No story here, just a few photos from the banks of the Nile at Juba, and a quick trip to Yei before leaving Sudan for the last time...
Showing posts with label Yei. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Yei. Show all posts
Friday, July 24, 2009
Schools, Malualkon, Juba, and the Goat
There are a few different things in this album, but the main element is a series of photos from a visit to a school construction project I visited near the town of Malualkon. You can read the complete story below the photo album.
I also have photos later in the album from air travel between Malualkon, Juba, and Yei, as well as the fate of a rather unfortunate goat...
Enjoy...
"Pariak/Riang-Aketh, Northern Bahr-el-Ghazal state (Sudan) – Angelo Garang, the Deputy Headmaster of Pariak Primary School, picks up a small slate chalkboard, carefully draws a large capital ‘F’ on it, and holds it next to the trunk of an enormous palm tree.
“F!” He shouts. “Repeat!”
“Eff!” Shout the 40 students of class 1C at the Pariak Primary School. The lucky ones with a seat on the upward-sloping edge of a fallen log have a clear view, while the rest stand in a crowd around the tree and Garang, jostling for position. In their first year of school, and between about seven-and-nine-years-old, they haven’t graduated to using notebooks; each holds a similar slate, and some clutch bits of chalk in their small hands.
“Eff! Eff! Eff! Eff! Eff!” The children chant, as Garang smiles in approval. A small boy begins to draw a rightward-leaning ‘F’ on his slate.
This could be primary school in virtually any village in southern Sudan. Decades of civil war destroyed what little infrastructure existed previously, and for many students, the only place they can go to learn is in the shade of a large tree. When the rains come to Northern Bahr-el-Ghazal state in June, however, school is often put on hold, as students have no place to shelter.
“When it starts raining the students won’t come, and the teachers won’t teach,” says Angelo Garang Adjo, a teacher, and a cousin of the Deputy Headmaster.
With the help of Mercy Corps, however, this is changing. With funding from the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), the organization has partnered with communities such as Pariak to build needed infrastructure such as community centers, clinics, and in this case, primary schools. Mercy Corps typically contacts the leadership of each payam (an administrative division), and on their advice, approaches communities throughout the area to propose new construction projects in these selected villages. Mercy Corps typically provides expensive and difficult to procure items, such as cement and tin sheets, while the community is asked to contribute locally-made materials for the project, such as bricks, creating the sense of partnership and self-reliance that is a key step for sustainable development.
“Mercy Corps is promoting development where it hasn’t previously existed,” says Apollo Nelson Atiba, the organization’s Economic Recovery and Development (ERD) Project Manager at the field office in the nearby town of Malualkon. “This way they have ownership and can feel proud. They’ll feel like, ‘We struggled for this on our own.’ If you just give something to someone, they won’t take care of it.”
In Pariak, and in the nearby village of Riang-Aketh, Mercy Corps has funded the construction of two school buildings, each at a cost of approximately $25,000 USD. In Pariak, the new three-room school building is still a series of deep square trenches, surrounded by piles of tan-red bricks. A long rectangle of bricks, the beginnings of a foundation, sits in one of the trenches as laborers in torn t-shirts chip away at the brown soil with shovels, sweat dripping down their foreheads.
Teachers at the Pariak school expect that approximately 60 students will be able to use the classroom. And while this is a good start, it is only a first step- Pariak Primary School enrolls 404 students, just over 100 of whom are girls. While the new building cannot accommodate every student, the Deputy Headmaster still sees the construction as a good start on the way to positive change.
“It’ll be important because it’ll increase [the students’] morale, and when there is rain, they can be there. The textbooks and materials will be protected too,” he says. And while not everyone can fit, Garang has a strategy for making the best use of the new building.
“The small children will be inside because they can’t control themselves and pay attention,” he points out. He may be right- many of the children of Class 1C seem to focus on everything except the letter ‘F’, following birds with their eyes, shoving their classmates, and chewing the pumpkin-like peel off the orange deleb fruits that fall from the overhanging coconut trees.
In the past, schools have been built in the area using local materials to create mud-and-grass tukuls (huts) where the students could learn. The tukuls would often collapse in the rain, dust, and heat common to the area, making them a short-term solution at best. Additionally, responsibility for the construction typically fell to the parents of the students, a time-consuming task.
James Wiik Tem is a member of the Parent-Teacher Association in Pariak. An older man, he wears a white short-sleeved golf shirt with blue flip-flop sandals. His deeply callused hands are rough to the touch, the result of a lifetime of manual labor. He has three children, each of whom finished school in Pariak a few years ago. “It is a positive change to move from local infrastructure to permanent buildings,” he says in the Dinka language, speaking through an interpreter. “It will be a pleasure for the children to do their exams inside.”
Mercy Corps and the community are in the early stages of a similar project in Riang-Aketh, approximately 25 kilometers from Pariak, on the way to Aweil, the state capital. Far off the main road, the village is little more than a collection of tukuls in the midst of a few sparse palm and acacia trees. Rounding a bend in the dirt track, several piles of sand and gravel are suddenly visible, bordered by stacks of bricks.
