Interesting...
I was just chatting with one of the people in charge here in Agok, and he seemed to be having a bit of a tough night. It's been a challenging couple days, I think, and an issue with money put him in a bad mood that seems to have lasted.
"Why do you want to do this job, Nathaniel, honestly?" He asked, as we sat in the dusty area outside the main pavilion, swatting mosquitoes.
Good question. I wonder myself sometimes.
Why exactly is it that I'm willing to live in some of the hottest, driest, poorest places on Earth, eat crappy food, sleep in a tent, and deal with latrines that feel way too full? Seems crazy right? At home, I could have a good life- not that I'd be likely to be well-off, or anything, but at least I could have a salad once in awhile, and travel wouldn't be on roads that feel like they're 80% crater, 20% gravel.
But I know why I'm here- it's not about those things. Yes, conditions are rough, but every job has it's challenges- the ones here just happen to be a bit more in-your-face. Yes, I could be home, living in a comfortable place, but I know I'd be missing something.
As cliché as this sounds, being in Chad, and being in the Peace Corps changed my life. Five-and-a-half years ago, had someone asked me if I wanted to go live in a village in a poor, hot, corrupt, and violent country, I would have simply assumed they'd taken an extra shot of crazy in the coffee that morning. Now, I feel like I get it.
Since I began doing this in 2004, I've been places nobody else in my family would dare to go, and seen things so tragic that you feel them eat away at your soul. I've observed poverty beyond anything most people can imagine, where $1 literally would be the difference between life and death.
But I've also seen resilience beyond anything I could imagine, and signs of progress in places one would never expect it. Seeing someone 'get it,' over something as simple as the reason to send their child to school, or how drinking water from a pump instead of a pond will help them avoid a bad case of amoebas is what makes it worthwhile, the knowledge that you did some small thing for the better.
My brother, the chef, asked me the same question once.
"What is it about this?" I remember him asking, as we drove over the Bay Bridge back into San Francisco, the lights of the Ferry Building and the Embarcadero beautiful as always.
"Think of the thing you're most passionate about," I said, "and try to explain to someone why you care so much about it."
It might not make sense to anyone but yourself, but if you have a passion, you know why you follow it. The question, though, is do you take the steps you have to do to make it a reality, or do you let it go, in favor of something safe, something comfortable?
Not me. I'm still following it- hard to say where it'll lead, but I bet I'll be happy along the way.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Big News
I just got an email from Catholic Relief Services, one of the world's largest NGOs, the other day. I'd applied for their International Development Fellows Program, an initial one-year position with them designed to lead into a long-term career with the organization. After months of waiting, and a narrowing down from 500 to 150 to 50 to about 20, I found out.
I got it!
It's not 100 percent certain yet where I'll be, but as of right now, it should be in Francophone Central Africa. That means any of the following: Democratic Republic of the Congo, Congo Brazzaville, Chad, Cameroon, Central African Republic, Rwanda, or Burundi. Nigeria is also on the list, but as an English-speaking country, I assume that won't be happening. I should find out exactly where within a couple weeks.
If you'd like to find out more about it, by the way, check out:
http://crs.org/about/careers/fellowships/
I'm pretty excited about it, as you can probably guess. It feels like a validation for all the volunteer and intern work I've been doing over the past several years. It means that I'm actually going to have a career in this after all, so it seems.
I'm very appreciative for the opportunities I've had with my current organization, but I feel like it's time to do something new. Like I mentioned in my last post, I've been working in communications here, which is interesting, but really not what I want to be doing long-term.
Also, and at the risk of sounding a little spoiled, I wouldn't mind something a little more comfortable. I'm perfectly content to live in challenging environments- it's the nature of working in development. With that said, to this point I've worked in Chad, northern Uganda, Niger, and southern Sudan, each among the hardest terrains on Earth. I wouldn't mind being in a place where it isn't 45º celsius as a rule, where roads are mostly functional, and having a few creature comforts like air-conditioning and access to vegetables. With this fellowship, I think all of that will be possible.
My plan as of now will be to stay here in Sudan through the end of June, come back to the States, with training beginning in July. As I know more about my placement and work, I'll post it here- keep checking back...
