most were white, but there were some black, and some that had patches of car stickers all over them. They were all heavily covered in dust so it seemed that this was some clandestine rendezvous that people had travelled far for.

Like the few other restaurants I’ve seen in Juba, QoS is artistically designed out of bamboo with a half wall, and a thatched roof. The rest of it is open. The bar to one side is designed out of wood and bamboo, and well stocked with foreign alcohol. The four of us sat in the high barstools and observed the crowd. We each had a drink and Situma had Red Bull … he’s strange like that.

The huge flat-screen tv was playing music videos from some 90s DVD ... but the music system blared some 80s and 90s favorites. Brian Adams, En Vogue and Boyz II Men. It was chill … I couldn’t stop swinging my legs from my stool, as I sipped my Amarula (Baileys is Western version of it). Life’s simple here. Peter and James tagged each other with more and more fantastic and unbelievable real-life stories … they can be such laughs! I got the inside scoop of what truly happened last weekend when there was a distress signal that one returnee had committed suicide at a UNHCR way-station. It was a false alarm! – I realized the kinds of fabricated emergencies these folks have to respond to at times, and my respect rose for the type of level-headedness they always display. Then it was time for some gossip, and so we scrutinized ALL the other employees in our unit.

At around 11, James thought we should swing by the OCHA compound and see what was going on … apparently there was a party there too, and there’d been some posters around. Note to all of you – if you want to throw a party in Juba, you make flyers, and then you print them and post them at the other agencies, and that's how they find out about it. We decided that OCHA also deserved a swing-by before we head home, but curfew was at 11pm, so it wasn’t a wise decision to be out for too much longer. No one would be responsible for you if you disappeared. I glanced at Situma … he appeared willing, so off we were to our next haunt!

Tt can be all party and play here, but let me tell you that people do it all with a risk. You need to do it to survive because this is such an artificial, restricted environment that everyone has to do something to simulate some kind of normalcy. Even if you have to break a few rules and aren’t ‘most security compliant’. Bottomline is its all about security – if you aren’t alive, then there’s no more humanitarian work.

As the car bounced along in pitch darkness, James told us about a close call. It was two nights ago … when driving back to the camp at midnight he got a flat tyre … everything was closed down, not a light in sight, and not a person around … and with all kinds of dangers lurking in the bush … there may be the militias and gunmen … mad people who want to hurt you, and take a UN vehicle … or rob you of your money, radio, anything of any value … so there are clear guidelines on what to do – if it’s a rear tyre, you just ignore it and drive home … if you hv a partner and it’s a front tyre, you change it … and if you’re alone you don’t stop under any circumstances. I found it fascinating, and our surroundings reinforced that chilling feeling.

The car sped up slightly and the bumpiness got more pronounced. I could see faint tail lights ahead of us. But at our speed, the tail lights approached fast … but no wait, it came up quickly because they’d braked … I wondered why they were stopping in the middle of the road? … there was a vehicle stopped on the opposite side also … James braked sharply, within two seconds of ploughing into the jeep in front … and then all hell broke loose. It happened so fast that I have only one fleeting image in my mind, lit by the headlights of our car. The jeep in front pulled forward a little more blocking the road at an angle, the opposite car flashed its lights, James and Situma exchanged hurriedly what they should do, the hair at the back of my neck stood up from the hard braking ... and it was then that I saw what I cannot yet reconcile - about 15 men in uniform and guns jumped out of the jeep in front of us … they were less than a 100 feet away, and they seemed to be mobilized for something ... I didn’t recognize what uniform it was, police, peacekeepers or militias and I awaited the shots. The only thing in my head was that we were out after curfew. The men started waving their guns to something across the street, and then people jumped out from the opposite jeep … the cluster of gunmen gathered in the middle of the road and then ran across to the other side … in the periphery of our headlights, we saw them holding back two individuals one of whom seemed to be female … someone in our car yelled that we should reverse but someone else said no, we should calmly drive through.

That is what James did ultimately … tightly weaving through the two angled 4x4s facing each other, and about 20 feet from the men, our car just steadily passed through as the armed men tackled some people off to the side of the road… my heart thumped. The time it took for us to clear those 200 yards seemed like an eternity. Looking back, I caught one last glimpse of the roadside crowd, unsure of whether it was a rescue, a hold-up, a gang raid or a heist.

