On the first day, we entered the small, but lively refugee camp market full of music and Sudanese goods. We stopped and had a delicious tomato, onion, and peanut butter salad with fresh grapefruit juice. Amidst Sudanese music, the exchange of Sudanese pounds, young dread-locked rebels strolling through the narrow passages, and young children bearing Darfuri leather amulets easily distract my attention.
The next day I spent in the camp, the atmosphere could not be more different. Upon approachig the market area, young men in camouflage hurried dismounted their dull green pick up truck covered in mud to fill the tires with air and spread layers of fresh mud truck's exterior--this camouflage apparently works well against the backdrop of the Darfuri mountains across the border. Once under the shaded passageways and inside the market maze, the heavy silence and emptiness signaled that something surely was going on. A few unconfortable minutes later, chatting with a colleague, the soft, distant, yet unmistakable "boom" stopped me mid-sentence. Silently acknowledging the bomb that was dropped across the border in Darfur, we quickly left the market area and mounted our caravan of jeeps. The UN national partners, DIS, escorted us--as they do every day--back for the thirty minute bumpy return through the sand along the Sudanese border, to our compound.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Bahai, finally
Tonight for the first time since I’ve arrived in the country, my chapsitick was not complete liquid. I could get used to this weather quickly… fresh, clear and cool nights. Warm, windy days—so far, which have been lovely. The only catch is sand and dust that that lovely wind picks up. After my first day in the camp, entire face was covered in a layer of film. Throughout the day, it seems as though the crunch of dust in my teeth reminds of where I am.
Each morning, I’m awoken by strong wind, blowing on my open door and the sound of lizards hurriedly scrambling above my cloth ceiling. I’m never quite sure what animal it is exactly (I only assume by it's speed and weight that it must be those lizards), and the thought of it falling through the cloth ceiling cover wakes me up.
The desert morning is cool, cold even and gently quiet. After waking up early to my ceiling lizard alarm, I sat outside in the first sun light of the day--the only time, save dusk, where I would voluntarily try to sit in the sun--sipping on coffee and waiting for our bucker shower water to heat. No running water in Bahai means that each morning, the guards fill up a metal basin of water sitting on round fire pit. If there's wood, there's hot water. If there's not wood, cold water suffices. And for once, to feel the desire and need even for hot water, once unthinkable, seems amazing even if not feasible.
Each morning, I’m awoken by strong wind, blowing on my open door and the sound of lizards hurriedly scrambling above my cloth ceiling. I’m never quite sure what animal it is exactly (I only assume by it's speed and weight that it must be those lizards), and the thought of it falling through the cloth ceiling cover wakes me up.
The desert morning is cool, cold even and gently quiet. After waking up early to my ceiling lizard alarm, I sat outside in the first sun light of the day--the only time, save dusk, where I would voluntarily try to sit in the sun--sipping on coffee and waiting for our bucker shower water to heat. No running water in Bahai means that each morning, the guards fill up a metal basin of water sitting on round fire pit. If there's wood, there's hot water. If there's not wood, cold water suffices. And for once, to feel the desire and need even for hot water, once unthinkable, seems amazing even if not feasible.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Delays...
I suppose a week in Abéché that becomes routine, mundane, boring even—especially the week after Bahsir’s indictment that’s had the world talking—is not a bad one.
After much anticipation, preparation, thoughts of what to throw into a backpack in the case of an evacuation, we’re all still here and life is passing as usual: waking up early to the busy morning chatter of the guard’s radios, eating large meals prepared by the compound cook at lunch and dinner, working late hours in the guest house salon, and playing volleyball when time and work allows us.
And, as I habituate to life in Abéché, the news of yet another carjacking is less shocking. Following the holiday, there was another hit. This time it was AFRICARE’s national compound. Six armed men entered (apparently, simply by flashign their guns) and made away with a pick-up truck and the guards! Apparently, driving east towards the border, them bandits dropped the guards off, without harming them, in the middle of nowhere. At least two hours later, the guards made it back to Abéché, at least two hours on foot.
I was meant to travel to Bahai on Monday until the country director advised that he still recommended limited travel. Perhaps the holiday on Monday, Mohammed’s birthday, had something to do with it. I celebrated Mohammed’s birthday by working in the quiet office all day long. National staff took the day off, celebrating in their homes with their families—if they have family here that is. Many national staff have chosen to leave their homes, mostly in the south of the country, for such prestigious jobs with NGOs. These positions are so prestigious that employees in Bahai are willing to forfeit all communication with their families. No cell phone network and no (at least limited) computers available to national staff certainly make communication with difficult.