I got it!
It's not 100 percent certain yet where I'll be, but as of right now, it should be in Francophone Central Africa. That means any of the following: Democratic Republic of the Congo, Congo Brazzaville, Chad, Cameroon, Central African Republic, Rwanda, or Burundi. Nigeria is also on the list, but as an English-speaking country, I assume that won't be happening. I should find out exactly where within a couple weeks.
If you'd like to find out more about it, by the way, check out:
http://crs.org/about/careers/fellowships/
I'm pretty excited about it, as you can probably guess. It feels like a validation for all the volunteer and intern work I've been doing over the past several years. It means that I'm actually going to have a career in this after all, so it seems.
I'm very appreciative for the opportunities I've had with my current organization, but I feel like it's time to do something new. Like I mentioned in my last post, I've been working in communications here, which is interesting, but really not what I want to be doing long-term.
Also, and at the risk of sounding a little spoiled, I wouldn't mind something a little more comfortable. I'm perfectly content to live in challenging environments- it's the nature of working in development. With that said, to this point I've worked in Chad, northern Uganda, Niger, and southern Sudan, each among the hardest terrains on Earth. I wouldn't mind being in a place where it isn't 45º celsius as a rule, where roads are mostly functional, and having a few creature comforts like air-conditioning and access to vegetables. With this fellowship, I think all of that will be possible.
My plan as of now will be to stay here in Sudan through the end of June, come back to the States, with training beginning in July. As I know more about my placement and work, I'll post it here- keep checking back...
A Few New Developments
Sorry for the delay in posting anything here- it's been a busy couple weeks, and blogging has taken a backseat to work and moving around. To attempt to make up for it- here's a three-part post.
About a week and half ago, I had a chance to visit a refugee camp for about 6,000 Congolese who fled to southern Sudan following an attack by the Lord's Resistance Army in the area. Founded in 1986 under the leadership of former altar-boy Joseph Kony, the LRA has become infamous for widespread atrocities in Northern Uganda, the Central African Republic, Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), and southern Sudan, notably the kidnapping of children to use as soldiers. According to the Swiss NGO Trial Watch, more than 85 percent of LRA fighters are children between the ages of 11 and 15, 40 percent of them young women.
Nyori camp, where I visited, is only about 10km from the DRC border. It's run by NGOs, and coordinated by the United Nations’ organization for refugee affairs, the UNHCR. It straddles a small creek. At the bottom of the steep ravine, a newly painted red-and-white wooden bridge connects the two sides of the camp. On either side, the refugees live in small rectangular grass huts, most of which have been reinforced with UNHCR-issued white plastic sheeting.
(By the way, I have photos from the camp, which I'll post as soon as I get the chance.)
I certainly wrote about this plenty while I was in Chad, but seeing the camp made me realize yet again just how incredibly lucky we all are in the developed world. We never think about what would happen if a militia suddenly attacked our community, what we might do if we had a parent, sibling, or child dying from a completely treatable disease, or how we'd manage go half the places we do if we had to use roads that were more crater than gravel, spending four hours to go 30 kilometers. This is southern Sudan, and this is the situation the Congolese refugees are fleeing to. I don't have anything particularly pithy of profound to offer on this, but it's just something to think about the next time you might feel like complaining about your flight being delayed 20 minutes.
***
Speaking of flights, the travel from Juba to Agok was...exciting, as usual. Flying out of Juba is always a challenge- the airport has one entrance, guarded by SPLM (the southern Sudan military) troops, and always surrounded by a mob of people, every one of whom is trying to get in the same doorway, waving passports and southern Sudan travel permits. I did make it through the door, however, but quickly found myself in the midst of another mob- it so happened that my World Food Program (WFP) flight happens to be checking in at almost the exact same time as one of the regular flights to Nairobi, leading to a huge crush of people trying to check in at the single counter next to me. I'm able to push my way through, however, and hand my agency identity card to a man in a fluorescent green vest at the counter so that he can check my name on the manifest, the only ticket needed for UN travel.
