Well thats it. My shoes have finally disintegrated, and just as I walk in through my front door.
I left Khartoum in 43 degrees. I didnt need a jacket. I arrived in Birmingham in 8 degrees - Crikey i DID need a jacket - shame it was packed in my suitcase.
Ive only been away 3 weeks but in this time, global food prices have escalated. Rice went up 40% in 10 days. And the bloody taxi fare from the airport has gone up a fiver.
So my trip to The Sudan has come to an end. But rural poverty hasnt.
Did I earn my money? Lets see if I get another contract (I certainly hope I do)
Did I make a difference? Who knows... but I don't see why I should be the only one asking that question. Have you made a difference?
Friday, 18 April 2008
The Sudan - 36
There is always a price to pay. I consider my myself extremely lucky to have seen the things I’ve seen, and done the things I’ve done and met the people I’ve met on this trip. Many people might envy the experience. But there is always a price to pay. I spend my last day in The Sudan shut up on my dark air-conditioned hotel room writing reports. I hate this bit of the job, and collating the workshop outputs is even worse. Anything beyond a dozen pages does my head in, and I’m already up to 50.
Ive paid George in a combination of Sudanese pounds and US dollars - i take my wad of cash out his safe, count it out to the last dollar and give it all back to him to put back in his safe (this time as his) My stay at the Acropole hotel adds up to about £80 per night (and includes breakfast and dinner, laundry, and service with a smile)
My car comes to collect me to take me to the airport. The headlining inside the car has come away from the roof and both the driver and I sit slumped with the dirty material resting on our heads - it would be rather cosy if it wasn’t 43 degrees outside. I go to put my seat belt on but the driver reaches over and grabs the buckle out of my hand and flings it away off my lap exclaiming “no, no” in a tone of voice that sent mixed messages - “C’mon man, lets live dangerously”, “Crikey don’t put that on, its made of uranium”, “don’t you trust my driving mate?” i look at the multiple cracks in his windscreen, and then at him. Oh what the heck - i haven’t met yet a Sudanese who has let me down, why should i doubt this chap now?
There are only a few junctions in Khartoum where drivers take notice of the traffic lights, and we pull up to one; they take an incredibly long time to change. During this wait we are offered for sale a multitude of items from street sellers who dash between the waiting cars; tissues, sun-screens, digital clocks, expandable filing systems, 6’ wide carpets, grip-exercisers, orange-juice presses and even a billiard table. Well OK, it was only a toy one, but never the less something no-one was impulsed to buy while waiting for the lights to change.
And so I’m on my way home. I settle into my airplane seat and order a gin and tonic - my first taste of alcohol for nearly 3 weeks - its nectar, and sets me up just right for a long sleep - until i become a little concerned that the captain is talking about going to somewhere ive never heard of before. Have I got on the wrong plane? I have to admit, the staff at Khartoum airport only kept referring to KLM, never a flight number.. were there more than one KLM out of Khartoum?
Turns out were picking up more passengers from Addis Ababa. I spend my 2 hour visit to Ethiopia wide awake, cramped in my seat, stuck on an airport apron... gee, i want to go home
Ive paid George in a combination of Sudanese pounds and US dollars - i take my wad of cash out his safe, count it out to the last dollar and give it all back to him to put back in his safe (this time as his) My stay at the Acropole hotel adds up to about £80 per night (and includes breakfast and dinner, laundry, and service with a smile)
My car comes to collect me to take me to the airport. The headlining inside the car has come away from the roof and both the driver and I sit slumped with the dirty material resting on our heads - it would be rather cosy if it wasn’t 43 degrees outside. I go to put my seat belt on but the driver reaches over and grabs the buckle out of my hand and flings it away off my lap exclaiming “no, no” in a tone of voice that sent mixed messages - “C’mon man, lets live dangerously”, “Crikey don’t put that on, its made of uranium”, “don’t you trust my driving mate?” i look at the multiple cracks in his windscreen, and then at him. Oh what the heck - i haven’t met yet a Sudanese who has let me down, why should i doubt this chap now?
There are only a few junctions in Khartoum where drivers take notice of the traffic lights, and we pull up to one; they take an incredibly long time to change. During this wait we are offered for sale a multitude of items from street sellers who dash between the waiting cars; tissues, sun-screens, digital clocks, expandable filing systems, 6’ wide carpets, grip-exercisers, orange-juice presses and even a billiard table. Well OK, it was only a toy one, but never the less something no-one was impulsed to buy while waiting for the lights to change.
And so I’m on my way home. I settle into my airplane seat and order a gin and tonic - my first taste of alcohol for nearly 3 weeks - its nectar, and sets me up just right for a long sleep - until i become a little concerned that the captain is talking about going to somewhere ive never heard of before. Have I got on the wrong plane? I have to admit, the staff at Khartoum airport only kept referring to KLM, never a flight number.. were there more than one KLM out of Khartoum?
Turns out were picking up more passengers from Addis Ababa. I spend my 2 hour visit to Ethiopia wide awake, cramped in my seat, stuck on an airport apron... gee, i want to go home
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
The Sudan - 35
Its Daisys birthday! Happy Birthday Daisy! ..... and im not there to celebrate her 17th with her. I feel ready to go home now, and so it was with some excitement that i set off this morning for the 9 hour drive back to Khartoum (I hope George has still got my cash in his safe)
Question - What do you do with a dead cow? Answer - you leave it where it drops. Ive seen dozens of dead cows today laying on the roadsides and in the fields. And what happens to them? They dont rot or decompose or get eaten by predators (there are no preditors or flys this far out in the 45deg C heat) - they simply dehydrate. They are all in various stages of their dehydration - some just dry around the nose, others looking like theyve had the air sucked out of them, and the older ones just a bunch of bones. Sometimes you might see a donkey corpse, but rarely a goat. I guess that you can carry a dead goat back home and eat it or skin it, but a cow must be virtually impossible to move, and so they just get left there. I used to see pictures of dehydrated cattle corpses in campaigns to catch our attention about the suffering of Humans in areas of drought; i used to associate this image with horror and pity and death. But as i see these dead creatures now i see them much more as a "fact of life" - "The beast is too heavy for me to drag in this heat - leave the bugger there" and LIFE moves on.
The journey back is a reverse of the journey there, and i'm surprised at my familiarity with the views - im no longer in awe of the space, or the living conditions, or the behaviours of the people i see on the way. I did note how strange it sounded when my friend asked me if i knew what the road junction was that we were approaching (a road junction is a point of interest on this very very straight road) "Oh thats the road to Ethiopia" i replied - for it was, but Ive never had the need to say that before.