The new building will be a major improvement, not only for the school itself, but also a first on the road to development for the community. “This is the first time a concrete building has even been constructed in Riang-Aketh,” says Atiba, the Mercy Corps Project Manager.
As in Pariak, classes in Riang-Aketh operate under the trees. According to the Headmaster, Mr. Carbino, the school has six classes, with 250 students enrolled. In a worrisome trend, however, only 10 of the students are girls. The students cluster in the shade of a thorny acacia, against which a large improvised blackboard is perched. The lesson on the board is in Christian Religious Education (CRE), a mandatory course in school systems throughout East Africa. “Christians do not offer sacrifices” reads a line.
Both Carbino and James Geng Rel, the Deputy Headmaster, attended the school themselves, which has operated since 1996, the height of the civil war. They sit with a group of other teachers under the shade of another tree near the site of the new construction. A pile of English textbooks and a dictionary with the cover ripped off are stacked on the ground in front of Rel, next to a bar-coded box of UNICEF chalk.
As is the case in Pariak, the new school building in Riang-Aketh is in the beginning stages. Trenches have been carved, clearly marking the spaces for the school’s three new classrooms.
“We need to finish the construction soon, because when the rain comes, vehicles can’t come through,” says Carbino.
Despite this concern, Rel shares Mercy Corps’ belief that the new building will be a major improvement. “[It] will be an important improvement,” Rel says. “We’ll expect more output from the children.”
At the site, Atiba walks through the trenches, carefully inspecting the work and jotting figures in a small notebook. Mercy Corps expects each building to be completed in a maximum of 70 days, hopefully less, given the coming rains. As he walks through, he notes the progress, and reflects on its importance to the community and the motivation it provides for other similar villages hoping for future construction.
“They’ll have enough time to study, and won’t have to run home because of the rain,” he says, looking at the gathered students under the tree. “Other communities lay their bricks, and hope that [we can] come one day to help them too.”
I also have photos later in the album from air travel between Malualkon, Juba, and Yei, as well as the fate of a rather unfortunate goat...
Enjoy...
"Pariak/Riang-Aketh, Northern Bahr-el-Ghazal state (Sudan) – Angelo Garang, the Deputy Headmaster of Pariak Primary School, picks up a small slate chalkboard, carefully draws a large capital ‘F’ on it, and holds it next to the trunk of an enormous palm tree.
“F!” He shouts. “Repeat!”
“Eff!” Shout the 40 students of class 1C at the Pariak Primary School. The lucky ones with a seat on the upward-sloping edge of a fallen log have a clear view, while the rest stand in a crowd around the tree and Garang, jostling for position. In their first year of school, and between about seven-and-nine-years-old, they haven’t graduated to using notebooks; each holds a similar slate, and some clutch bits of chalk in their small hands.
“Eff! Eff! Eff! Eff! Eff!” The children chant, as Garang smiles in approval. A small boy begins to draw a rightward-leaning ‘F’ on his slate.
This could be primary school in virtually any village in southern Sudan. Decades of civil war destroyed what little infrastructure existed previously, and for many students, the only place they can go to learn is in the shade of a large tree. When the rains come to Northern Bahr-el-Ghazal state in June, however, school is often put on hold, as students have no place to shelter.
“When it starts raining the students won’t come, and the teachers won’t teach,” says Angelo Garang Adjo, a teacher, and a cousin of the Deputy Headmaster.
With the help of Mercy Corps, however, this is changing. With funding from the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), the organization has partnered with communities such as Pariak to build needed infrastructure such as community centers, clinics, and in this case, primary schools. Mercy Corps typically contacts the leadership of each payam (an administrative division), and on their advice, approaches communities throughout the area to propose new construction projects in these selected villages. Mercy Corps typically provides expensive and difficult to procure items, such as cement and tin sheets, while the community is asked to contribute locally-made materials for the project, such as bricks, creating the sense of partnership and self-reliance that is a key step for sustainable development.
“Mercy Corps is promoting development where it hasn’t previously existed,” says Apollo Nelson Atiba, the organization’s Economic Recovery and Development (ERD) Project Manager at the field office in the nearby town of Malualkon. “This way they have ownership and can feel proud. They’ll feel like, ‘We struggled for this on our own.’ If you just give something to someone, they won’t take care of it.”
In Pariak, and in the nearby village of Riang-Aketh, Mercy Corps has funded the construction of two school buildings, each at a cost of approximately $25,000 USD. In Pariak, the new three-room school building is still a series of deep square trenches, surrounded by piles of tan-red bricks. A long rectangle of bricks, the beginnings of a foundation, sits in one of the trenches as laborers in torn t-shirts chip away at the brown soil with shovels, sweat dripping down their foreheads.
Teachers at the Pariak school expect that approximately 60 students will be able to use the classroom. And while this is a good start, it is only a first step- Pariak Primary School enrolls 404 students, just over 100 of whom are girls. While the new building cannot accommodate every student, the Deputy Headmaster still sees the construction as a good start on the way to positive change.
