E's Demining Trip to the South

Article: http://khartoum.usembassy.gov/de-mining_efforts_.html



(Right to left): Qadeem Tariq (United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) Mine Action Senior Technical Advisor, Khartoum), Major Shakhawat (Commander of a UN Bangladeshi Demining Company), Col. Stu Harris, and E. (U.S. Embassy Khartoum) don protective gear before entering a minefield outside of Juba.


Col. Stu Harris (right) and E. (left) receive a briefing from Bangladeshi UN troops at a site of unexploded ordnance and explosive remnants of war near Juba.







U.S. helps in de-mining efforts in South Sudan

In a May 22 to 31 visit to Sudan, Colonel Stu Harris from the U.S. Department of State’s Office of Weapons Removal and Abatement, facilitated meetings with mine action leaders, met with Sudanese government officials, and assessed mine risk education and de-mining efforts in the field.

The Department of State contributed over $2 million to mine action efforts in Sudan in 2006. As the single largest contributor to mine action, the U.S. works in coordination with the United Nations Mine Action Office and the UN Development Program. This combined effort has helped open over 1,800 kms of road cleared of mines and unexploded ordnance (UXO), educate over one million individuals about mine and UXO risks, and destroy over 4,000 mines and pieces of UXO in controlled demolitions. The Department of State has also helped support the infrastructure of the National Mine Action Center of the Government of National Unity and the South Sudan Demining Commission.

De-mining efforts have resulted in positive economic development for Sudan along cleared transportation networks. Commodity prices have dropped along cleared roads, while access to health care, education, and government services has also increased.

Aylafon

Allah kareem, wa hita an-nass kareem

Generosity is a value I have underestimated for too long.

This past weekend E and I were taken under the wing of another extended family and invited to their home, as well as on a whole journey to visit sites important in the history of this region. I can't even begin to express how kind and generous the friends we're making here are . . . but I'll try (and please enjoy E's slideshow above!).

Very early last Friday morning we arranged to meet up with a new friend and visit his hometown of AylafoOn. Many miles after the crowded buildings of the city disappeared, we rolled into a dusty, relaxed, sunny, community where many influential Sudanese who work in Khartoum actually live. Before we got there, I wondered why on earth would you choose to still live in a rural village if you have a good job in the city!?! But that was before we got to AylafoOn to see for ourselves.

The pace of life, for one thing, that far out of the capital ,is much more at ease. We were greeted by our friend's inlaws into their spacious spotless compound where we sat and debated politics for an hour or two before heading out an excursion they had planned for us. We did not expect the whole family to be in on our weekend activity, but they were! And it was great (again, see slideshow above).

After the requisite "barid" (remember what that is?!) we headed out in a minivan-ivan to see all of AylafoOn and the surrounding notable sites. Our friend's father-in-law was a history teacher, so he had much to say all along the way. We visited the sacred tombs of some of the founders of the region - one of whom lived at least 147 years - and heard stories about an amazing gift that lent protection to the bearer while he explored and eventually settled the land in that area.


Next we headed to a someone in our group's sister's aunt's home for breakfast. Luckily we were coming into town just as the inhabitants were celebrating a wedding. We were able to wish the groom 1000 congratulations on our way. We were shuttled into another spacious, airy compound where they sent me to sit with the women and took E away with the men on the other side. We broke the fast with our fellow (or in my case, lady) journeyers for the day. All of us eating out of one giant platter on which were little dishes of olives, cheese, eggs, white bread like hot dog buns, sweet spaghetti, ta'amiya (like falafel), and some meat and veg stew.


When that was done, we rejoined our other halves and got back on the road, out to visit an historic site marking a spot where the Sudanese battled the British at the end of the 19th century. That trek was hot, but interesting, and we listened attentively to our expert guide - who kept telling E he could get himself an additional wife from the town if he thought he was interested.


Then we were off again to see the Nile as it irrigates the land and provides the agriculture for the vast majority of the country.