In Juba, you walk behind the counter to deal with your baggage, causing a huge crush as people try to squeeze through. On WFP flights, you can carry a maximum of 15 kilograms, officially- in practice, the number seems to be higher, if you're friendly enough. My bag seems to always be a few kilos over the limit, and again I'm lucky that after throwing it onto the scale, the baggage handler shrugs, and hands it off to me. The next step is security- I lug my bag to another countertop, where an SPLM soldier and airport security officer wait. They gesture for me to open the bag, which they ruffle through, setting aside clothing, multivitamins, and a jar of peanut butter I picked up at the Sri Lankan-owned supermarket in town. Airport security. Over to the side, a new X-ray machine waits, turned off.
Checking my big bag, I squeeze through to the other side of the counter, and make my way to the other half of airport security, the waiting room before the terminal. In another logic-defying move, the entrance to the waiting room is only accessible through a single tiny door, where other security agents wait to search your carry-on bag. A huge line divided in two is parked in front of the door- one for men, one for women- in a huge blow for equality, I guess, the women's line is about 1/8th the length of the men's. Making it to the front, the agent searches through my bag by hand, removing the batteries from my alarm clock- almost as logical as airport security back home. I duck under the fake leather curtain separating the security checkpoint from the waiting room, am quickly frisked by another agent, and waved through. Mission accomplished, much pushing and shoving later.
To get to Agok we fly first to the town of Wau, via another town, Rumbek. We take a small turboprop exactly like the ones you might take in the US between San Francisco and LA, or Miami and Tampa. We arrive in Renk just under an hour later, hitting the dirt runway with a cloud of red dust behind us. After picking up a few passengers, we're on the way again, off to Wau. 30 minutes later we touch down at the airstrip- as we flash past, I can't help but notice the broken fuselages of two large jets. Each is tilted crazily up on their wing and in several pieces- whether it was a poor landing or artillery that brought them down, it's hard to say.
After a two-hour delay that was supposed to be 30 minutes, I head to Agok. We fly on a tiny plane called a Twin Otter, which bounces through the clouds as I hold on, trying not to think about it. On a rational level, I know everything is fine- a pilot friend of mine explained to me recently how they look at turbulence in the air in the same way that the captain of a ship sees waves. Still. I'm close enough to the controls that I can see a GPS unit ticking away the distance- that helps, plus the fact that I see the pilots joking with each other over the headphones. If they were concerned, I'm sure they'd look serious.
We fly past the runway first, in a wide circle. No air-traffic control around here, so this is the only way to make sure that the landing strip is free of children, goats, or anything else that might get in the way. Doubling back, we hit the gravel and bounce along, coming to a stop next to a few parked Land Cruisers. I've arrived- 400 kilometers and six hours later.
***
So, the village is called Agok, but I think 'surface of the sun' might be a better name. Holy crap, it's hot.
Agok is dry and brown, with a few tough acacia trees hanging on to provide a bit of shade here and there. It reminds me a lot of Chad- same heat, same dust, same goats, same seko grass mats, same women in bright headscarves.
I'll be in Agok and the surrounding towns for about a month, looking at the organization's work in Economic Recovery and Development, writing stories, and taking photos. It's interesting stuff, but still not exactly what I want to do- fortunately it looks like I won't be doing it for much longer... Details to follow.
About a week and half ago, I had a chance to visit a refugee camp for about 6,000 Congolese who fled to southern Sudan following an attack by the Lord's Resistance Army in the area. Founded in 1986 under the leadership of former altar-boy Joseph Kony, the LRA has become infamous for widespread atrocities in Northern Uganda, the Central African Republic, Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), and southern Sudan, notably the kidnapping of children to use as soldiers. According to the Swiss NGO Trial Watch, more than 85 percent of LRA fighters are children between the ages of 11 and 15, 40 percent of them young women.
Nyori camp, where I visited, is only about 10km from the DRC border. It's run by NGOs, and coordinated by the United Nations’ organization for refugee affairs, the UNHCR. It straddles a small creek. At the bottom of the steep ravine, a newly painted red-and-white wooden bridge connects the two sides of the camp. On either side, the refugees live in small rectangular grass huts, most of which have been reinforced with UNHCR-issued white plastic sheeting.