“It’ll be important because it’ll increase [the students’] morale, and when there is rain, they can be there. The textbooks and materials will be protected too,” he says. And while not everyone can fit, Garang has a strategy for making the best use of the new building.
“The small children will be inside because they can’t control themselves and pay attention,” he points out. He may be right- many of the children of Class 1C seem to focus on everything except the letter ‘F’, following birds with their eyes, shoving their classmates, and chewing the pumpkin-like peel off the orange deleb fruits that fall from the overhanging coconut trees.
In the past, schools have been built in the area using local materials to create mud-and-grass tukuls (huts) where the students could learn. The tukuls would often collapse in the rain, dust, and heat common to the area, making them a short-term solution at best. Additionally, responsibility for the construction typically fell to the parents of the students, a time-consuming task.
James Wiik Tem is a member of the Parent-Teacher Association in Pariak. An older man, he wears a white short-sleeved golf shirt with blue flip-flop sandals. His deeply callused hands are rough to the touch, the result of a lifetime of manual labor. He has three children, each of whom finished school in Pariak a few years ago. “It is a positive change to move from local infrastructure to permanent buildings,” he says in the Dinka language, speaking through an interpreter. “It will be a pleasure for the children to do their exams inside.”
Mercy Corps and the community are in the early stages of a similar project in Riang-Aketh, approximately 25 kilometers from Pariak, on the way to Aweil, the state capital. Far off the main road, the village is little more than a collection of tukuls in the midst of a few sparse palm and acacia trees. Rounding a bend in the dirt track, several piles of sand and gravel are suddenly visible, bordered by stacks of bricks.
The new building will be a major improvement, not only for the school itself, but also a first on the road to development for the community. “This is the first time a concrete building has even been constructed in Riang-Aketh,” says Atiba, the Mercy Corps Project Manager.
As in Pariak, classes in Riang-Aketh operate under the trees. According to the Headmaster, Mr. Carbino, the school has six classes, with 250 students enrolled. In a worrisome trend, however, only 10 of the students are girls. The students cluster in the shade of a thorny acacia, against which a large improvised blackboard is perched. The lesson on the board is in Christian Religious Education (CRE), a mandatory course in school systems throughout East Africa. “Christians do not offer sacrifices” reads a line.
Both Carbino and James Geng Rel, the Deputy Headmaster, attended the school themselves, which has operated since 1996, the height of the civil war. They sit with a group of other teachers under the shade of another tree near the site of the new construction. A pile of English textbooks and a dictionary with the cover ripped off are stacked on the ground in front of Rel, next to a bar-coded box of UNICEF chalk.
As is the case in Pariak, the new school building in Riang-Aketh is in the beginning stages. Trenches have been carved, clearly marking the spaces for the school’s three new classrooms.
“We need to finish the construction soon, because when the rain comes, vehicles can’t come through,” says Carbino.
Despite this concern, Rel shares Mercy Corps’ belief that the new building will be a major improvement. “[It] will be an important improvement,” Rel says. “We’ll expect more output from the children.”
At the site, Atiba walks through the trenches, carefully inspecting the work and jotting figures in a small notebook. Mercy Corps expects each building to be completed in a maximum of 70 days, hopefully less, given the coming rains. As he walks through, he notes the progress, and reflects on its importance to the community and the motivation it provides for other similar villages hoping for future construction.
“They’ll have enough time to study, and won’t have to run home because of the rain,” he says, looking at the gathered students under the tree. “Other communities lay their bricks, and hope that [we can] come one day to help them too.”
Monday, March 23, 2009
How's the Malaria?
It's a wonderfully cool (relatively) day here in Yei- rained most of yesterday, and the remaining clouds have blocked out most of the heat, making it surprisingly pleasant. I even wore my long-sleeved Peace Corps Chad shirt most of the day, the first time that's happened since I arrived.
I've been fighting a cold since Friday, which feels like a huge injustice in a place where it's so. damn. hot. (except for today) I understand that it has very little to do with the weather, but it still feels frustrating. It's like something has turned down the volume in my head by about 30 percent on everything, although it's still way too easy to hear the roosters, who begin their roosterly duty at what can't be any later than four in the morning. Whatever, I'll live.
I'm having breakfast this morning, which feels like an extra-special treat now that we have both peanut butter and honey in the pantry, and in walks Joy, our head cook/housekeeper.
"How is your malaria?" she asks.
I pause for a second, setting the spoon down I've been using to drizzle the honey onto the bread.
"Malaria?"
"You don't have malaria?" She asks, looking a bit confused.
"No, just a cold... But I'm feeling much better now," I respond.
"That's good," she says. "Thank you."
I go back to my roll, and smile a bit to myself. I remember this in Chad, how almost everyone in Gounou-Gaya assumed that whenever someone got sick, it had to, had to, be malaria. There simply wasn't any other disease. Perhaps a broken arm, but that was about the extent of it. Seems as though this is the case here in Sudan too.