The delay did allow me a bit of exposure Abéché "night life." Friday night the NGO pilots threw a St. Paddy’s day party in their compound. There was no green beer, but plenty of young, non-Francophone, partying pilots. These guys seem to congregate in emergency, conflict-affected zones to cash in on the lucrative business of transporting humanitarians and UN employees. As with many humanitarians in my business, many of these guys worked in Congo and have moved over here to cash bank for anywhere from a couple months to a year. Also, as with humanitarians, they tend to max out and flee after a year in Abéché.
As many gatherings with expats seem to go, this night revolved around consumption of large bottles of Castel (Cameroonian) and Gala (local Chadian beer), grand stories of travel, and travel plans for R&R to come. Even just after one month, i had forgotten the pleasure of casual socializing—with people other than those with whom I work and live! The evening was cut off as curfew, 8p.m., fell, too quickly. Even if for just a couple hours, a small reminder of "normal" life—as normal as social life can be here—was refreshing.
After much anticipation, preparation, thoughts of what to throw into a backpack in the case of an evacuation, we’re all still here and life is passing as usual: waking up early to the busy morning chatter of the guard’s radios, eating large meals prepared by the compound cook at lunch and dinner, working late hours in the guest house salon, and playing volleyball when time and work allows us.
And, as I habituate to life in Abéché, the news of yet another carjacking is less shocking. Following the holiday, there was another hit. This time it was AFRICARE’s national compound. Six armed men entered (apparently, simply by flashign their guns) and made away with a pick-up truck and the guards! Apparently, driving east towards the border, them bandits dropped the guards off, without harming them, in the middle of nowhere. At least two hours later, the guards made it back to Abéché, at least two hours on foot.
I was meant to travel to Bahai on Monday until the country director advised that he still recommended limited travel. Perhaps the holiday on Monday, Mohammed’s birthday, had something to do with it. I celebrated Mohammed’s birthday by working in the quiet office all day long. National staff took the day off, celebrating in their homes with their families—if they have family here that is. Many national staff have chosen to leave their homes, mostly in the south of the country, for such prestigious jobs with NGOs. These positions are so prestigious that employees in Bahai are willing to forfeit all communication with their families. No cell phone network and no (at least limited) computers available to national staff certainly make communication with difficult.
The delay did allow me a bit of exposure Abéché "night life." Friday night the NGO pilots threw a St. Paddy’s day party in their compound. There was no green beer, but plenty of young, non-Francophone, partying pilots. These guys seem to congregate in emergency, conflict-affected zones to cash in on the lucrative business of transporting humanitarians and UN employees. As with many humanitarians in my business, many of these guys worked in Congo and have moved over here to cash bank for anywhere from a couple months to a year. Also, as with humanitarians, they tend to max out and flee after a year in Abéché.
As many gatherings with expats seem to go, this night revolved around consumption of large bottles of Castel (Cameroonian) and Gala (local Chadian beer), grand stories of travel, and travel plans for R&R to come. Even just after one month, i had forgotten the pleasure of casual socializing—with people other than those with whom I work and live! The evening was cut off as curfew, 8p.m., fell, too quickly. Even if for just a couple hours, a small reminder of "normal" life—as normal as social life can be here—was refreshing.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Quiet murmurs
Maybe not so quiet. There was an emergency security meeting held this Monday morning by OCHA, the UN humanitarian coordinating body, calling together all UN and NGO bodies present in Abéché. The curt meeting provided little information, rather simply advised NGOs to review evacuation plans and be prepared (i.e. pack a bag) in the case of rebel “movements” targeting Chadian government troops, and a consequent necessary evacuation.
As our security officer debriefed us on the OCHA “advisory,” a Cameroonian colleague who was in Abeche last year before and during the evacuation, crossed his legs and leaned back, blowing off these warnings. He assured us that none of the signs and rumors that were abuzz last year leading up to the attempted coup d’état—and consequent evacuation—are here now.
Still, my trip to Bahai which was supposed to begin today, has been postponed until next week.
All this talk has been in light of today’s historical unprecedented indictment of Sudanese President Omar Bashir—the first indictment ever by an international court against a current head of state. While London openly celebrated the indictment outside the Sudanese Embassy, we shut down our office early this afternoon, restricted all “non-essential” movements within Abéché and between field sites until the Country Director gives us the okay to proceed as usual.