We stop for breakfast at a truckstop. Im starting to feel a little silly carrying my backpack with me where ever i go. I keep it with me for safety, but safety from what, i dont know. There is no evidence of theft here - even the driver leaves the car running with the keys in it while he goes to get tea and have a pee.
I dont recognise the brand of fuel at this petrol station, but i do note on the forecourt sign post that this petrol station has "Petrol Service", "Supermarket", "Car Wash" and "Mosque". 3 young girls (9 or 10 years old?) come gliding over to our car with large trays perfectly balanced on thier heads stacked with what looks like bags of nuts. They clearly want be to buy. A little game ensues with them repeatedly saying something, and me repeatedly replying "No Thankyou". It amuses all of us, and i think that we all know that Im not going to purchase anything. A bus pulls in with its windows all wide open (we should have opening windows on our busses back home) and its passengers singing a clapping song for all they are worth - it sounds great and reminds me that i havent heard a great deal of music being sung or played while ive been here - i would have thought that song and rythmn might have been a key feature in the lives of people who havent got much else.
Our driver has bought his son along for the ride (poor kid). Yusef is 15 years old and we manage to communicate enough on our journey to learn a few things about each other. Our conversations are intereupted now and then by calls to his mobile phone from his friends. I ask Yusef about his taste in music and he plays me selections from his favourite artists on his phone; 50 Cent, Usher, Akon, Sharkera etc etc then he shows me the music videos of his favourite artists, and then videos of BMW cars, and muscle cars performing donuts. He might be born into another world, but there is no doubt that kids are all living in the same world.
George is waiting for us when we return to our hotel. There are new people sitting in the lobby - they look a bit "pedestrian", perhaps theyre just tourists. The tables have turned; Now -I- am the one who has returned from a mysterious and dangerous mission and -I- am the one being welcomed home again by George. Now -I- am the dark unshaven stranger, And the Hotel Acropole is MY domain
Question - What do you do with a dead cow? Answer - you leave it where it drops. Ive seen dozens of dead cows today laying on the roadsides and in the fields. And what happens to them? They dont rot or decompose or get eaten by predators (there are no preditors or flys this far out in the 45deg C heat) - they simply dehydrate. They are all in various stages of their dehydration - some just dry around the nose, others looking like theyve had the air sucked out of them, and the older ones just a bunch of bones. Sometimes you might see a donkey corpse, but rarely a goat. I guess that you can carry a dead goat back home and eat it or skin it, but a cow must be virtually impossible to move, and so they just get left there. I used to see pictures of dehydrated cattle corpses in campaigns to catch our attention about the suffering of Humans in areas of drought; i used to associate this image with horror and pity and death. But as i see these dead creatures now i see them much more as a "fact of life" - "The beast is too heavy for me to drag in this heat - leave the bugger there" and LIFE moves on.
The journey back is a reverse of the journey there, and i'm surprised at my familiarity with the views - im no longer in awe of the space, or the living conditions, or the behaviours of the people i see on the way. I did note how strange it sounded when my friend asked me if i knew what the road junction was that we were approaching (a road junction is a point of interest on this very very straight road) "Oh thats the road to Ethiopia" i replied - for it was, but Ive never had the need to say that before.
We stop for breakfast at a truckstop. Im starting to feel a little silly carrying my backpack with me where ever i go. I keep it with me for safety, but safety from what, i dont know. There is no evidence of theft here - even the driver leaves the car running with the keys in it while he goes to get tea and have a pee.
I dont recognise the brand of fuel at this petrol station, but i do note on the forecourt sign post that this petrol station has "Petrol Service", "Supermarket", "Car Wash" and "Mosque". 3 young girls (9 or 10 years old?) come gliding over to our car with large trays perfectly balanced on thier heads stacked with what looks like bags of nuts. They clearly want be to buy. A little game ensues with them repeatedly saying something, and me repeatedly replying "No Thankyou". It amuses all of us, and i think that we all know that Im not going to purchase anything. A bus pulls in with its windows all wide open (we should have opening windows on our busses back home) and its passengers singing a clapping song for all they are worth - it sounds great and reminds me that i havent heard a great deal of music being sung or played while ive been here - i would have thought that song and rythmn might have been a key feature in the lives of people who havent got much else.
Our driver has bought his son along for the ride (poor kid). Yusef is 15 years old and we manage to communicate enough on our journey to learn a few things about each other. Our conversations are intereupted now and then by calls to his mobile phone from his friends. I ask Yusef about his taste in music and he plays me selections from his favourite artists on his phone; 50 Cent, Usher, Akon, Sharkera etc etc then he shows me the music videos of his favourite artists, and then videos of BMW cars, and muscle cars performing donuts. He might be born into another world, but there is no doubt that kids are all living in the same world.
George is waiting for us when we return to our hotel. There are new people sitting in the lobby - they look a bit "pedestrian", perhaps theyre just tourists. The tables have turned; Now -I- am the one who has returned from a mysterious and dangerous mission and -I- am the one being welcomed home again by George. Now -I- am the dark unshaven stranger, And the Hotel Acropole is MY domain
Tuesday, 15 April 2008
The Sudan - 34
In a country where water is a scarce resource it seems a shame that so many of the taps leak and underground pipes are cracked.
As i stood in the sunshine drying my hair after my roof-top shower this morning, i was watching the comings and goings of people below. I don’t even bat an eye anymore when i see a man on a bike with 2 headless and skinless goats slung over his handlebars, dripping blood from the necks as he cycles past our guest house.
Today was supposed to Sudan census day. Everyone was to remain at home to be counted. It was postponed (its been postponed before) Can you imagine what it would be like to try and account for everyone here - including those out in the wilderness - there must be tens of thousands of individuals asleep under a bush somewhere with their goats. And even if you could count all the people, how would you record them? they don’t know their birth-dates, have no fixed address, and often are reluctant to give you their name. The whole thing has political implications that has knock-on implications to the peace or not of the country - its a nightmare.