It makes sense, I guess. In a place like this, where health education certainly wasn't a priority through almost 25 years of war, it's not a surprise that people's knowledge is limited. And it's true that malaria usually manifests itself as something like a bad cold, at least for most people here: chills, headaches, fatigue, etc.
Most of the people here who survive childhood (and there are plenty who don't) have been exposed to malaria multiple times, and while they certainly haven't developed an immunity, they tend to build up enough of a resistance that it's manageable. A day or two in bed, and they're back on their feet. Not so with me though- coming from North America, if I get it (haven't yet, knock on wood), it'll be bad, and make a cold seem like nothing. I continue to take anti-malarials every morning though, so hopefully things will continue to go well on that front.
On a totally different, but also slightly disturbing note, I'm at the office this morning and hear a sudden, deep rumble. Although it's cloudy, this definitely isn't thunder.
"Did you hear that?" I ask my supervisor.
"Yeah. Sounded like a land-mine," he says, casually. "It was probably a cow."
Holy crap. A land mine? In spite of myself, and feeling bad for doing it, I can't help but smile when I think of an exploding cow. I know how bad that sounds, sorry.
Again, another one of these things that sounds crazy, until you think about the context. The north/south civil war only ended in 2005, and there are still mines all over the place. Nobody seems to know exactly where they are, and there are plenty of no-go zones. As our security manual says:
"Landmines
Stay on the paths.
Types:
Anti-personnel.
Anti-tank. There are always anti-personnel mines around an anti-tank mine.
Marking:
Red-painted sticks or signs: Danger.
White-painted sticks or signs: The area has been cleared.
Other indicators in unmarked areas:
Dead animals.
Uncultivated ground in cultivated areas.
Deserted building in populated areas.
Area marked locally, with piles of rocks, crossed sticks, rocks across a path, empty mine
packaging, injured people.
Marking is the exception, not the rule. In Sudan, there are no maps of where mines were planted. "
Wow. Definitely not in Kansas any more. Unless it's post-apocalyptic Kansas. Several NGOs work around Yei, trying to get rid of the mines, but it's definitely an imperfect science. Given this, I understand why we're encouraged to stay on the paths at all times.
Ah Sudan... the happiest place on Earth.
Right?
I've been fighting a cold since Friday, which feels like a huge injustice in a place where it's so. damn. hot. (except for today) I understand that it has very little to do with the weather, but it still feels frustrating. It's like something has turned down the volume in my head by about 30 percent on everything, although it's still way too easy to hear the roosters, who begin their roosterly duty at what can't be any later than four in the morning. Whatever, I'll live.
I'm having breakfast this morning, which feels like an extra-special treat now that we have both peanut butter and honey in the pantry, and in walks Joy, our head cook/housekeeper.
"How is your malaria?" she asks.
I pause for a second, setting the spoon down I've been using to drizzle the honey onto the bread.
"Malaria?"
"You don't have malaria?" She asks, looking a bit confused.
"No, just a cold... But I'm feeling much better now," I respond.
"That's good," she says. "Thank you."
I go back to my roll, and smile a bit to myself. I remember this in Chad, how almost everyone in Gounou-Gaya assumed that whenever someone got sick, it had to, had to, be malaria. There simply wasn't any other disease. Perhaps a broken arm, but that was about the extent of it. Seems as though this is the case here in Sudan too.
It makes sense, I guess. In a place like this, where health education certainly wasn't a priority through almost 25 years of war, it's not a surprise that people's knowledge is limited. And it's true that malaria usually manifests itself as something like a bad cold, at least for most people here: chills, headaches, fatigue, etc.
Most of the people here who survive childhood (and there are plenty who don't) have been exposed to malaria multiple times, and while they certainly haven't developed an immunity, they tend to build up enough of a resistance that it's manageable. A day or two in bed, and they're back on their feet. Not so with me though- coming from North America, if I get it (haven't yet, knock on wood), it'll be bad, and make a cold seem like nothing. I continue to take anti-malarials every morning though, so hopefully things will continue to go well on that front.
On a totally different, but also slightly disturbing note, I'm at the office this morning and hear a sudden, deep rumble. Although it's cloudy, this definitely isn't thunder.
"Did you hear that?" I ask my supervisor.
"Yeah. Sounded like a land-mine," he says, casually. "It was probably a cow."
Holy crap. A land mine? In spite of myself, and feeling bad for doing it, I can't help but smile when I think of an exploding cow. I know how bad that sounds, sorry.
Again, another one of these things that sounds crazy, until you think about the context. The north/south civil war only ended in 2005, and there are still mines all over the place. Nobody seems to know exactly where they are, and there are plenty of no-go zones. As our security manual says:
"Landmines
Stay on the paths.
Types:
Anti-personnel.
Anti-tank. There are always anti-personnel mines around an anti-tank mine.
Marking:
Red-painted sticks or signs: Danger.