Then on to see a Qur'anic school to which families across North and West Africa have been sending their sons for centuries. We visited the tombs of the founders of this site as well, and saw the eternal flame that has been burning in the same spot for almost one hundred years . . .

Throughout this long and eventful day we were constantly attended to by our friends and their families. "Have you had enough to drink?" "Are you too hot?" "Are you tired?" "Did you understand?" "Would you like another barid?" "Are you having fun?" etc. They were so thoughtful we managed to be comfortable for the entire trek, even in the midst of temperatures nearing 50c.

In the car on the way back into the city I was thinking to myself about an expression you hear all the time here, "Allah kareem." It means "God is generous/God will provide," and it dominates the mentality of this culture. "We make do with what we can and God will take care of the rest." This attitude can be manifest in the best and worst of character traits. On the one hand, there is no drive for people to "bootstrap" their way up from one standard of living to another. This can lead to a feeling of hopelessness and dead ends. On the other hand, there is a deep sense of trust that whatever one gets in life is just the right amount. Life will never be too hard for a person or too easy so that she might get weak and lazy - just right. I can share what I have with you because God has given me enough. This basic emphasis on trust has created a culture of utmost generosity and welcome. Makes me wonder if we didn't place so much value on self-made people who bootstrap their ways up socio-economic ladders, how different American culture might be.

In Sudan, God is most generous, and the people here are too.

Celebrating Our Fathers

This Fathers' Day we decided to share a few of the things we love about our dads with the rest of our friends and family.

Throughout our travels we have seen some very different kinds of families. From the tiny nuclear families of Northern Europe to the vast extended networks of families across North Africa, to our own American experiences. With each encounter, we reflect a bit on our own families and over time we have learned:

1. fathers never stop worrying about their kids, even when their kids have kids of their own
2. fathers can work from home while mothers go to work, just as well as the other way around
3. fathers can be gentle as well as protective
4. fathers have shown us a thing or two about how to choose a good wine
5. spending time alone with fathers is important
6. fathers are talented: in the garden, in the kitchen, in the pulpit, in the O.R., in the home
7. some of the most fun we've had with fathers has been while biking, traveling, doing crosswords, cooking, driving, talking, listening, and exploring new places
8. fathers do sometimes stop and ask for directions
9. fathers can be techie and modern without losing their appreciation for good old-fashioned music, literature, conversation, and mah jongg
10. no tie, polo shirt, or golf club can ever come close to capturing the gratitude we feel for our dads - but we'll keep giving them occasionally anyway . . .

This fathers day we want to send special thoughts out to our dads (We love you guys!) and to all fathers and father figures everywhere. Please feel free to post your own thoughts and reflections about your fathers in the comments section of our blog.

Happy Fathers' Day!

Rural Life in the Capital City (part 2)

. . . so we got in the rukcha', and after some gentle prodding by my friend that the strange white person accompanying her would not cause any problems, we continued our journey away from the recognizable city and into the outermost suburbs.

Our first stop was "The Grandmother Compound." As I have said, Sudanese live on compounds for the most part. Whether modern or traditional, this style of home building is omnipresent. We went in through the nondescript mud and straw-walled compound gate and into the Grandmothers' yard. Inside were a collection of small huts: mostly open walls with four wood posts and a stick roof, some sheets up as dividers, one closed off sleeping room, and a kitchen outbuilding.

The first grandmother was sitting on a straw mat on the ground doing bead work. My friend warmly greeted her and introduced me. The grandmother shook and held my hand tightly for several minutes. I couldn't understand a thing she was saying, so I just kept smiling and greeting her, asking how she was doing and holding her hand back. Eventually she let go and we moved back to the one hut with walls.

My friend directed me into the hut to join her sitting on the bed. In this one compound with some seven or so grandmothers and 5-10 grandchildren, there was one single bed. It was a simple frame piled with newspapers for padding and covered with a blanket. We sat, and the other grandmothers came in from their various tasks to join us for a "barid."