I managed to get 15 minutes in the sunshine today - i was waiting for a driver. 15 minutes is about all you can bear at midday (it was my toes in my flip-flops that were burning the most) - the sun here even has a smell - its the most lovely smell of well-being - you really can breathe it in. As i waited i kicked around in a pile of litter on the dried and cracked land (is it a road? is it waste land? is it a garden? is it a field? - outside our office could be all those things - i’ll call it land) There is a lot of litter here. I wonder why there is so much litter if the majority of the population is poor. Among the rubbish, there is the omnipresent discarded half liter water bottles and drinks cans of course, and theres cigarette packets, tablet blister packets, a signal toothpaste package, a disposable nappy, and a few odd shoes. These don’t appear to me to be the waste of a poor country - i’d say these were signs of people who could afford stuff. That said, Kasalla is actually quite a developed town so maybe they like signal toothpaste.
“Mr Tim” comes a shout and a wide-grinning fellow comes striding over and shakes my hand “I like your diagram. For me, diverge, converge. Very good, very good” - I take that as positive feedback on the previous days work, and note it to include in the evaluation report
And so this is my last night in Kassala. Every one here wants to know what i think of Sudan? What do i think of Kassala? What do I think of the Sudanese? Well, my trip isn’t over yet, and i certainly haven’t seen enough of Sudan to say what i think of it in general. But I think i can say that i will miss my crappy room in the grubby guesthouse with Isha our cook and the two gentlemen with whom i had long conversations with over our breakfast and tea. I’ll miss the project team with whom i have been working with and for whom i have great respect for the work that they are doing. I shall miss the little bit of Kassala that i have come to know, and the hot, dry sunshine, and the most delicious grapefruits in the world. The people here are lovely, and as the sun sets behind the mountains i cross the dust track from the office to the guest house and wave to a weather beaten old man sitting astride a tired old donkey. He raises his beaten stick with a smile in recognition, and as he passes me, his donkey lets out a tired, long slow fart. Just to remind me not to get too sentimental.
As i stood in the sunshine drying my hair after my roof-top shower this morning, i was watching the comings and goings of people below. I don’t even bat an eye anymore when i see a man on a bike with 2 headless and skinless goats slung over his handlebars, dripping blood from the necks as he cycles past our guest house.
Today was supposed to Sudan census day. Everyone was to remain at home to be counted. It was postponed (its been postponed before) Can you imagine what it would be like to try and account for everyone here - including those out in the wilderness - there must be tens of thousands of individuals asleep under a bush somewhere with their goats. And even if you could count all the people, how would you record them? they don’t know their birth-dates, have no fixed address, and often are reluctant to give you their name. The whole thing has political implications that has knock-on implications to the peace or not of the country - its a nightmare.
I managed to get 15 minutes in the sunshine today - i was waiting for a driver. 15 minutes is about all you can bear at midday (it was my toes in my flip-flops that were burning the most) - the sun here even has a smell - its the most lovely smell of well-being - you really can breathe it in. As i waited i kicked around in a pile of litter on the dried and cracked land (is it a road? is it waste land? is it a garden? is it a field? - outside our office could be all those things - i’ll call it land) There is a lot of litter here. I wonder why there is so much litter if the majority of the population is poor. Among the rubbish, there is the omnipresent discarded half liter water bottles and drinks cans of course, and theres cigarette packets, tablet blister packets, a signal toothpaste package, a disposable nappy, and a few odd shoes. These don’t appear to me to be the waste of a poor country - i’d say these were signs of people who could afford stuff. That said, Kasalla is actually quite a developed town so maybe they like signal toothpaste.
“Mr Tim” comes a shout and a wide-grinning fellow comes striding over and shakes my hand “I like your diagram. For me, diverge, converge. Very good, very good” - I take that as positive feedback on the previous days work, and note it to include in the evaluation report
And so this is my last night in Kassala. Every one here wants to know what i think of Sudan? What do i think of Kassala? What do I think of the Sudanese? Well, my trip isn’t over yet, and i certainly haven’t seen enough of Sudan to say what i think of it in general. But I think i can say that i will miss my crappy room in the grubby guesthouse with Isha our cook and the two gentlemen with whom i had long conversations with over our breakfast and tea. I’ll miss the project team with whom i have been working with and for whom i have great respect for the work that they are doing. I shall miss the little bit of Kassala that i have come to know, and the hot, dry sunshine, and the most delicious grapefruits in the world. The people here are lovely, and as the sun sets behind the mountains i cross the dust track from the office to the guest house and wave to a weather beaten old man sitting astride a tired old donkey. He raises his beaten stick with a smile in recognition, and as he passes me, his donkey lets out a tired, long slow fart. Just to remind me not to get too sentimental.
The Sudan - 33
The celebrations continue, and we are invited out to a good-bye party for the same project manager. We are collected at 8pm by our driver and taken to a hotel in the center of Kassala. As we drive through the town (or is it a city?) I am surprised by the number of people on the streets. People taking an evening stroll in the balmy night air, people in road-side cafes drinking tea and chatting with friends. Brightly lit shop windows and some appear to be open. This is a very busy and social city, and i don’t know why i’m surprised - why shouldn’t it be?
A long row of tables have been prepared in the garden of the hotel. They are expecting a lot of people - 50? and the tables are already laid with bottles of water, bottles of fizzy drinks, flasks of tea and a plate each of stretch-wrapped party food for everyone. While we wait for the guest of honour to arrive I wander round the garden. There is a playground for children, complete with a donald duck climbing frame and slide, and a little zoo with some caged birds, monkeys and 2 thumping big tortoises. It is a very sweet little place for kids and not at all sad in the way that some kids zoos can be.
People are arriving. I have met many of them before from our interactions and meetings over the past few days, but i recognise few of them because they have come in their going-out clothes. Robed and Turbaned in crisp white, the men all look very smart. I like the way the Arabs wear their turbans; loose and casual. Everyone seems to tie his in a different way. I was particularly impressed earlier in the day when the leader of the tribe that we visited - who was clearly getting very hot - tipped his turban to one side in a very jaunty manner to allow some fresh air circulation. It looked very cool - in both senses of the word.
The men have brought their family with them too. The women - all quite beautiful and wearing brightly coloured shawls sit at one end of the table, while the men sit at the other, while the kids do what kids do.
The meal is basic - some fruit, some cake, popcorn, nuts - but nevertheless appropriate for the moment. I avoid the tea in the flasks that looked so milky you could almost see the cream settling to the top. The obligatory speeches are made and i hear my name mentioned twice (people smiled so i guessed all was still ok), a gift is presented (but not opened - a washing machine apparently) and then it is all over.
Everyone says goodbye and this is the time when the men and women chat with each other - its very relaxed.