(By the way, I have photos from the camp, which I'll post as soon as I get the chance.)
I certainly wrote about this plenty while I was in Chad, but seeing the camp made me realize yet again just how incredibly lucky we all are in the developed world. We never think about what would happen if a militia suddenly attacked our community, what we might do if we had a parent, sibling, or child dying from a completely treatable disease, or how we'd manage go half the places we do if we had to use roads that were more crater than gravel, spending four hours to go 30 kilometers. This is southern Sudan, and this is the situation the Congolese refugees are fleeing to. I don't have anything particularly pithy of profound to offer on this, but it's just something to think about the next time you might feel like complaining about your flight being delayed 20 minutes.
***
Speaking of flights, the travel from Juba to Agok was...exciting, as usual. Flying out of Juba is always a challenge- the airport has one entrance, guarded by SPLM (the southern Sudan military) troops, and always surrounded by a mob of people, every one of whom is trying to get in the same doorway, waving passports and southern Sudan travel permits. I did make it through the door, however, but quickly found myself in the midst of another mob- it so happened that my World Food Program (WFP) flight happens to be checking in at almost the exact same time as one of the regular flights to Nairobi, leading to a huge crush of people trying to check in at the single counter next to me. I'm able to push my way through, however, and hand my agency identity card to a man in a fluorescent green vest at the counter so that he can check my name on the manifest, the only ticket needed for UN travel.
In Juba, you walk behind the counter to deal with your baggage, causing a huge crush as people try to squeeze through. On WFP flights, you can carry a maximum of 15 kilograms, officially- in practice, the number seems to be higher, if you're friendly enough. My bag seems to always be a few kilos over the limit, and again I'm lucky that after throwing it onto the scale, the baggage handler shrugs, and hands it off to me. The next step is security- I lug my bag to another countertop, where an SPLM soldier and airport security officer wait. They gesture for me to open the bag, which they ruffle through, setting aside clothing, multivitamins, and a jar of peanut butter I picked up at the Sri Lankan-owned supermarket in town. Airport security. Over to the side, a new X-ray machine waits, turned off.
Checking my big bag, I squeeze through to the other side of the counter, and make my way to the other half of airport security, the waiting room before the terminal. In another logic-defying move, the entrance to the waiting room is only accessible through a single tiny door, where other security agents wait to search your carry-on bag. A huge line divided in two is parked in front of the door- one for men, one for women- in a huge blow for equality, I guess, the women's line is about 1/8th the length of the men's. Making it to the front, the agent searches through my bag by hand, removing the batteries from my alarm clock- almost as logical as airport security back home. I duck under the fake leather curtain separating the security checkpoint from the waiting room, am quickly frisked by another agent, and waved through. Mission accomplished, much pushing and shoving later.
To get to Agok we fly first to the town of Wau, via another town, Rumbek. We take a small turboprop exactly like the ones you might take in the US between San Francisco and LA, or Miami and Tampa. We arrive in Renk just under an hour later, hitting the dirt runway with a cloud of red dust behind us. After picking up a few passengers, we're on the way again, off to Wau. 30 minutes later we touch down at the airstrip- as we flash past, I can't help but notice the broken fuselages of two large jets. Each is tilted crazily up on their wing and in several pieces- whether it was a poor landing or artillery that brought them down, it's hard to say.
After a two-hour delay that was supposed to be 30 minutes, I head to Agok. We fly on a tiny plane called a Twin Otter, which bounces through the clouds as I hold on, trying not to think about it. On a rational level, I know everything is fine- a pilot friend of mine explained to me recently how they look at turbulence in the air in the same way that the captain of a ship sees waves. Still. I'm close enough to the controls that I can see a GPS unit ticking away the distance- that helps, plus the fact that I see the pilots joking with each other over the headphones. If they were concerned, I'm sure they'd look serious.
We fly past the runway first, in a wide circle. No air-traffic control around here, so this is the only way to make sure that the landing strip is free of children, goats, or anything else that might get in the way. Doubling back, we hit the gravel and bounce along, coming to a stop next to a few parked Land Cruisers. I've arrived- 400 kilometers and six hours later.