I would learn that this is the protocol for Sudanese house visits. You bring the outsider in to the shaded part of the compound, and send a reliable child or grandchild out to purchase one or two bottles of coke (or the local equivalent) which are then shared using one or two cups among all present. "Barid" means "cold," and here when they ask you what you want to drink, they ask "Barid ei?" ("Which cold?").

My friend and the grandmothers regaled each other with their latest news. A neighbor had recently died, so they were discussing the funeral preparations. I couldn't catch all of what they were saying, but I asked my friend later about a comment I had heard her make that "in the end, there is only Jesus." She explained that there was a divide in the family of the deceased about the type of funeral service that would be done for the neighbor - whether it should be Catholic or Orthodox. I heard and understood her comment correctly and was reaffirmed that we are kindred in the believe that regardless of the prayer practice, we'll all end up in the same place.

The grandmothers were very friendly and insisted that I come back, with or without my friend (their niece). Before we left, my friend wanted to make sure I saw one more thing about the grandmothers' compound - their lab for making home brew. She led me behind the kitchen outbuilding to see this lucrative black market activity in the making. The woman stirring the pot looked up at me and smiled a gappy grin. My friend said to me, "Ahh this is one of my best friends. We call her Whiskey. Why? Because she makes the best moonshine around."

Next we headed (by ruksha' again) to the compound of another close friend and extended family member. We knocked and then went into their yard, to find 7 or 8 small children, the bigger ones, tending to the smallest, but no adults. We learned that the mother had gone to the hospital for an operation, and her husband had gone along to care for her. Who was here for the children? I wondered.

The babies were crying and the children were reserved and glum. My friend, being a doctor, went straight in to attend to the crying babies, making arrangements to get some milk from a neighbor and the promise of a meal for the others in a bit.

After that rather disturbing scene, we walked across to the next stop, "The Village Chief." I know it's confusing to think about villages and chiefs in the context of the capital city. All I can say is that the area I was visiting could only be described as "suburban" because of its proximity to a larger city. There was really nothing of a recognizably urban life in these communities at all. Some would say they're most accurately described as IDP camps.

I was impressed upon entering the chief's compound at the tidiness of the yard and huts. In the same layout as the previous compounds, We found here that the dirt floors were swept clean to the dry clay ground, and the few belongings stacked neatly in the corner of the one walled hut at the back. We enjoyed the "barid" and more animated conversation. The wife of the chief was a dear friend of my friend, so we sat and talked about personal things and family affairs. "Girl talk" is the same, regardless of culture, language, and family situation. We laughed and shared so much that I barely noticed how broilingly hot it was.

When we stepped outside (to head home? I hoped . . .) there was again no ruksha' in sight. We began the long walk back. It had now been about four hours and I was starting to feel the heat and exhaustion. We trudged from the outermost area back towards the large mosque. To my surprise, we made one more stop, at the home of my friend's in-laws. I was once again warmly welcomed and invited back "with or without" my friend. We sat for another drink and news update.

When we were done, after the requisite questioning inclduing when more children would be born, and when we'd be back for the next visit, we trudged back to my friend's home to pick up my bag and return me to the city.

I was filthy, but cheerful, after this long day. My friend had really shown me, in the most generous way, what it is like for her to live here. She welcomed me into her home and into her family. I told her that the next time she made the rounds to visit her extended family, she would have to include the newest member - the white one who lives with her husband out in Garden City. She squeezed me and said "Ma'aloum akhti" ("But of course my sister").

Rural Life in the Capital City (part 1)

This past Tuesday was a day I will never forget.

I have been developing a friendship with a local woman doctor here. She is the wife of an acquaintance and a recent mother of one. I met her at a dinner party and for some reason (perhaps it was my particularly humorous attempts to converse in anything other than the formal, stilted, Modern Standard Arabic) we really clicked. I gave her my card and got her cell phone number. Almost a week after the party I called her.

"M! What took you so long! I've been waiting to hear from you! When can we meet? Today?"

"How about tomorrow?" I said.

We arranged to meet in the downtown area of the city. I thought this would be convenient because we could have a glass of tea or a coffee at one of the local establishments, then we could both go back to our busy work lives.