White-painted sticks or signs: The area has been cleared.
Other indicators in unmarked areas:
Dead animals.
Uncultivated ground in cultivated areas.
Deserted building in populated areas.
Area marked locally, with piles of rocks, crossed sticks, rocks across a path, empty mine
packaging, injured people.
Marking is the exception, not the rule. In Sudan, there are no maps of where mines were planted. "
Wow. Definitely not in Kansas any more. Unless it's post-apocalyptic Kansas. Several NGOs work around Yei, trying to get rid of the mines, but it's definitely an imperfect science. Given this, I understand why we're encouraged to stay on the paths at all times.
Ah Sudan... the happiest place on Earth.
Right?
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Back to Yei
Just arrived back in Yei yesterday, after a week in Juba. It's nice to be back in the 'field,' and certainly in Yei, which is cooler, windier, and much greener than the scorching, dusty, expensive craziness that is the southern Sudanese 'capital.'
It may be nicer, but it's still Sudan, with all the craziness that implies. I logged on to Skype a little while ago, and saw one of my co-workers updates.
"Some Demonstration and Light Shootings in Yei Town."
Apparently war veterans and soldiers are protesting in town, after not receiving pensions and salaries for months on end. It shouldn't be a surprise- this was a regular occurrence during my time in Chad, when teachers would go unpaid for four, five, six months at a time.
A couple thoughts. As I've seen in each of the places I've worked and traveled around Africa so far, there's money around, but it's usually invested in the Mercedes, Land Cruisers, and villas of the elite. Same thing here. As a result, salaries don't get paid, people protest, and soldiers come out to beat and kill them.
Also, it seems bizarre just how casual everyone seemed. Of the local staff at the office, nobody seemed the slightest bit perturbed. Again, I guess I can understand- growing up in a country that's been at war for the better part of its history, I suppose it might make you somewhat more tolerant of situations those of us who grew up in peaceful countries can't understand.
Hopefully things will stabilize by tomorrow, although apparently there's a curfew tonight, with nobody allowed out after 6:00. Not that we're leaving- the head of office doesn't want anyone out of the compound, for obvious reasons. We'll see how things go- I'll post an update if anything changes...
It may be nicer, but it's still Sudan, with all the craziness that implies. I logged on to Skype a little while ago, and saw one of my co-workers updates.
"Some Demonstration and Light Shootings in Yei Town."
Apparently war veterans and soldiers are protesting in town, after not receiving pensions and salaries for months on end. It shouldn't be a surprise- this was a regular occurrence during my time in Chad, when teachers would go unpaid for four, five, six months at a time.
A couple thoughts. As I've seen in each of the places I've worked and traveled around Africa so far, there's money around, but it's usually invested in the Mercedes, Land Cruisers, and villas of the elite. Same thing here. As a result, salaries don't get paid, people protest, and soldiers come out to beat and kill them.
Also, it seems bizarre just how casual everyone seemed. Of the local staff at the office, nobody seemed the slightest bit perturbed. Again, I guess I can understand- growing up in a country that's been at war for the better part of its history, I suppose it might make you somewhat more tolerant of situations those of us who grew up in peaceful countries can't understand.
Hopefully things will stabilize by tomorrow, although apparently there's a curfew tonight, with nobody allowed out after 6:00. Not that we're leaving- the head of office doesn't want anyone out of the compound, for obvious reasons. We'll see how things go- I'll post an update if anything changes...
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Shalom From Juba?
Shalom, Hello and Salaam from the Shalom Hotel in southern Sudan's hot, dry, dusty, and very expensive capital. Seriously, $150 a night, per person in a room that looks as though it was made from a pre-fabricated trailer, and is missing a shower curtain? Fortunately the organization is picking up the tab...
I'm back in Juba for a few days, while we attempt to sort things out, and figure out what happens next. As you may have already read, the organization was among the 13 NGOs kicked out by the Sudanese government from the country. What this effectively has meant is that they're banned from the north and Darfur, as the south is basically independent from the Khartoum government. The southern government, based here in Juba, has made it clear that they want the organization (along with the others that were kicked out of the north but have programs in the south) to stay, and keep working.
It seems as though the dust is beginning to settle, in a sense. It looks as though I'll be staying here as planned, but not necessarily going where I originally thought I'd be. Originally, I was scheduled to be going a little farther north, into what are called (depending on whom you ask) the 'transitional areas,' '3 areas,' or 'provisional areas,' where the north and south collide. Now, it looks like that won't be happening, at least not right away.
I left Yei yesterday morning, taking my first flight on the World Food Program's Humanitarian Air Service. When we arrived at the dirt airstrip on the edge of Yei, I couldn't help but notice a big banner on the side of the 'terminal' (a two room building with a large hanging scale, a few official-looking pieces of paper on the door, and a guy sweeping the floor with a grass broom) for the Delta Connection Frequent Flyer program. Seriously. Not the commuter airline based in Atlanta you might be thinking of though, but Delta as in 'Nile Delta,' and 'Connection' as in a Kenyan airline flying between Nairobi, Entebbe, Juba, and a handful of other places, including Yei. The thought of earning frequent-flyer miles seemed a bit ridiculous, but hey, why not?