***
So, the village is called Agok, but I think 'surface of the sun' might be a better name. Holy crap, it's hot.
Agok is dry and brown, with a few tough acacia trees hanging on to provide a bit of shade here and there. It reminds me a lot of Chad- same heat, same dust, same goats, same seko grass mats, same women in bright headscarves.
I'll be in Agok and the surrounding towns for about a month, looking at the organization's work in Economic Recovery and Development, writing stories, and taking photos. It's interesting stuff, but still not exactly what I want to do- fortunately it looks like I won't be doing it for much longer... Details to follow.
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
Nonna
On a completely different, unrelated-to-Sudan note, I want to take a quick moment to remember my great-grandmother, Anne Krum, who died late Tuesday afternoon, aged 105.
Born in 1904, Nonna (as everyone seemed to know her) lived a life that can only be described as remarkable. Immigrating from Poland in the early 1920s, she passed through Ellis Island and eventually settled in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Graduating high school in just two years, she raised three daughters singlehandedly following the death of her husband. One of them, my grandmother, subsequently cared for her throughout the past several years.
In times when it would be generously described as rare, and less generously as bizarre or a bad decision, she worked full-time, a single mother taking care of children. Years later, she went into real-estate, becoming highly successful, and dividing her time between homes in Miami Beach and Pittsburgh.
As she entered her 90s, it became clear that she needed to be closer to family for health reasons, and she relocated to Florida permanently, first Miami, and later Sarasota, where my father and grandmother live.
It was only after she retired that she became a serious painter. She'd been interested in the early 1950s, but responsibilities and life had gotten in the way. Over the past several years, she produced hundreds of paintings, ranging from large canvasses to hand-painted cards with wildflowers, with phrases written on the inside like "Happy Birthday, Nathaniel. Happy Every Day." Last year she produced a one-person show displayed in Sarasota's main library, and although any sort of travel outside the house was difficult at that point, she received a critical reception from friends and family.
The past few times I've been in Florida have been for big family events like birthdays, bar/bat mitzvahs or holidays. Each time, Nonna would basically hold court in the living room of my grandmother's house, sitting in a comfortable chair while all of us- almost 15 great-grandchildren, a dozen grandchildren (the same people I know as late-40s and mid-50s parents, uncles and aunts) would come sit with her, talk, and get advice. Incredibly intelligent, she had a great way of cutting through the crap, dispensing blunt advice (politely though, at the same time), and always making it clear that despite her physical frailty, an incredibly sharp mind was still there. Seeing my young teenage sisters and cousins sitting and talking with her was always amazing to see, as they seemed to get taller even as she became noticeably smaller.
As a risk-taker, and someone prepared to embrace things that some people might think odd for someone of a certain age or gender, I can't say I was all that surprised when I opened me email one morning a few months ago, to find a message. The subject line: "Anne Krum Added You As a Friend On Facebook."
Nonna, at age 104, joined Facebook. How great is that? Shortly afterwards, a group was formed in her honor, "Fans of Anne Krum, Oldest Person on Facebook." When I checked this morning, there were almost 300 members, from across the world.
As I write this, it's sad, but at the same time, I can't say it comes as a surprise. After going strong for so, so long, she began to decline quickly over the past few months. Yesterday evening, she moved on- we can only hope it was somewhere better.
Goodbye Nonna.
We'll miss you.
Born in 1904, Nonna (as everyone seemed to know her) lived a life that can only be described as remarkable. Immigrating from Poland in the early 1920s, she passed through Ellis Island and eventually settled in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Graduating high school in just two years, she raised three daughters singlehandedly following the death of her husband. One of them, my grandmother, subsequently cared for her throughout the past several years.
In times when it would be generously described as rare, and less generously as bizarre or a bad decision, she worked full-time, a single mother taking care of children. Years later, she went into real-estate, becoming highly successful, and dividing her time between homes in Miami Beach and Pittsburgh.
As she entered her 90s, it became clear that she needed to be closer to family for health reasons, and she relocated to Florida permanently, first Miami, and later Sarasota, where my father and grandmother live.