Isha, our cook and guest house cleaner is here too and she and her friend need a lift back to the guesthouse with us, and they climb into the back of the pick up truck. The 3 of us in the vehicle offer our seats but they wont be persuaded and so i decide, much to their amusement, to join them in the flatbed. The journey back cant be more than 15 minutes, but driving through the streets in that warm night air with the moon shining down on me was a truly wonderful feeling. And at that moment i realise; i really do like Kassala
A long row of tables have been prepared in the garden of the hotel. They are expecting a lot of people - 50? and the tables are already laid with bottles of water, bottles of fizzy drinks, flasks of tea and a plate each of stretch-wrapped party food for everyone. While we wait for the guest of honour to arrive I wander round the garden. There is a playground for children, complete with a donald duck climbing frame and slide, and a little zoo with some caged birds, monkeys and 2 thumping big tortoises. It is a very sweet little place for kids and not at all sad in the way that some kids zoos can be.
People are arriving. I have met many of them before from our interactions and meetings over the past few days, but i recognise few of them because they have come in their going-out clothes. Robed and Turbaned in crisp white, the men all look very smart. I like the way the Arabs wear their turbans; loose and casual. Everyone seems to tie his in a different way. I was particularly impressed earlier in the day when the leader of the tribe that we visited - who was clearly getting very hot - tipped his turban to one side in a very jaunty manner to allow some fresh air circulation. It looked very cool - in both senses of the word.
The men have brought their family with them too. The women - all quite beautiful and wearing brightly coloured shawls sit at one end of the table, while the men sit at the other, while the kids do what kids do.
The meal is basic - some fruit, some cake, popcorn, nuts - but nevertheless appropriate for the moment. I avoid the tea in the flasks that looked so milky you could almost see the cream settling to the top. The obligatory speeches are made and i hear my name mentioned twice (people smiled so i guessed all was still ok), a gift is presented (but not opened - a washing machine apparently) and then it is all over.
Everyone says goodbye and this is the time when the men and women chat with each other - its very relaxed.
Isha, our cook and guest house cleaner is here too and she and her friend need a lift back to the guesthouse with us, and they climb into the back of the pick up truck. The 3 of us in the vehicle offer our seats but they wont be persuaded and so i decide, much to their amusement, to join them in the flatbed. The journey back cant be more than 15 minutes, but driving through the streets in that warm night air with the moon shining down on me was a truly wonderful feeling. And at that moment i realise; i really do like Kassala
Monday, 14 April 2008
The Sudan - 32
Take a look at Kassala on google maps.
The big north to south splash through the middle of it is the dried bed of the river Gash. Come July it will be gushing with water - Gash means torrential. The project here in Kassala is trying to manage 100km of this, to provide irrigation to 67000 households of which 90% are considered poor. The project is half way through its 8 year multi-million dollar programme.
As we drive out to one of the project blocks we pass through Kassala wholesale market. It is a center of extreme activity as people buy and sell fruit and vegetables of all kinds. Onions are large and plentiful, green oranges, mangoes, bananas, grapefruits and carts of grass like vegetation. Donkeys are laden with charcoal to be sold for cooking on.
On the sides of the road people are fixing mopeds or making bricks; one man pressing damp concrete mix into a cast iron box with a lever to eject the brick to be dried in the sun; another man is simply making rough patties of clay that once sun dried will also become bricks.
Soon our little convoy of white toyota land-cruisers are off the metaled road. We are driving on roads that people in England would pay good money to enjoy the off-road experience (i note that i haven’t seen a single Land Rover out here, only Toyota 4x4s and old Bedford trucks high on skinny knobbly tires) This is agriculture land, but it feels like a dessert. The camels (one-humped variety) only add to this feeling. So why do some people choose to have a camel rather than a donkey? Donkeys not only provide you with transport, but they have amazing cart-dragging capacity too. Camels are expensive and are sometimes considered an investment but always considered a status symbol.
Many of the fields appear lush and green; We pass through a banana plantation. Many of the fields are infested with a tree/bush plant called Mesquite. Other than for charcoal, this fast spreading plant is an increasing menace; originally introduced to Sudan as a device for creating windbreaks, this plant now dominates much of the agricultural land making it impossible to farm. In one project area alone $15M was spent in removing Mesquite.
We pass though a village of mud (well actually its clay) buildings. People smile and wave to us. kids play in the narrow sun-dried mud streets. I want to take a peek into one or two of the little square homes, but it not to be.
As we progress dodging in and out of potholes and bumps, we see in the distance 2 or 3 pickup trucks blocking our road. We draw closer. Maybe 15 men in Arab dress are standing in front of the trucks, shouting and waving their swords. We draw our convoy to a halt and within seconds we are out of the vehicles and engulfed by the noisy crowd touching each others shoulders and shaking hands. There are smiles and cheering and shouting “God is Great”. Our welcome party is here to meet us.
It turns out that they have come to the “front door” to meet us and now we must go to village. we all jump back into our respective vehicles and follow these excited men who stand crowded in the backs of their pickup trucks. Swords waving and shouting we speed off for another mile or two through the dust. We soon come to a halt again, this time to be met by maybe 10 men on camel back, We all race on, the camels at top speed, until we arrive at their village in the Makali block; a complicated network of round mud huts with straw roofs sitting in the baking sun in the middle of nowhere.
It transpires that one of the project team managers not only originates from this tribe - The Hadenduwa tribe - but is from tribal leader heritage. He has worked on this project for 4 years but is about to leave for a new job. Today is farewell to him from his tribe, which explains what happens next.
People clearly know we are coming and as the vehicles crawl through the village we emerge into a large open space (presumably a field during the rainy season) and are immediately surrounded by 200? maybe 300 men and boys, shouting and clearly very excited. Only their smiles and sparkling eyes let us know that this chaotic and noisy euphoria is not a threat. As we climb out of the car we are greeted with a sea of hands reaching to shake yours. I shake as many as i can - i soon realise that actually, two hands can shake twice as many. Old men and community leaders are first to get to the front and young boys bustle in watching intently. I shake the hand of one, and the “all-clear” is given, and floods of boys push forward to shake with you.
We are ushered toward a gazeebo-type sun shelter where 2 rows of chairs have been carefully arranged. A man with a microphone is whipping up the frenzy through a generator powered 200w mixing desk and speaker cabinet. I notice at least half a dozen men standing on the cab roof of a Bedford truck to get a view.
We are invited to sit. I feel like the queen on an official visit, and we are treated to no less of a spectacle. Tribal leaders take the mic in turn, skillfully both whipping up and calming down the frenzy with religious callings. These guys are no less MC rappers than any of the celebrities we see on MTV.