This afternoon, finishing up a strategic meeting with my supervisors on the columned veranda of our guesthouse, news of the indictment began to trickle in—in synch with the trickle of our internet connection, which these days, only begins to “flow” after working hours.
As of now, we know (thanks to New York Times, BBC, and Irin News online) Bashir “rejects” the indictment. Perhaps, this is the best case scenario. Fears of backlash against the NGO western community have caused several NGOs to evacuate Sudan already. For us, the fear is that of Sudanese rebels launching attacks against Chadian government forces in Abéché. Last year in February, rebels made it as far to the capital in the west, N’Djamena before being quelled. Or, the perhaps there is a threat of Sudanese government-backed janjaweed forces attacking Chadian-supported JEM rebels (who have headquarters in Chad). Perhaps, most viably, fighting between JEM rebels and the Sudanese government, which has already been full out some parts of Darfur for the past month, will intensify and spill over the border. Frankly, I’m still struggling trying to get my head wrapped around the complicated links of who is who and what is what here.
Earlier today in a meeting with all expat and national staff, national staff talked about witnessing an increase in armed government military trucks in the streets of Abéché. These trucks—many stolen from NGOs—frequently cruise the town, showing off their collection of guns and shoulder-launched rockets. Our staff hypothesized that more military trucks in town, perhaps, this is a good sign—this means they are not already fighting on the border. However, another colleague mentioned how the streets have been very quiet, with the rumble of an occasional helicopter passing over, heading east, breaking the silence.
In reviewing the evacuation plans with the staff, I shrunk with shame hearing the hierarchal protocol for expats and national staff. Expats are immediately granted a seat on a flight out of Abéché, national staff are provided a “safe” haven, separate from ours for themselves and their families. Beyond that, staff will be transported to the home town in the country.
Still, for the most part, inside our insulated and isolated expat compound, life continues as normal this evening—a quick game of volleyball after work, dinner time, and laptops on laps accompanied by furious typing—the rush to catch up with emails that arrived only as the internet began to work, long after the working day. With our security walkie talkies turned on and up, eventually we part ways and retire for the night, anxiously waiting for the emails in our outboxes to be delivered, tensely waiting for the heavy silence to be broken.
As our security officer debriefed us on the OCHA “advisory,” a Cameroonian colleague who was in Abeche last year before and during the evacuation, crossed his legs and leaned back, blowing off these warnings. He assured us that none of the signs and rumors that were abuzz last year leading up to the attempted coup d’état—and consequent evacuation—are here now.
Still, my trip to Bahai which was supposed to begin today, has been postponed until next week.
All this talk has been in light of today’s historical unprecedented indictment of Sudanese President Omar Bashir—the first indictment ever by an international court against a current head of state. While London openly celebrated the indictment outside the Sudanese Embassy, we shut down our office early this afternoon, restricted all “non-essential” movements within Abéché and between field sites until the Country Director gives us the okay to proceed as usual.
This afternoon, finishing up a strategic meeting with my supervisors on the columned veranda of our guesthouse, news of the indictment began to trickle in—in synch with the trickle of our internet connection, which these days, only begins to “flow” after working hours.
As of now, we know (thanks to New York Times, BBC, and Irin News online) Bashir “rejects” the indictment. Perhaps, this is the best case scenario. Fears of backlash against the NGO western community have caused several NGOs to evacuate Sudan already. For us, the fear is that of Sudanese rebels launching attacks against Chadian government forces in Abéché. Last year in February, rebels made it as far to the capital in the west, N’Djamena before being quelled. Or, the perhaps there is a threat of Sudanese government-backed janjaweed forces attacking Chadian-supported JEM rebels (who have headquarters in Chad). Perhaps, most viably, fighting between JEM rebels and the Sudanese government, which has already been full out some parts of Darfur for the past month, will intensify and spill over the border. Frankly, I’m still struggling trying to get my head wrapped around the complicated links of who is who and what is what here.
Earlier today in a meeting with all expat and national staff, national staff talked about witnessing an increase in armed government military trucks in the streets of Abéché. These trucks—many stolen from NGOs—frequently cruise the town, showing off their collection of guns and shoulder-launched rockets. Our staff hypothesized that more military trucks in town, perhaps, this is a good sign—this means they are not already fighting on the border. However, another colleague mentioned how the streets have been very quiet, with the rumble of an occasional helicopter passing over, heading east, breaking the silence.