When I regained my faculties, I realized that I didn’t even look at the plates of either of the cars, and can’t remember if I stayed silent or was screaming. Situma was absolutely composed and guided James through the knot. Eva just stayed quiet. We shook the event off in about a minute and a half, and kept driving towards the OCHA party.

Living on the Edge

Swedish Camp
Juba, S Sudan

When I left for Sudan, I fully expected to stay late hours at work. That was not only because I would be inundated with work, but also the fact that the office had air-conditioning. I had been told by the Admin lady (Ditas from now on) that the office had people staying late for just that reason. So like any other person from a tropical climate, I assumed that I naturally will only have a partially working table fan at the camp, if that ... and it would create an awful din if the speed was turned up ... and so we'd have to be sitting outdoors in sinking-chairs-that-are-hard-to-get-out-of after sunset, in order to cool ourselves down ... and the only recourse would be to fan ourselves with these large dried palm leaves that would also double as scratching devices for when the mosquitoes bit us ... because of course there were going to be mosquitoes, or why else did I buy all that industrial-grade insect spray ... and all in all it would appear to be like a lazy vacation complete with drinks-with-bent-straws and all that but - like Cox's Bazaar beach where we vacationed as kids - it would be unbelievably deceptive because with nightfall there would only be the lingering heat and the invasion of mosquitoes. I was sure that it would be more pain than it was worth - but determined to make the most of the 'experience' and realizing that this time my parents would not be around to buy me one more shell with my name carved on it everytime I threw a tantrum, I armed myself with chemical products to cool, protect, soothe, relieve, alleviate, massage, relax and heal the most treacherous of all skin discomforts. Basically I was fortified for the outdoors, because Ditas made it sound like the camp was literally hanging from a tree, and suspended over marshland. But I digress - my point was that I imagined that the office would be the only familiar, comfortable environment.


Its probably good that this is my first time in this environment. My mind had been on such an overdrive on how critical the living conditions were going to be, that without a frame of reference, I'd imagined a daily obstacle course. I'm sure some of you did for me too, and its all fair because if I weren't affiliated with a UN body (that aligns everything to first-world standards) I would probably have been hanging from a hammock with crocodiles snapping at my starved bottom. No no, I joke. The NGOs here have equally decent set-ups!!


When I received my offer email, it contained an overview of the offer. Which was nothing. Nada. Zip. Kaput. They were not going to pay me anything, offer no allowances, give no benefits, subscribe me to no insurance, and bear no travel or vacation costs. I was a free operator. I thought great! This is what I want to do with my life!

... for some time at least. What intrigued me most and sent some of my friend on spiraling jokes is UNHCR's offer to offer me a reservation in their "tented accomodations ... ". Hmm, I thought, so you could reserve tents these days? That was brilliant! Took one thing off my checklist that was yards long. And they said that if it was with SOLAR, then it was $15 a day, and without was $5 a day.


Wasting no time, and expending absolutely no effort in researching what SOLAR may or may not be, I reserved the $5/day tented accomodations. Hooo boy! This will be fun, I thought.

---


From the Juba airport, they drove me straight to the camp - formally known as Swedish Camp - and showed me around briefly. I gathered that there were four or more large tents and several smaller tents, and food and resting facilities. Jocelyn, my greeter then showed me my tent and gave me a key. "Key?" I thought ... oh well, I have to see this.


We walked towards the tent, and she pulled open the door. Yes door, there's a metal lockable door to the tent. That isn't usually locked though because there are no security issues. Along the center of the tent was a corridor that is flanked on both sides by two rooms each. The key was actually to the section of my tent - my room. It pretty much conformed to my expectations - multiple people to each tent, four in this case, but I never thought that the rooms would be divided as they are.
Everything is white tarpaulin, and the door basically zips up, and locks like a suitcase. I couldn't stop grinning when I saw it. We left my things, locked up my room and headed out to the office.

I got a longer orientation to the Swedish camp that evening. The compound is encircled with bamboo/wood walls. The car parking is at the entrance, followed by the bathrooms, then the mango trees, then the laundry tents, then the mango trees, then the volleyball courts, then a scattering of smaller tents, then the common area called Rakuba, a traditional thatched-roof compartment, then the dining tent, then some more mango trees and then the other sleeping tents like mine. The camp is also in a mangrove orchard I realized! The resident canine is called Play, who decided not to play with but bite my jeans, and when I shooed it away, it went away to eat some of the fallen mangoes quite resignedly.