Shortly after we arrived, a large group of large Americans arrived, complete with heavy bags, strong Tennessee accents, and some serious Jesus-y fervor. I saw a church nametag, and although they seemed friendly, I was glad they were getting on another flight (yes, more than one airline flies to Yei). While they waited for Eagle Air to take them back to Entebbe, the tiny WFP-HAS plane arrived. Stopping in the dirt maybe 50 meters in front of us, we hauled our bags over and stuffed them into the small luggage bins underneath the single-engine compartment, but only after verifying that our names were on the passenger manifest. Climbing on board, the pilots asked us to move as far to the front as possible, meaning that I was sitting directly behind the pilot, close enough to read the altimeter on his instrument panel. After buckling in and bouncing over a few smallish puddles, the pilot revved the engine, and we raced down the dirt strip, taking off over the trees and grass.
I've been on countless planes over the years, but this was a very different experience- there was a small window almost directly at my feet, a little disconcerting. Flying in planes even smaller than your average regional jet or turboprop in the States feels odd, as you get a much clearer sense of motion, including the side-to-side and rolling sensations that a bigger jet might mask. Fortunately the flight was very smooth, and as a bonus, offered a pilot's-eye (or perhaps pilot's shoulder) view as we touched down in Juba.
Juba is hot. Much hotter than Yei. It's also dirtier, with plastic bottles and cans everywhere, barbed-wire compounds, and the occasional enormous villa, or modern-looking gas station. Supposedly it's one of the world's most expensive cities, which seems crazy until you consider the fact that it's landlocked, full of 'rich' foreigners, and has been until recently the center for any number of battles. Can't say I blame people for wanting to an extra Sudanese pound or two (or a few hundred), but wow.
To get to the Shalom Hotel, just a few minutes from our office, you clatter along a rutted, dusty road, lined with a constant stream of bottles and cans, the odd piece of livestock, and hand-painted signs screaming things like "TRADITIONAL DOCTOR HE CURES OVER 70 DISEASE! HIV/AIDS, MALARIA, DEMENTIA, WOMEN WHO CANNOT PRODUCE, MAN WHO CANNOT PLEASE HIS WIFE" and more. The hotel is basic, as I mentioned, run by a family of Ethiopians, one of whom has perhaps the most perfect gheri-curl I've seen- I think his head might explode from all the product in it if someone lit a cigarette within a few meters. On the plus side, the rooms have blessedly cool air-conditioning, WiFi access (very slow, but functional), and surprisingly good food in the restaurant, including very authentic Ethiopian dishes with freshly-baked injera bread. Given the name of the place, I can't help but wonder if the family has some sort of connection to Ethiopian Jewry, although this seems unlikely, as Sudan isn't the most hospitable to Jews. I guess the south is different, but still. As always, I have to wonder about why anyone would want to leave a more developed, nicer place like Ethiopia to come here and open a restaurant and hotel, but one needs only look at the room rates and the prices on the menu to understand; I'm sure they're making money hand-over-fist around here.
It looks like I'll be in Juba through Tuesday, and then.... back to Yei. Apparently a large group of refugees has just crossed the border from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), and the UN is setting up a camp very close to Yei. The plan is to go there and speak with some of them, writing stories (which I'll hope to publish on this page). Things could change again, of course, but for now, that's the plan. I'll try to get some photos posted soon, and as always, welcome your thoughts in the comment section below...
I'm back in Juba for a few days, while we attempt to sort things out, and figure out what happens next. As you may have already read, the organization was among the 13 NGOs kicked out by the Sudanese government from the country. What this effectively has meant is that they're banned from the north and Darfur, as the south is basically independent from the Khartoum government. The southern government, based here in Juba, has made it clear that they want the organization (along with the others that were kicked out of the north but have programs in the south) to stay, and keep working.
It seems as though the dust is beginning to settle, in a sense. It looks as though I'll be staying here as planned, but not necessarily going where I originally thought I'd be. Originally, I was scheduled to be going a little farther north, into what are called (depending on whom you ask) the 'transitional areas,' '3 areas,' or 'provisional areas,' where the north and south collide. Now, it looks like that won't be happening, at least not right away.
I left Yei yesterday morning, taking my first flight on the World Food Program's Humanitarian Air Service. When we arrived at the dirt airstrip on the edge of Yei, I couldn't help but notice a big banner on the side of the 'terminal' (a two room building with a large hanging scale, a few official-looking pieces of paper on the door, and a guy sweeping the floor with a grass broom) for the Delta Connection Frequent Flyer program. Seriously. Not the commuter airline based in Atlanta you might be thinking of though, but Delta as in 'Nile Delta,' and 'Connection' as in a Kenyan airline flying between Nairobi, Entebbe, Juba, and a handful of other places, including Yei. The thought of earning frequent-flyer miles seemed a bit ridiculous, but hey, why not?