We greeted each other and she took me by the hand. I asked where she recommended we go for a drink. She said, "Tea, yes. But there is much more to do. Are you ready?"

I went and rearranged the rest of my day quickly, knowing by now that if I don't have control over where we're meeting, I don't have control over how long the meeting will go, and I won't have control over making it to my other appointments in a timely manner. And we were off!

Traveling in an un-airconditioned car across the city was a new experience for me. The wind blew at us hard and hot. Our driver seemed very suspicious about having me in his back seat and I followed bits and pieces of his conversation with my friend. When I asked her about it later, saying that I had sensed some uneasiness, she said, "Oh yes. He doesn't trust Arabs."

Right. Those of you who know me, know that I don't really look like and Arab. Not even on a good day. But as we talked, I remembered that the white colonizing force will be interpreted according to the particular circumstances of the occupation. In this case, the while people to be feared are the Arabs.

We drove and drove and drove. My friend pointed out important locations along the way: this is the neighborhood where the engineers live. This is where the doctors live. This is where the university professors live, etc. It does not take long to get away from the recognizable cityscape of Khartoum. Just across the river and we were driving through areas of one-story plaster/cement shops facing the road, with living quarters behind. Then we were driving past one-story mud and straw buildings with stick-made roofs.

We stopped in front of a big mosque. By far the nicest and most beautiful building in sight. Across the street was the compound my friend, her husband, their baby, (and all the nieces and nephews of their entire family who are in town for the school holidays in the summer), and some cousins live. The traditional style of building here is the compound. In both rural and urban developments, people usually surround their homes with tall walls, separating them from the outside world almost completely. We went through the big metal door at their gate and into their private quarters.

Immediately inside was a small atrium, cris-crossed by low-hanging laundry lines. We ducked and wound around and came into a second atrium where the children were sitting and playing. On one side of the atrium was a kitchen outbuilding. On the other was the entrance to the two formal "living rooms" of the compound, and then on to the bedroom. I did not see a bathroom and am not sure one was there.

My friend and I went inside. She turned on two big ceiling fans, and the sweat that had accumulated on my face and neck in the short time between the wind from the moving car and our short walk through her home began to blow dry. We sat down and began to talk. We talked about her childhood, her family, her work. I asked whether she would like to have more children and she told me I sounded like one of her family. I laughed - both she and I have people here constantly asking us why we don't have (more) kids. We also touched on some of the political and social issues. As a doctor, my friend sees the specific impact of many severe social problems: the destruction of so many livers by those who drink contraband moonshine, the malnutrition, the impairments that could have been prevented if only there was enough money to cover health care AND food, the lack of family planning, and more.

Two hours later, when I thought things were wrapping up, she asked if I was ready to go. We went outside to call for a rukcha' and got in. This was when the real adventure began.

Leopard print slippers and other small happenings

So there we were, sitting at the Al-Merreikh stadium in Omdurman, getting ready to watch our first professional football match between the Sudanese National Team, and Mauritius.

E and I went with a new local friend who was able to be our guide for the whole experience. We found our seats, directly across from three entire sections of fans just off work with the police and the army. They were already singing and bouncing around . . . and it was still an hour to game time. We had a look around. The stadium, one of three rather large fields in the city, was about 2/3 full. At 7pm, when we arrived, it was probably about 110 degrees . . . but at least we were out of direct sunlight.

As I was watching the men (and yes, they were all men) come past me on their way to their seats, I noticed a remarkable trend: one out of every ten or so men was wearing leopard print slippers! I'm not kidding. The first pair I noticed really caught my eye, but then as I looked around I saw them everywhere!

Thinking back now, I remember that at a seminar I attended last week, two of the men sitting across from me were also sporting footwear with bright animal designs. And there was that guy at the market, and, and . . . And these are not just subtle, faint, oh-maybe-there's-an-animal-print-somewhere-in-the-texture-of-this-shoe slippers. No! These are full on, fuzzy, orange-brown with black and brown spots, leopard print slippers!