A couple of ripe mangoes splattered on the ground as I walked. The entire place smelt ... mango-ey. I think I need to come up with an adjective for mango-smelling because that's what this place smells like.

The Rakuba is just the most wonderful thing. At any given point in time there will be at least one person, generally tall, dozing, male and Kenyan who would be watching football on tv. Oh yes, we have cable. While I'm quite used to seeing Christiane Amanpour reporting on Lebanon in the mornings now, breakfast the first day was completely surreal because I couldn't pour milk straight into my cereal when I realized I was eating cornflakes and watching satellite tv. Let me tell you, my assumptions are being questioned everyday. It is not a pleasant feeling.

Breakfast is usually taken in the open Rakuba because now the weather is so good. I suppose its good throughout the year because once monsoon is over it'll be the same but cooler. Lunch is taken at the office, and dinner is back at the camp, except in the dining tent. The maids/helping hands cook the food. They lay out all the meals ... and they clean up ... this is just too much luxury. If we want, we can even have them do our laundry. I protested vehemently against it and I insisted that I'll do my own laundry if I'm shown where everything is. A few minutes ago, I even walked into the laundry tent but that was pretty much it. I saw many people's piles of laundry, completed, and IRONED. I needed no further encouragement. I'm getting my clothes back - ironed - tomorrow afternoon. I am sure I'm generating employment in some indirect way.

*Yawn* ... I'm sitting here in my room, wondering whether the generator isn't working properly. The air-conditioning is slow today. (Oh yes, the tents have air-conditioning. And they are completely shielded from flying insects so no repellents needed after dark.) I complain only about the air-conditioning and the fact that the windows don't let enough sunlight in - but I supposed that's for our security.

I cannot imagine what the $15/day 'pre-fabs' must be like. They probably have jacuzzis. =)

Some news in the mainstream media. :)

... I'm going to have to start practicing my 75 dances. One for each night!


Sudan's 'wedding of the year'

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/6607637.stm

Farheen at the Swedish Camp

Youtube video of the Swedish Camp

»www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFpA-JTp-Os

Romeo and Juliet in Sudan

Friday April 28th

I was quite attached to my cellphone in the US. Actually I cannot function without it at all - it is like my fifth limb, or a vital organ, or even a sustenance mechanism. You get the idea ... I even sleep with it next to my pillow. Or used to. So being in Sudan would have proved extremely difficult without placing myself at the beck and call of some sort of transmitting electronic device. The ring of a phone is like life-blood to the likes of me who need to be connected 24/7. To something. Even if it means that it is a barren metal tower on a knoll in South Sudan, where the most you'll ever know about is how many vehicles have been dispatched, to whom, and at what time - its quite useful actually if you'd like to hitch a ride on one of them.

Ok, so I exaggerate slightly. A little more than that is accomplished over radio, though you already figured that, so stop rolling your eyes at me.

From the moment I'd arrived in Juba, I'd been curious about these hunky-dory radio transmitters that some people carried. Its thick, dusty, hardy-looking and LOUD! The silence - and very often the noise - would be broken by crackling on the radio and then some cryptic "Juliet-Mike-Kilos-Romeo-Charles 1629348347874398725983474589....!" To me it was all the same. Except for being bothered by the incessant butting-in of the radios, I didn't think too much about them. However at several points during dinner (at Mango Camp), I wondered why they just weren't turned off if they weren't needed?? Bizarre ... These UNHCR people were such geeks with their (few) toys! Tch tch.

But as dinner progressed, everyone's radios appeared on the table at some point in the evening ... so it wasn't just one or two people with their toys ... and finally it was absolute chaos when 'Radio Check' was conducted at 7pm! One by one, the coordinates of every individual and every radio is confirmed from radio room (headquarters). It starts sequentially from the boss, and goes all the way down the ladder. Neat, I thought. The boss then pointed at me and boomed - "you didn't get your security briefing yet? you're still free! hahahaha! that'll have to change soon!" (sometimes I don't get the jokes here)

Though pretending that I was doing quite well in my unconnected corner of the table, I secretly rejoiced that I'd get a radio to carry around also! yippee! I was in! ... or something like that ...

Right then the Admin head - Ditas, from the Philippines - turned to me seriously and said. Well, you have to have your radio on you at all times! Its serious. And there's protocol you must follow. At 7pm, radio headquarters does a Radio Check to see where you and your radio are - its our only way of knowing that you're safe, you know! (Yes, okay, that makes sense ...) "And you have to respond in radio protocol, just to confirm you're okay - nothing superfluous!"