I have no idea what they are saying or what the gathered crowd is chanting. It is clear that their departing tribal member is very special to them, and it is clear that they are very grateful for the work being done by the development agency that i am working with.
As I am offered another date I hear my name mentioned - i hope its in a good context.
We are asked to say something, and fortunately my colleague steps up to the mic. He makes a great job of his improvised speech which is translated into arabic to the great delight and cheering of the crowd.
I sit and look at the scene. In front of me the crowd must be 20 people deep (no, 20 men deep - there’s not a woman to be seen) small boys at the front, behind them, older men and behind them the taller men. Further back still are a row of camels with riders atop.
This tribe is known for their curly hair, not tight afro-Caribbean type curly, but big loopy locks; the older men wear it bushy like mad professors, and youths wear it like young Michael Jackson helmets. The colour of the scene is wonderful. Everyone is wearing grubby robes and waist-coats. I guess the robes were originally white, but now are a pale terracotta from the red clay dust; Skin is not black but a rich chocolate brown, and the sky is sky-blue.
The ceremony continues with a dance. The mic is placed in front of the speaker of a portable cassette player and men unsheathe their swords to do ceremonial dances. Those are well honed swords and im a little worried that the dance isn’t as tightly choreographed as it might have been. Different men with different swords and daggers step into the center to display their skills and for a terrible moment it appeared that it was all going to go off as some people wanted to dagger dance while others wanted to do more mic chanting.
Eventually we are lead through the crowd all with fists raised. we walk away toward an old colonial building leaving the mass to continue dancing and sword waving. It is clear that we are going to eat, and i having just shaken hands with a hundred men, i wish i hadn’t left my hand-wash in the car. We take our shoes and socks off and Im offered a glass of water. I see everyone sharing glasses - actually, is that man drinking from the jug as well? - and i quietly leave it untouched for someone else to pick up and drink. We sit on the floor on grass mats, and large trays of food are bought before us. We sit and talk and eat. There is piles of mutton (crudely chopped, bits of bone and all), chopped liver and some other meat and onions. There is enough bread for at least 4 loaves each. I cant wash my hands so i might as well enjoy the experience and besides everything looks well cooked. Picking the bones out of the mutton is a fag for me but our new friends clearly have no problem and spit bits of bone onto the floor. The meat is tasty but stringy and it catches between my teeth, but no way am i going to try and pick it out before i get home to give my hands a jolly good washing.
Soon we are satiated, but there appears to be heaps of food left over. I wonder what you say to kids here that don’t clear their plate? Do you have to remind them that there are children starving in Africa? I suspect that nothing is going to go to waste.
On our hour long drive back to our office, I reflect quietly in the car. The experience was amazing but I am slightly confused. So much effort and money is going into helping these people to develop a sustainable livelihood - and they appear to be very grateful for it. But i ask myself if we are really helping them? These people appear to be quite healthy and quite happy (remember this is not a project that is providing relief to starving refugees). The development project is massive and complex and designed by experts from around the world. Some of the component objectives of the project are not being met. I feel that there is difference of culture. Tribal cultures and complexities don’t necessarily dove-tail with developed world systems - Credit and micro-finance services (in the way that the developed world knows them right now) don’t seem to work for the people they are trying to help. Its far to complex for me to understand or work out, but in my simplistic way i ask myself “who am i to question wether grubby clothes are a bad thing, simply because i come from a world where its good to have a wardrobe of many clean shirts?” Which of us is happiest? which of us is most fulfilled? Its been a long long time since I’ve danced with as much enthusiasm as these guys did.... and I’ve certainly never had the excitement of doing it with a lethal weapon in hand.
The big north to south splash through the middle of it is the dried bed of the river Gash. Come July it will be gushing with water - Gash means torrential. The project here in Kassala is trying to manage 100km of this, to provide irrigation to 67000 households of which 90% are considered poor. The project is half way through its 8 year multi-million dollar programme.
As we drive out to one of the project blocks we pass through Kassala wholesale market. It is a center of extreme activity as people buy and sell fruit and vegetables of all kinds. Onions are large and plentiful, green oranges, mangoes, bananas, grapefruits and carts of grass like vegetation. Donkeys are laden with charcoal to be sold for cooking on.
On the sides of the road people are fixing mopeds or making bricks; one man pressing damp concrete mix into a cast iron box with a lever to eject the brick to be dried in the sun; another man is simply making rough patties of clay that once sun dried will also become bricks.
Soon our little convoy of white toyota land-cruisers are off the metaled road. We are driving on roads that people in England would pay good money to enjoy the off-road experience (i note that i haven’t seen a single Land Rover out here, only Toyota 4x4s and old Bedford trucks high on skinny knobbly tires) This is agriculture land, but it feels like a dessert. The camels (one-humped variety) only add to this feeling. So why do some people choose to have a camel rather than a donkey? Donkeys not only provide you with transport, but they have amazing cart-dragging capacity too. Camels are expensive and are sometimes considered an investment but always considered a status symbol.
Many of the fields appear lush and green; We pass through a banana plantation. Many of the fields are infested with a tree/bush plant called Mesquite. Other than for charcoal, this fast spreading plant is an increasing menace; originally introduced to Sudan as a device for creating windbreaks, this plant now dominates much of the agricultural land making it impossible to farm. In one project area alone $15M was spent in removing Mesquite.
We pass though a village of mud (well actually its clay) buildings. People smile and wave to us. kids play in the narrow sun-dried mud streets. I want to take a peek into one or two of the little square homes, but it not to be.
As we progress dodging in and out of potholes and bumps, we see in the distance 2 or 3 pickup trucks blocking our road. We draw closer. Maybe 15 men in Arab dress are standing in front of the trucks, shouting and waving their swords. We draw our convoy to a halt and within seconds we are out of the vehicles and engulfed by the noisy crowd touching each others shoulders and shaking hands. There are smiles and cheering and shouting “God is Great”. Our welcome party is here to meet us.
It turns out that they have come to the “front door” to meet us and now we must go to village. we all jump back into our respective vehicles and follow these excited men who stand crowded in the backs of their pickup trucks. Swords waving and shouting we speed off for another mile or two through the dust. We soon come to a halt again, this time to be met by maybe 10 men on camel back, We all race on, the camels at top speed, until we arrive at their village in the Makali block; a complicated network of round mud huts with straw roofs sitting in the baking sun in the middle of nowhere.