It was only after she retired that she became a serious painter. She'd been interested in the early 1950s, but responsibilities and life had gotten in the way. Over the past several years, she produced hundreds of paintings, ranging from large canvasses to hand-painted cards with wildflowers, with phrases written on the inside like "Happy Birthday, Nathaniel. Happy Every Day." Last year she produced a one-person show displayed in Sarasota's main library, and although any sort of travel outside the house was difficult at that point, she received a critical reception from friends and family.
The past few times I've been in Florida have been for big family events like birthdays, bar/bat mitzvahs or holidays. Each time, Nonna would basically hold court in the living room of my grandmother's house, sitting in a comfortable chair while all of us- almost 15 great-grandchildren, a dozen grandchildren (the same people I know as late-40s and mid-50s parents, uncles and aunts) would come sit with her, talk, and get advice. Incredibly intelligent, she had a great way of cutting through the crap, dispensing blunt advice (politely though, at the same time), and always making it clear that despite her physical frailty, an incredibly sharp mind was still there. Seeing my young teenage sisters and cousins sitting and talking with her was always amazing to see, as they seemed to get taller even as she became noticeably smaller.
As a risk-taker, and someone prepared to embrace things that some people might think odd for someone of a certain age or gender, I can't say I was all that surprised when I opened me email one morning a few months ago, to find a message. The subject line: "Anne Krum Added You As a Friend On Facebook."
Nonna, at age 104, joined Facebook. How great is that? Shortly afterwards, a group was formed in her honor, "Fans of Anne Krum, Oldest Person on Facebook." When I checked this morning, there were almost 300 members, from across the world.
As I write this, it's sad, but at the same time, I can't say it comes as a surprise. After going strong for so, so long, she began to decline quickly over the past few months. Yesterday evening, she moved on- we can only hope it was somewhere better.
Goodbye Nonna.
We'll miss you.
With her great-grandchildren, January 2008
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...
Sunday, March 15, 2009
A Few Photos
Here are a few photos from the first couple weeks. Unfortunately they're mostly places and scenery at this point, but I'll try to add more soon...
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...
Friday, March 6, 2009
Waiting... But for what?
Very little has changed since yesterday. We're all continuing to hope for the best, but for the moment everyone is basically on hold, while we wait to see what will happen next.
Those of us in the south are basically safe- the authorities here have said they continue to support the presence of the organization (and the others thrown out of Darfur yesterday).
Honestly, this reminds me a lot of how things felt when Peace Corps evacuated from Chad, a constant sense of concern, followed by waiting. It's hard to say what this will mean for the work I've come here to do though. In the best case scenario, it's likely to be delayed significantly; worst-case would probably mean me coming home sooner than planned. If things do end here prematurely, I wonder if it'll be possible to catch on with another organization, perhaps even in a 'real job.' We'll see what happens.
At a meeting this morning, the head of the office told us how more than 200 local staff have now lost their jobs as a result of this. If it wasn't bad enough to be laid off in the current global economy, imagine not only being laid off, but being laid off in Darfur. This is the impact of decisions like the one made by the government yesterday.
A colleague of mine made an interesting point yesterday, for a government is as unconcerned about the ICC's decision as they claim to be, they certainly act as though they're guilty of something...
Ultimately, the thing to remember is that as much as this sucks for the organization, the real victims of this decision are the refugees and internally displaced people in Darfur- they're the ones who depend on NGOs for so much of the little they have. As I said yesterday, they're the ones who will continue to die, and in greater numbers. We can only hope that this decision will be reversed, but frankly, that seems unlikely.
As I know more, I'll post another update. Hope the news is better wherever you are, and I'd welcome any thoughts you might have in the comments section below.
Those of us in the south are basically safe- the authorities here have said they continue to support the presence of the organization (and the others thrown out of Darfur yesterday).
Honestly, this reminds me a lot of how things felt when Peace Corps evacuated from Chad, a constant sense of concern, followed by waiting. It's hard to say what this will mean for the work I've come here to do though. In the best case scenario, it's likely to be delayed significantly; worst-case would probably mean me coming home sooner than planned. If things do end here prematurely, I wonder if it'll be possible to catch on with another organization, perhaps even in a 'real job.' We'll see what happens.