In reviewing the evacuation plans with the staff, I shrunk with shame hearing the hierarchal protocol for expats and national staff. Expats are immediately granted a seat on a flight out of Abéché, national staff are provided a “safe” haven, separate from ours for themselves and their families. Beyond that, staff will be transported to the home town in the country.
Still, for the most part, inside our insulated and isolated expat compound, life continues as normal this evening—a quick game of volleyball after work, dinner time, and laptops on laps accompanied by furious typing—the rush to catch up with emails that arrived only as the internet began to work, long after the working day. With our security walkie talkies turned on and up, eventually we part ways and retire for the night, anxiously waiting for the emails in our outboxes to be delivered, tensely waiting for the heavy silence to be broken.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Another arrival
Another arrival… Abéché
On my first day of work, the lead administrator took my passport and disappeared for a few hours. Upon her return, she said that I should receive my government authorization to travel outside N’Djamena to my base in Abeche. This is all normal protocol, so I am told.
By the time Wednesday rolled around, my authorization still hadn’t come through. In the afternoon, the administrator assured me that it would come in the morning, so that I could catch the second flight of the day to Abeche, for which I would have to leave the compound at 9.30a.m. At 9.10 the next morning, I was told my authorization arrived and I had 20minutes to be out the front gate with my luggage, ready to go.
While I don’t notice it during the day, I do notice the evening prayer call around 5p.m. when work tapers down and evening begins.
The driver dropped me off to the airport lounge, full of men in robes staring at me suspiciously—I was both the only woman and the only white person in the airport. Fortunately, I joined two other colleagues, a doctor and mechanic, also traveling to Abeche who distracted me from many heavy glances.
South Africans piloted our flight of thirty or so passengers (larger than I expected), directing us onto the landing strip in Abeche occupied by three government army helicopters. Walking off the plane to the tiny airport, I finally felt the true hot heat of the desert sun in eastern Tchad.
Despite the warnings, my first impression of the compound in Abeche was a pleasant surprise. There are trees here! Banana and papaya. I don’t even know if they produce any fruit, but at least it’s green. This, I’m discovering more and more is a true rarity.
I headed straight to the office, directly across the sandy unpaved road from the living compound. Floppy-eared sheep were the only living creatures in the road at the peak heat of the day. Later in my office, for the first time I heard a loud bleating and panting, which I presumed was from the sheep—the only living animal I had seen until that point. I’ve since discovered that those are the donkeys who “sing” constantly.
I easily felt at home with the Anglophone team in Abeche as we began to share meals, Gala (the local beer), stories of travel and work throughout the continent, and challenges of Tchad. The second night, a Friday, we decided to go out for drinks before our 8p.m. curfew set in. We were joined by NGO pilots who were completely burnt out (in more sense than one), evading their curfews and attempting to evade their life in Abeche.
Driving back home from the expat restaurant we noticed that all the trees on the side of the dusty road were cut down. The charcoal ban—supposedly set in place for environmental protection, but in fact were am attempted to prevent rebels from smuggling weapons in charcoal bags—apparently has now left residents with no source for fuel. Save the trees on the side of the road that is. As I said, green is a rarity here. And so it becomes more and more of a rarity.
At 2 a.m. on Monday morning our neighbor’s compound, the office and living quarters of a French NGO, was broken into by five armed only speaking Arabic. Causing little damage, the men gladly took off with one of the NGOs hard top jeep and a few mobile phones.
Tuesday, a colleague and I planned to leave for a quick visit to Hadjer Hadid, the village next to one of the largest Darfurian refugees in eastern Tchad where we run health programs. We left the compound for the airport at 7a.m. The “airport” is perhaps and exaggeration. It’s one room, with a petite boutique in the corner selling imported cookies and serving local tea and Nescafe. There are a few seats, 30 maximum and two “check-in” tables set up in the morning with hand-written signs of four different destinations—towns accompanying an NGO-supported refugee camp.
The compound here is truly a little slice of paradise—sans la mer—with individual village-style thatched-roofed huts and a true family feeling with the all African expat senior staff. This is truly refreshing compound to the heavy dust, arms, paranoia and confinement in Abeche. I could be camping underneath the Colorado sky. But the bleating donkeys remind me that I’m not!
During the days, I feel as though I’m melting in the incredibly hot, dry heat and have found reasons to escape the office to go to the camp, only 5 km away, both days. The camp is not quite as I expected as most of the housing is actually locally built, not UNHCR donated tents. Apparently, that’s a whole different, contentious subject. Our health centre there is well-organized, staffed by expert Chadians who undoubtedly know more about the refugees and how things function than any expat does.