It transpires that one of the project team managers not only originates from this tribe - The Hadenduwa tribe - but is from tribal leader heritage. He has worked on this project for 4 years but is about to leave for a new job. Today is farewell to him from his tribe, which explains what happens next.
People clearly know we are coming and as the vehicles crawl through the village we emerge into a large open space (presumably a field during the rainy season) and are immediately surrounded by 200? maybe 300 men and boys, shouting and clearly very excited. Only their smiles and sparkling eyes let us know that this chaotic and noisy euphoria is not a threat. As we climb out of the car we are greeted with a sea of hands reaching to shake yours. I shake as many as i can - i soon realise that actually, two hands can shake twice as many. Old men and community leaders are first to get to the front and young boys bustle in watching intently. I shake the hand of one, and the “all-clear” is given, and floods of boys push forward to shake with you.
We are ushered toward a gazeebo-type sun shelter where 2 rows of chairs have been carefully arranged. A man with a microphone is whipping up the frenzy through a generator powered 200w mixing desk and speaker cabinet. I notice at least half a dozen men standing on the cab roof of a Bedford truck to get a view.
We are invited to sit. I feel like the queen on an official visit, and we are treated to no less of a spectacle. Tribal leaders take the mic in turn, skillfully both whipping up and calming down the frenzy with religious callings. These guys are no less MC rappers than any of the celebrities we see on MTV.
I have no idea what they are saying or what the gathered crowd is chanting. It is clear that their departing tribal member is very special to them, and it is clear that they are very grateful for the work being done by the development agency that i am working with.
As I am offered another date I hear my name mentioned - i hope its in a good context.
We are asked to say something, and fortunately my colleague steps up to the mic. He makes a great job of his improvised speech which is translated into arabic to the great delight and cheering of the crowd.
I sit and look at the scene. In front of me the crowd must be 20 people deep (no, 20 men deep - there’s not a woman to be seen) small boys at the front, behind them, older men and behind them the taller men. Further back still are a row of camels with riders atop.
This tribe is known for their curly hair, not tight afro-Caribbean type curly, but big loopy locks; the older men wear it bushy like mad professors, and youths wear it like young Michael Jackson helmets. The colour of the scene is wonderful. Everyone is wearing grubby robes and waist-coats. I guess the robes were originally white, but now are a pale terracotta from the red clay dust; Skin is not black but a rich chocolate brown, and the sky is sky-blue.
The ceremony continues with a dance. The mic is placed in front of the speaker of a portable cassette player and men unsheathe their swords to do ceremonial dances. Those are well honed swords and im a little worried that the dance isn’t as tightly choreographed as it might have been. Different men with different swords and daggers step into the center to display their skills and for a terrible moment it appeared that it was all going to go off as some people wanted to dagger dance while others wanted to do more mic chanting.
Eventually we are lead through the crowd all with fists raised. we walk away toward an old colonial building leaving the mass to continue dancing and sword waving. It is clear that we are going to eat, and i having just shaken hands with a hundred men, i wish i hadn’t left my hand-wash in the car. We take our shoes and socks off and Im offered a glass of water. I see everyone sharing glasses - actually, is that man drinking from the jug as well? - and i quietly leave it untouched for someone else to pick up and drink. We sit on the floor on grass mats, and large trays of food are bought before us. We sit and talk and eat. There is piles of mutton (crudely chopped, bits of bone and all), chopped liver and some other meat and onions. There is enough bread for at least 4 loaves each. I cant wash my hands so i might as well enjoy the experience and besides everything looks well cooked. Picking the bones out of the mutton is a fag for me but our new friends clearly have no problem and spit bits of bone onto the floor. The meat is tasty but stringy and it catches between my teeth, but no way am i going to try and pick it out before i get home to give my hands a jolly good washing.
Soon we are satiated, but there appears to be heaps of food left over. I wonder what you say to kids here that don’t clear their plate? Do you have to remind them that there are children starving in Africa? I suspect that nothing is going to go to waste.
On our hour long drive back to our office, I reflect quietly in the car. The experience was amazing but I am slightly confused. So much effort and money is going into helping these people to develop a sustainable livelihood - and they appear to be very grateful for it. But i ask myself if we are really helping them? These people appear to be quite healthy and quite happy (remember this is not a project that is providing relief to starving refugees). The development project is massive and complex and designed by experts from around the world. Some of the component objectives of the project are not being met. I feel that there is difference of culture. Tribal cultures and complexities don’t necessarily dove-tail with developed world systems - Credit and micro-finance services (in the way that the developed world knows them right now) don’t seem to work for the people they are trying to help. Its far to complex for me to understand or work out, but in my simplistic way i ask myself “who am i to question wether grubby clothes are a bad thing, simply because i come from a world where its good to have a wardrobe of many clean shirts?” Which of us is happiest? which of us is most fulfilled? Its been a long long time since I’ve danced with as much enthusiasm as these guys did.... and I’ve certainly never had the excitement of doing it with a lethal weapon in hand.
The Sudan - 31
We should have guessed it was coming by fact that we couldn’t see the mountains for the distant dust cloud that was blowing up. The sky was a dark pink from the setting sun training though the clay dust. As we sat and ate the delicious dinner that Isha had prepared for us - Geema (we would call it Keema in England), chicken, meatballs and plenty of bread of course - the rain started.
Thunder and lightning, high wind and teeming rain. None of this would have us close the doors and windows - it was a very pleasant and welcome, if unusual, break in the weather.
The frequent power cuts put paid to the endless Aljazheera news broadcast on our grubby LG JoymaxII TV, but never once did our good conversations stop.
Whilst the air was cooler, the dampness did mean we needed to put on a good covering of mosquito repellent before bed
Thunder and lightning, high wind and teeming rain. None of this would have us close the doors and windows - it was a very pleasant and welcome, if unusual, break in the weather.
The frequent power cuts put paid to the endless Aljazheera news broadcast on our grubby LG JoymaxII TV, but never once did our good conversations stop.
Whilst the air was cooler, the dampness did mean we needed to put on a good covering of mosquito repellent before bed
Sunday, 13 April 2008
The Sudan - 30
Yay!, I’ve spent my first bit of money since arriving in The Sudan nearly 2 weeks ago. I’ve just been given by bill for my stay here at the guest house in Kasalla. It includes my bed, my breakfast, my dinner, and all the cold and cold running water i need.
310 Sudanese pounds for 5 nights. I peel 31 notes from the 1/2 inch wad that George had counted out for me last week, and I wonder just how much this equates to.