Shortly after we arrived, a large group of large Americans arrived, complete with heavy bags, strong Tennessee accents, and some serious Jesus-y fervor. I saw a church nametag, and although they seemed friendly, I was glad they were getting on another flight (yes, more than one airline flies to Yei). While they waited for Eagle Air to take them back to Entebbe, the tiny WFP-HAS plane arrived. Stopping in the dirt maybe 50 meters in front of us, we hauled our bags over and stuffed them into the small luggage bins underneath the single-engine compartment, but only after verifying that our names were on the passenger manifest. Climbing on board, the pilots asked us to move as far to the front as possible, meaning that I was sitting directly behind the pilot, close enough to read the altimeter on his instrument panel. After buckling in and bouncing over a few smallish puddles, the pilot revved the engine, and we raced down the dirt strip, taking off over the trees and grass.
I've been on countless planes over the years, but this was a very different experience- there was a small window almost directly at my feet, a little disconcerting. Flying in planes even smaller than your average regional jet or turboprop in the States feels odd, as you get a much clearer sense of motion, including the side-to-side and rolling sensations that a bigger jet might mask. Fortunately the flight was very smooth, and as a bonus, offered a pilot's-eye (or perhaps pilot's shoulder) view as we touched down in Juba.
Juba is hot. Much hotter than Yei. It's also dirtier, with plastic bottles and cans everywhere, barbed-wire compounds, and the occasional enormous villa, or modern-looking gas station. Supposedly it's one of the world's most expensive cities, which seems crazy until you consider the fact that it's landlocked, full of 'rich' foreigners, and has been until recently the center for any number of battles. Can't say I blame people for wanting to an extra Sudanese pound or two (or a few hundred), but wow.
To get to the Shalom Hotel, just a few minutes from our office, you clatter along a rutted, dusty road, lined with a constant stream of bottles and cans, the odd piece of livestock, and hand-painted signs screaming things like "TRADITIONAL DOCTOR HE CURES OVER 70 DISEASE! HIV/AIDS, MALARIA, DEMENTIA, WOMEN WHO CANNOT PRODUCE, MAN WHO CANNOT PLEASE HIS WIFE" and more. The hotel is basic, as I mentioned, run by a family of Ethiopians, one of whom has perhaps the most perfect gheri-curl I've seen- I think his head might explode from all the product in it if someone lit a cigarette within a few meters. On the plus side, the rooms have blessedly cool air-conditioning, WiFi access (very slow, but functional), and surprisingly good food in the restaurant, including very authentic Ethiopian dishes with freshly-baked injera bread. Given the name of the place, I can't help but wonder if the family has some sort of connection to Ethiopian Jewry, although this seems unlikely, as Sudan isn't the most hospitable to Jews. I guess the south is different, but still. As always, I have to wonder about why anyone would want to leave a more developed, nicer place like Ethiopia to come here and open a restaurant and hotel, but one needs only look at the room rates and the prices on the menu to understand; I'm sure they're making money hand-over-fist around here.
It looks like I'll be in Juba through Tuesday, and then.... back to Yei. Apparently a large group of refugees has just crossed the border from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), and the UN is setting up a camp very close to Yei. The plan is to go there and speak with some of them, writing stories (which I'll hope to publish on this page). Things could change again, of course, but for now, that's the plan. I'll try to get some photos posted soon, and as always, welcome your thoughts in the comment section below...
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Yei! Hooray?
I'm listening to a Rachel Maddow podcast, chatting on Facebook, and had a dinner of chapatis, avocado salad, chicken and lentils about an hour ago. Just watched President Obama's news conference on BBC. That all seems very 2009 American, right?
...Except for the fact that my house is a canvas safari tent, dinner was cooked by Sudanese women with babies on their backs, and the podcast took about 45 minutes to download on the satellite connection.
I'm in Yei, southern Sudan (don't capitalize the 's' in southern, by the way, as it could imply support for secession in the 2011 referendum). It's about 160km southwest of Juba, very close to the borders of Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
I've been here a few days now, mostly doing orientation stuff, but getting ready to start work soon. I'll be working in the Information Management Unit for the organization looking at the impacts of economic recovery programs. Mostly it's been an opportunity to meet other members of the staff who happen to be passing through at the moment, find out details of things like the IT policy, and in general, getting adjusted to life here. I'm only sticking around Yei until Tuesday though, then it's back to Juba for one night, and onward to a town called Wunrok, still in the southwest of Sudan, but much farther north than here. I'll be traveling by small plane, thanks to World Food Program's Humanitarian Air Service, which has a fleet going around to tiny airstrips across the region. This is a huge help, as our initial trip from Juba to Yei was rough, to put it mildly. Although it was only perhaps 50 kilometers for the first leg, from Juba to a town called Lainya, the dirt road was full of holes and troughs so big as to feel like each could swallow our Land Cruiser. From Lainya the road became significantly better, still dirt, but smooth enough that I could hold my head in place without feeling as though my neck would snap if I turned the wrong direction.