It’s from Hadjer Hadid, underneath the clear and vast desert stars, that I post this entry. I already feel like I’ve been here for months, yet it’s not been two weeks yet. As I imagine, the time here will pass slowly yet quickly.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Arrival
After a hectic month of trying to get my life sufficiently in order to move to Chad, I am finally here. As most things go, it's hurry up and wait. And now the wait: the following long year in Chad begins.
I arrived on a Saturday night. Stepping off the plane my lungs filled up with the warm, sweet, dry and smoky air that I had missed so much. It's always strange arriving in a place at night, not being able to see or absorb anything, particularly in a place with no street lights. These thoughts quickly dissipated when we arrived at the compound where I was welcomed by a friendly colleague from Burkina Faso welcomed me with three kisses and a cold Guiness.
What's even stranger than arriving in a new place at night is entering a compound at night with little options, opportunities, or reason to leave during the following days. This has been my experience for the last few days in the capital, N'Djamena.
The office and guest houses here are in the same walled, dirt-groomed lot protected by barbwire and several lethargic guards. Fortunately, Sunday afternoon I was able to tag along with my colleague from Burkina Faso to Le Grand Marché. Fortunately for convenience's sake, but unfortunately for my curiosity and love to walk, we only leave the compound by car.
My wide eyes were able to scan mud "brick" buildings, men wearing long white robes with turbans seemingly haphazardly thrown on their heads who fill the streets, dodging street vendors selling apples on wooden carts. Rubble on the side of the road lay where just a couple weeks illegal houses were demolished by the government. Not suprisingly, large decorative water fountains in round abouts are dry. Suprisingly, some traffic lights actually work. Here, it's evident why Rwanda has outlaw plastic bags... such a regulation here would do wonders! While little of these sights shock me, I am struck by the clear level of poverty and dust on tree leaves!
Later that evening, the Burkinabe took me out with a Chadien colleague to a bar/club... never in D.C. or Paris would anyone see a club as hot as this was on a Sunday night. Jamais!
Now, as I wait to receive authorization from the government to travel outside of N'Djamena, I am welcomed by and meet a constant flow of colleagues, coming from and going to the field.
I am very happy to meet so many African ex-pat staff and also speak so much French. My colleagues share various reports of "conditions" in Abeche and Bahai in the East--militarization, criminalization, sand, heat, and scorpions. Mais, je vais voir pour moi-meme!
I arrived on a Saturday night. Stepping off the plane my lungs filled up with the warm, sweet, dry and smoky air that I had missed so much. It's always strange arriving in a place at night, not being able to see or absorb anything, particularly in a place with no street lights. These thoughts quickly dissipated when we arrived at the compound where I was welcomed by a friendly colleague from Burkina Faso welcomed me with three kisses and a cold Guiness.
What's even stranger than arriving in a new place at night is entering a compound at night with little options, opportunities, or reason to leave during the following days. This has been my experience for the last few days in the capital, N'Djamena.
The office and guest houses here are in the same walled, dirt-groomed lot protected by barbwire and several lethargic guards. Fortunately, Sunday afternoon I was able to tag along with my colleague from Burkina Faso to Le Grand Marché. Fortunately for convenience's sake, but unfortunately for my curiosity and love to walk, we only leave the compound by car.
My wide eyes were able to scan mud "brick" buildings, men wearing long white robes with turbans seemingly haphazardly thrown on their heads who fill the streets, dodging street vendors selling apples on wooden carts. Rubble on the side of the road lay where just a couple weeks illegal houses were demolished by the government. Not suprisingly, large decorative water fountains in round abouts are dry. Suprisingly, some traffic lights actually work. Here, it's evident why Rwanda has outlaw plastic bags... such a regulation here would do wonders! While little of these sights shock me, I am struck by the clear level of poverty and dust on tree leaves!
Later that evening, the Burkinabe took me out with a Chadien colleague to a bar/club... never in D.C. or Paris would anyone see a club as hot as this was on a Sunday night. Jamais!
Now, as I wait to receive authorization from the government to travel outside of N'Djamena, I am welcomed by and meet a constant flow of colleagues, coming from and going to the field.
I am very happy to meet so many African ex-pat staff and also speak so much French. My colleagues share various reports of "conditions" in Abeche and Bahai in the East--militarization, criminalization, sand, heat, and scorpions. Mais, je vais voir pour moi-meme!
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