At a meeting this morning, the head of the office told us how more than 200 local staff have now lost their jobs as a result of this. If it wasn't bad enough to be laid off in the current global economy, imagine not only being laid off, but being laid off in Darfur. This is the impact of decisions like the one made by the government yesterday.
A colleague of mine made an interesting point yesterday, for a government is as unconcerned about the ICC's decision as they claim to be, they certainly act as though they're guilty of something...
Ultimately, the thing to remember is that as much as this sucks for the organization, the real victims of this decision are the refugees and internally displaced people in Darfur- they're the ones who depend on NGOs for so much of the little they have. As I said yesterday, they're the ones who will continue to die, and in greater numbers. We can only hope that this decision will be reversed, but frankly, that seems unlikely.
As I know more, I'll post another update. Hope the news is better wherever you are, and I'd welcome any thoughts you might have in the comments section below.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Out?
Just a quick update here, and one where I can't be too specific.
As a general rule, I've been asked to avoid mentioning the name of the organization I'm currently with in Sudan. This is as much to protect the image of said organization (which is based in Portland, and whose slogan encourages you to 'be the change.'), as for security, as the government here is unpredictable.
Not that it really seems to matter much at the moment. Today, the organization, along with nine others, was kicked out of Sudan.
This is presumably in response to the decision by the International Criminal Court yesterday to issue a warrant of arrest for Omar Al-Bashir, the president of Sudan. He's been accused of war crimes in Darfur, including murder, rape, and torture, among others.
In Darfur and in the northern portion of the country, all operations have been suspended. Staff have been consolidated, and the government has seized many of the assets of the organization, including vehicles, computers, and more. Fortunately everyone is OK physically, from what I hear.
In the south, where I am things are mostly unaffected, actually. The government, based in Khartoum, has very little influence over the (unofficially) semi-autonomous south, which has welcomed the continued presence of NGOs, including the one I'm currently with. We're stuck here at the moment, but other than that, it appears that things are likely to go on basically OK once the worst blows over.
For the north and Darfur though, it's another story entirely. In Darfur, millions of people are dependent on NGOs for their basic needs, and this expulsion is likely to mean more misery, and more death, as resources dry up. From everything we've heard, the government is unlikely to reverse its decision anytime soon, so for now, nobody really knows what will happen in terms of the program. One thing is for sure though- more people will die.
I'll try to post another update soon, but for now, check the news. Fortunately, there is little danger to us physically, particularly here. We're hoping for the best, but hard to say what will happen next...
As a general rule, I've been asked to avoid mentioning the name of the organization I'm currently with in Sudan. This is as much to protect the image of said organization (which is based in Portland, and whose slogan encourages you to 'be the change.'), as for security, as the government here is unpredictable.
Not that it really seems to matter much at the moment. Today, the organization, along with nine others, was kicked out of Sudan.
This is presumably in response to the decision by the International Criminal Court yesterday to issue a warrant of arrest for Omar Al-Bashir, the president of Sudan. He's been accused of war crimes in Darfur, including murder, rape, and torture, among others.
In Darfur and in the northern portion of the country, all operations have been suspended. Staff have been consolidated, and the government has seized many of the assets of the organization, including vehicles, computers, and more. Fortunately everyone is OK physically, from what I hear.
In the south, where I am things are mostly unaffected, actually. The government, based in Khartoum, has very little influence over the (unofficially) semi-autonomous south, which has welcomed the continued presence of NGOs, including the one I'm currently with. We're stuck here at the moment, but other than that, it appears that things are likely to go on basically OK once the worst blows over.
For the north and Darfur though, it's another story entirely. In Darfur, millions of people are dependent on NGOs for their basic needs, and this expulsion is likely to mean more misery, and more death, as resources dry up. From everything we've heard, the government is unlikely to reverse its decision anytime soon, so for now, nobody really knows what will happen in terms of the program. One thing is for sure though- more people will die.
I'll try to post another update soon, but for now, check the news. Fortunately, there is little danger to us physically, particularly here. We're hoping for the best, but hard to say what will happen next...
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