When I pointed this out to E, he said "yeah, and apparently alligator is in too." Ha. He had a point, I would say that men wearing alligator (or faux) skin shoes is probably the third most popular style around here, after your basic leather sandals and the leopard print slippers. I don't know what that's about! If you have thoughts, please leave a comment on this posting, I'd love to know where this comes from.

Other big news from Little Happpening includes:
*swimming with my new friend the frog (who has now joined me twice in our pool)
*geckos in the bathroom
*the arrival of our air freight (yippee! more variety than what we've been living in for the past month)
*and a rousing performance by the 50 piece football band. (actually they weren't half bad, but the musical highlight of the evening was when the entire crowd - all men, as I said - joined in unison to sign the anthem. That was a site: reserved, emotional, sober, and gentle . . . and then it all went "out the window" once the game began. " . . . and the crowd goes wild!!!"

Downtown

From the m.o. of our first few weeks, we would never have known that Khartoum has a downtown. However, today we discovered it in all its dusty glory.

In search of a watch battery, light bulbs, more power strips (can't ever have enough) and a few good Arabic books, we headed off with our driver into the center of the city. He drove us past several noteworthy sites: Ozone (the outdoor bakery cafe), various important residences, beautiful Turkish mosques, and several services khawagas in this town frequent: dry cleaners, home furnishing stores, ice cream shops, etc. When I commented on the beauty of the mosques, our driver pulled over and said the rest of our errands would be better done on foot . . . the better to admire the two MOST BEAUTIFUL mosques in the city. (They really are amazing. Sometime when I have my photo permit with me, I will brave an attempt to document the edifices for our readers . . .)

This was a real change of pace for us. As I have said, we spend a lot of time shuttling from one air conditioned bubble to the next. It would be easy for us to live a comfortable insulated life here and not ever really have to be aware of the larger context in which we're situated. However, such insulation is not the reason we were interested in moving abroad, so when our driver suggested we get out and walk . . . we jumped to it!

The downtown area of Khartoum has seen better days. As we walked around, we were told again and again that "this [run down, vacant lot] was once a really happening club" or "this [abandoned, shuttered, broken down] building was once a bustling coffee shop that all the socialites of Khartoum used to pass by to see and be seen." But that was before sharia' law.

Downtown Khartoum is dominated by the colonial style of cement buildings found across North Africa, from Cairo to Casablanca. But the area has now been overcome by omnipresent dust, oppressive heat, bleaching sun, and disrepair. These three to ten story buildings, ornately decorated with plaster reliefs, and underpinned by shaded porticoes on the ground level which allow pedestrians protection from the sidewalk-less streets, illustrate the ups and (more often) downs of this country's economic development.

Khartoum lacks the towering skyscrapers that are popping up in Moroccan and Egyptian cities, but makes up for it in lateral growth - spreading out concentrically from the city center into the surrounding desert. The Sudanese capital city is jam-packed with traffic on any given day - but Saturdays are the worst. Road signs are rare, and one way streets are common. This combination strikes fear in my heart as I contemplate driving myself around in just a few short weeks when our car arrives (in sha' allah).

The shaded porticoes are also crammed. Men shopping, men selling their wares, men socializing, men haggling over prices and products. Every where I looked were men. Everything we could have needed was for sale.

We did eventually make it to the mosques. We got up close enough to see the peachy-orange carved brick and stepped roof line. Not yet a tourist city, Khartoum's mosques are mainly for practical purposes. It was not an option today to go in.

It was ultimately reassuring to see that it really will be possible to stroll (any pace quicker than an amble would induce heatstroke) in these city streets as we have done in so many other locations. An avid walker, I feel strongly that this is the only way to get familiar with a neighborhood. Until today I had felt such explorations would be impossible. It just isn't usually done here. It seemed to me that white people stayed in their little white homes and their little white 4x4s and they got together only with other white people. Today that assumption has been broken.

We have come down from our ivory vehicles. Let us hope this indicates a new trend . . . that of personal, relational, experiential encounters across cultures built on sharing a community and getting to know one another face to face. Now that would be transformational diplomacy . . .