I double check my calculations. At 16 quid a day, i really cant complain about broken toilet seats and ants.
310 Sudanese pounds for 5 nights. I peel 31 notes from the 1/2 inch wad that George had counted out for me last week, and I wonder just how much this equates to.
I double check my calculations. At 16 quid a day, i really cant complain about broken toilet seats and ants.
The Sudan - 29
Ooh, thick turkish-style coffee with ginger - loverly. And perfect following our 6am walk.
My Indian colleague and i join the Sudanese man who is also staying in our guest house. The air is warm and still and the sky is a massive smudge of grey clouds on a yellowing backdrop. There are few people up and about yet, a toyota here, a vespa there and we pass a number of still sleeping people on their beds that they have dragged out into the open for the night. Im not taken aback this time as we wave a greeting to the 2 goat herders with a small collection of mangy creatures - both men each carry a 3 foot sword with ease.
All over there are hundreds, no, it must be thousands of tiny little birds picking in the dusty ground. They cant be any bigger than a matchbox and many of them have the most amazing scarlet red feathers.
By the time we return to Isha and her coffee, the sun is starting to peep over the mountains and its already beginning to get too hot for walking
There are 20 men in our session today, I am the only one without a mustache. The session kicks off in Arabic; I presume we are all here for the same reason. Amongst the gabble i hear mention of my name, so i guess im at least supposed to be here.
Our purpose here is to get a disparate group of agencies to come together to create a mid-term-review. The project here to tame the river to protect people and provide irrigation is a massive investment and the funders want to know that their money is being well spent and how the project intends to proceed for the next 4 years. Its a daunting task for these people particularly when they see it as a test of themselves and a call for them to justify thier actions. As we help them understand that this is a learning opportunity for all and a chance to plan what they want for the future, motivation builds and we conclude the day with them excitedly arranging diaries to meet and collaborate on data gathering and planning. I feel for these guys. They are doing good work for benefit of people suffering from extreme poverty. They are in at the deep end but with little management support (actually i should rephrase that - these are bright and educated people and they go on all sorts of courses - but they dont appear to have a great deal of “encouragement” or coaching) - If we did anything for these guys today - we gave them hope... and i hope that in turn this gives a few starving farmers some hope too.
My Indian colleague and i join the Sudanese man who is also staying in our guest house. The air is warm and still and the sky is a massive smudge of grey clouds on a yellowing backdrop. There are few people up and about yet, a toyota here, a vespa there and we pass a number of still sleeping people on their beds that they have dragged out into the open for the night. Im not taken aback this time as we wave a greeting to the 2 goat herders with a small collection of mangy creatures - both men each carry a 3 foot sword with ease.
All over there are hundreds, no, it must be thousands of tiny little birds picking in the dusty ground. They cant be any bigger than a matchbox and many of them have the most amazing scarlet red feathers.
By the time we return to Isha and her coffee, the sun is starting to peep over the mountains and its already beginning to get too hot for walking
There are 20 men in our session today, I am the only one without a mustache. The session kicks off in Arabic; I presume we are all here for the same reason. Amongst the gabble i hear mention of my name, so i guess im at least supposed to be here.
Our purpose here is to get a disparate group of agencies to come together to create a mid-term-review. The project here to tame the river to protect people and provide irrigation is a massive investment and the funders want to know that their money is being well spent and how the project intends to proceed for the next 4 years. Its a daunting task for these people particularly when they see it as a test of themselves and a call for them to justify thier actions. As we help them understand that this is a learning opportunity for all and a chance to plan what they want for the future, motivation builds and we conclude the day with them excitedly arranging diaries to meet and collaborate on data gathering and planning. I feel for these guys. They are doing good work for benefit of people suffering from extreme poverty. They are in at the deep end but with little management support (actually i should rephrase that - these are bright and educated people and they go on all sorts of courses - but they dont appear to have a great deal of “encouragement” or coaching) - If we did anything for these guys today - we gave them hope... and i hope that in turn this gives a few starving farmers some hope too.
Saturday, 12 April 2008
The Sudan - 28
I have given up having what i would call breakfast - you know, the 7am toast and cup of tea type thing. If i wanted it i could have it (though its more likely to be bread, cheese, hard-boiled eggs, jam and sesame butter.... but i just cant handle that AND the traditional 11am breakfast, which as you can see is plentiful and quite delicious
all helped along but the sweetest tea ive ever tasted
all helped along but the sweetest tea ive ever tasted
The Sudan - 27
As we stroll the 25 yards from our guest house to the office, we see an elderly gentleman approach on a rather modern and shiney bike - it stands out around here and we comment on it. As we get closer, my colleague suddenly exclaims "He's got a bloody sword". Sure enough, hanging from the belt of this old fella is a 3 foot long sword. its in a scabbard and has a tassel hanging from its hilt. We watch amazed as this sword wielding, bike riding old man dismounts and enters our office block. Turns out hes the night watchman. Later in the day i enquire of our host if the sword is decorative or functional. Worryingly, its for function!
We spend our day in a conference type board room - long conference table to seat maybe 20 people all with what is appearing to be essential meeting equipment in Sudan - microphones for everyone. I sit at one end of the table where the mics are wired to the sound system - the floor is an absolute rats nest of wires. within an hour ive given up trying to position my chair to avoid them and unwittingly crush half the communication network of Kassala. The room has every wall draped from floor to ceiling with thick blue curtains with a wishy washy flowery pattern running though them at eyelevel. These drapes cover every bit of the wall including windows and doors - the only opening are the 2 holes that have been cut in for the aircon bowers. Outside the natural light is wonderful, but sadly we spend the day inside this giant Victorian trinket box
So by the end of the day i have learnt all about "river training" - the art of re-routing and managing the flow of a river to minimize flooding and provide irrigation. its a fascinating 8 year, multimillion dollar project. This are is a seasonal area, which means that the river drys up during the dry season and floods during the rainy season. Apparently, in the summer, its a skill to know when to take the silt removing diggers from the dried river bed before the river literally floods over night
We spend our day in a conference type board room - long conference table to seat maybe 20 people all with what is appearing to be essential meeting equipment in Sudan - microphones for everyone. I sit at one end of the table where the mics are wired to the sound system - the floor is an absolute rats nest of wires. within an hour ive given up trying to position my chair to avoid them and unwittingly crush half the communication network of Kassala. The room has every wall draped from floor to ceiling with thick blue curtains with a wishy washy flowery pattern running though them at eyelevel. These drapes cover every bit of the wall including windows and doors - the only opening are the 2 holes that have been cut in for the aircon bowers. Outside the natural light is wonderful, but sadly we spend the day inside this giant Victorian trinket box
So by the end of the day i have learnt all about "river training" - the art of re-routing and managing the flow of a river to minimize flooding and provide irrigation. its a fascinating 8 year, multimillion dollar project. This are is a seasonal area, which means that the river drys up during the dry season and floods during the rainy season. Apparently, in the summer, its a skill to know when to take the silt removing diggers from the dried river bed before the river literally floods over night
The Sudan - 26
How could i have ever doubted Kassala?
just look at these views from our guest house and office
I feel like im on holiday here.