Our compound in Yei is very basic, but functional. There are a series of concrete buildings with offices for Logistics, Finance, HR/Administration, and my department, Information Management. Behind the offices are a long row of green canvas 'safari tents,' heavy duty shelters built on concrete footings, with mosquito netting on the windows, and locks on the zippers. Off to the side in an enclosed concrete building are three shower stalls (with varying degrees of pressure), a pit latrine, and two Western-style toilets. The entire compound is ringed by a fence of sharp sticks and wire, giving a view of the huts just beyond. It's definitely nothing special, but it's at least functional. There are a few extra creature comforts that make it feel different from my Peace Corps experience- our common dining room has DSTV, a South African satellite network, a badminton net, and we have internet access via another satellite parked in the middle of the lawn. It's slow, but being able to update a blog like this, or browse Facebook is a big step from anything I had when I was teaching English in Gounou-Gaya.
As I imagined it would, life feels a lot like it did in Chad here. It's hot and humid, and at the risk of falling into clichés, people seem very friendly. Except for Lydia, the one-year-old who rides around on the back of one of the housekeepers- I think she hates me. She wails every time I come close... Naturally, I know what the issue is- she hates imperialist American foreign policy.
Seriously, I can only imagine how alien a white person must look to a baby who has only ever seen faces so black that anything this side of ebony would be bizarre. From what I've seen so far, many southern Sudanese people's skin is black to the point where it almost takes on a bluish hue. It'll be interesting to see how that changes as I move a bit farther north, into Dinka territory.
I'm planning on heading into town this afternoon, and I'll try to get a few pictures uploaded soon. Looks like it might be awhile before I have a phone, so go ahead and email, or just find me on Skype (my username is nathanieltishman). Hope things are well wherever you are, and look for another update before long.
...Except for the fact that my house is a canvas safari tent, dinner was cooked by Sudanese women with babies on their backs, and the podcast took about 45 minutes to download on the satellite connection.
I'm in Yei, southern Sudan (don't capitalize the 's' in southern, by the way, as it could imply support for secession in the 2011 referendum). It's about 160km southwest of Juba, very close to the borders of Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
I've been here a few days now, mostly doing orientation stuff, but getting ready to start work soon. I'll be working in the Information Management Unit for the organization looking at the impacts of economic recovery programs. Mostly it's been an opportunity to meet other members of the staff who happen to be passing through at the moment, find out details of things like the IT policy, and in general, getting adjusted to life here. I'm only sticking around Yei until Tuesday though, then it's back to Juba for one night, and onward to a town called Wunrok, still in the southwest of Sudan, but much farther north than here. I'll be traveling by small plane, thanks to World Food Program's Humanitarian Air Service, which has a fleet going around to tiny airstrips across the region. This is a huge help, as our initial trip from Juba to Yei was rough, to put it mildly. Although it was only perhaps 50 kilometers for the first leg, from Juba to a town called Lainya, the dirt road was full of holes and troughs so big as to feel like each could swallow our Land Cruiser. From Lainya the road became significantly better, still dirt, but smooth enough that I could hold my head in place without feeling as though my neck would snap if I turned the wrong direction.
Our compound in Yei is very basic, but functional. There are a series of concrete buildings with offices for Logistics, Finance, HR/Administration, and my department, Information Management. Behind the offices are a long row of green canvas 'safari tents,' heavy duty shelters built on concrete footings, with mosquito netting on the windows, and locks on the zippers. Off to the side in an enclosed concrete building are three shower stalls (with varying degrees of pressure), a pit latrine, and two Western-style toilets. The entire compound is ringed by a fence of sharp sticks and wire, giving a view of the huts just beyond. It's definitely nothing special, but it's at least functional. There are a few extra creature comforts that make it feel different from my Peace Corps experience- our common dining room has DSTV, a South African satellite network, a badminton net, and we have internet access via another satellite parked in the middle of the lawn. It's slow, but being able to update a blog like this, or browse Facebook is a big step from anything I had when I was teaching English in Gounou-Gaya.
As I imagined it would, life feels a lot like it did in Chad here. It's hot and humid, and at the risk of falling into clichés, people seem very friendly. Except for Lydia, the one-year-old who rides around on the back of one of the housekeepers- I think she hates me. She wails every time I come close... Naturally, I know what the issue is- she hates imperialist American foreign policy.
Seriously, I can only imagine how alien a white person must look to a baby who has only ever seen faces so black that anything this side of ebony would be bizarre. From what I've seen so far, many southern Sudanese people's skin is black to the point where it almost takes on a bluish hue. It'll be interesting to see how that changes as I move a bit farther north, into Dinka territory.
I'm planning on heading into town this afternoon, and I'll try to get a few pictures uploaded soon. Looks like it might be awhile before I have a phone, so go ahead and email, or just find me on Skype (my username is nathanieltishman). Hope things are well wherever you are, and look for another update before long.
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