Raja stepped in at that point, and in his usual jovial way, told a story about this dude who was so drunk by 7pm that he responded by saying "Check, loud and clear! I'm very well thank you, and how are you!" The entire table cracked up! ... so it was funny... hahaha ... okkay ...

Then he goes on to tell me that that kind of behavior is absolutely unprofessional, and is usually reported, and the transgressor is warned. (I thought, what's the big deal) But I gradually realized that being in vast, unconnected, ungoverned territory meant that the radio was not only pompous, but an expensive, sophisticated and essential security mechanism. There's no two ways about it - entire safeguard mechanisms are built around whether you respond or not. If you don't, then the entire camp may be notified, and then the base. Your unit, and then your boss. And all this is done in such haste that no time is lost to save people if they are in any kind of danger. We might be sharing jokes at Mango Camp, but the security alert could be triggered in a heartbeat. Literally. I might be shadowing people now and only moving in droves, but there'll be a time when I go out with just one other person ...

I guess I didn't want to have convoys dispatched to my coordinates simply because I had managed to pass out (drunk?? ...) somewhere!Then Raja joked that I'll be allowed to miss Radio Check once. heheh. Great.

Oh dem ...


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Saturday April 28th

It was the next day that I realized that every moving piece - I mean, seriously everything that can leave basecamp has a radio attached to it! All the personnel hang on to it for dear life (or for fear of radio HQ) and all the stations have one installed in it first thing! The best are the 4-wheels! Their antenna is gigantic! It is a huge rod sticking out to the heavens in no uncertain way! I had to take a picture to show what I mean. Listening to the radio inside the car is actually quite smooth and un-crackly for that matter. The car transponder can go about 100 miles I believe. (I'll have to check).

I got my radio today. A Motorola GP360. Its temporary. I get my own on Sunday. Whheeee. And I learnt radio protocol. I feel so *M*A*S*H*. I have my own call signal ... and everything has its own radio name! Its like learning a new game! My call signal is JR 1.3.2! Said like Juliet Romeo one three two. And also like "Juliet Romeo Base to Juliet Romeo one three one, come in!"

Ooooooooooooohhhhhh! I get to say things like Roger, Over, Read you (!), Come again ... heeeheee

This is just too titillating. I don't think I'll stop playing with this!! But the only check on such transgression is one I've already been warned about - *ALL* the UN missions in Juba can hear what you're saying. At any time. Don't ask me, but the channels are open.

You cannot just *whisper* over radio. No such thing as privacy ... you *broadcast*. I guess that's why they call it a radio. You have to call on one channel to locate the person of your choice, and when you do, you move to a different one for communication...
and of course that came with the HCR joke ...
"when you hear what channel they're moving to, you move to it ALSO, to find out what they're saying!!! hahahahaha" yeah.... Fascinating! I really want to do that. Rrighttt ... (well, at the beginning, maybe I do)

Along with the protocol, I learnt something else that was cool - the military alphabet! from now on, A isn't apple, but alpha! N isn't nancy but november! J isn't january but Juliet, and R isn't robert, but romeo. Now I'm a discreet person, so I won't go ahead and divulge the entire military alphabet (right here in this post) but that why people have been going on and on about Juliet and Romeo over the past few days ...

I am in Juba, so 'J' and working with refugees, so 'R', and my department is 1, and I'm in the third division. Hence JR 1.3.2! Voila! Neat, as I said. My handset is a black Motorola and weighs at least 1kg. (I'll have to spread it out btw my right and left hand so I build up the same muscles on both.) There is a red emergency button at the top. They said not to hit it. I think they were serious about that. Can I say again that this is SOOO *M*A*S*H*!! I can just see myself getting into a lot of trouble with this equipment!

... it just occured to me that if I see a cute guy in the street, doing his thang and just calmly saving lives, guarding a bridge, demining, moving vulnerable populations or building infrastructure for the sudanese ... I'd have to say "Romeo&Juliet etc etc" to give him my digits .... hahaha. And I must say that there is no shortage of well-built people here. Too bad we can't blast out over the calling channel "Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo" ... because that would mean "Rumbek UNHCR, why are you Rumbek?"

I'll have to find other suitable poetry or prose. Suggestions welcome!