The sun is is a different kind of hot here.
there is a breeze, and now and then even a small shower
just look at these views from our guest house and office
I feel like im on holiday here.
The sun is is a different kind of hot here.
there is a breeze, and now and then even a small shower
The Sudan - 25
Its amazing what a good nights sleep can do for you. Despite the fact that it was almost unbearably hot last night (i had turned the cooler/humidifier off as it was so damn noisy) I feel that i slept well.
I go up onto the roof terrace to there the shower room with the western toilet is. The weather is glorious - its hot and breezy. The loo might be a western style one, but you wouldn't sit on it, the seat is broken in pieces on the floor, the flush handle is broken off and it transpires after ive done my business that the soil pipe leaks across the floor. I step under the shower head protruding from the wall, reach to turn the water on and the tap handle falls off in my hand. Eventually the shower is very refreshing.
Im getting used to life here in The Sudan - or so i thought - it took me a couple of days to get used to having to put the hot water tank on 15 minutes before taking a shower whilst i was staying at Georges in Khartoum, and so last night, in preparation, i asked our house-keeper, Isha, where the switch was for the hot water tank. She laughed as she explained that there is no hot water here, but there is a gas stove kettle if you want a cup of tea. After my shower this morning I realised that you simply don’t need hot water here.
Isha had our breakfast ready, the breezy sunshine was blowing through the open doors and windows into our guest house common room come dining room. Everything is just lovely in this grubby and very basic guest house
I go up onto the roof terrace to there the shower room with the western toilet is. The weather is glorious - its hot and breezy. The loo might be a western style one, but you wouldn't sit on it, the seat is broken in pieces on the floor, the flush handle is broken off and it transpires after ive done my business that the soil pipe leaks across the floor. I step under the shower head protruding from the wall, reach to turn the water on and the tap handle falls off in my hand. Eventually the shower is very refreshing.
Im getting used to life here in The Sudan - or so i thought - it took me a couple of days to get used to having to put the hot water tank on 15 minutes before taking a shower whilst i was staying at Georges in Khartoum, and so last night, in preparation, i asked our house-keeper, Isha, where the switch was for the hot water tank. She laughed as she explained that there is no hot water here, but there is a gas stove kettle if you want a cup of tea. After my shower this morning I realised that you simply don’t need hot water here.
Isha had our breakfast ready, the breezy sunshine was blowing through the open doors and windows into our guest house common room come dining room. Everything is just lovely in this grubby and very basic guest house
Friday, 11 April 2008
The Sudan - 24
Our guest house is "basic" - everyone told us it would be.
My room is on the ground floor. I remember my personal safety training; ground floors are to be avoided, but i dont like to make a fuss. Actually we were shown the upstairs rooms but they arent any more pleasant, and they are likely to be hotter than those downstairs, and besides i getting used to this place already, i feel quite safe (though i do understand that there is a guard living just outside our guesthouse)
My room is about 10'square. it has a hat-stand, a chair, a small square table, 3 office filing cabinets (which i presume are wardrobes) and a single bed. What more am i going to want?
The offices have internet so we quickly make for that. These are pretty good offices by comparison and i can see us spending most of our time here - the guard will let us in and out whenever we want.
Dinner tonight was made for us by Isa. There is another chap staying in the building with us. He's Sudanese and an expert in miro-finance. we sat togther and ate vegetably, meaty things. I will try to find the names of some of these. Ive given up on worrying about the cleanliness. I'll continue to only drink bottled water, but i dont have much choice on what im given to eat. Its delicious, so i shall be grateful and hope for the best. I had a guava and a banana as well. Kasalla is famous for its grapefruit, oranges and bananas, so i hope to get a good filling of vitamin C..... i just hope i get a good nights sleep
My room is on the ground floor. I remember my personal safety training; ground floors are to be avoided, but i dont like to make a fuss. Actually we were shown the upstairs rooms but they arent any more pleasant, and they are likely to be hotter than those downstairs, and besides i getting used to this place already, i feel quite safe (though i do understand that there is a guard living just outside our guesthouse)
My room is about 10'square. it has a hat-stand, a chair, a small square table, 3 office filing cabinets (which i presume are wardrobes) and a single bed. What more am i going to want?
The offices have internet so we quickly make for that. These are pretty good offices by comparison and i can see us spending most of our time here - the guard will let us in and out whenever we want.
Dinner tonight was made for us by Isa. There is another chap staying in the building with us. He's Sudanese and an expert in miro-finance. we sat togther and ate vegetably, meaty things. I will try to find the names of some of these. Ive given up on worrying about the cleanliness. I'll continue to only drink bottled water, but i dont have much choice on what im given to eat. Its delicious, so i shall be grateful and hope for the best. I had a guava and a banana as well. Kasalla is famous for its grapefruit, oranges and bananas, so i hope to get a good filling of vitamin C..... i just hope i get a good nights sleep
The Sudan - 23
The sweat is running down my back into the crease of my bum - this is hot hot hot weather. Even the welcome breeze feels like your sitting in front of a hairdryer... and they tell me this is not as hot as this time last year.
The Journey from Khartoum to Kassala took 9 hours, including stopping for breakfast, prayers and checkpoints, and right now i think the exhaustion is probably acting as a useful numbing of the senses; If i had my full faculties right now i might well look around me and want to get the heck out of here.
As we left the metropolis that is Khartoum it becomes clear that there isnt much going on outside of it, the commercial buildings turn into industrial buildings, the industrial buildings into workshops and huts, and then nothing - absolutely nothing. Just grey dust - the only thing that brightens the place up is the millions of brightly coloured plastic bags that have been blown into the dry spikey bushes that edge the road - in a way its quite a beautiful sight in the sunshine. This place is flat - and i mean flat - you can see for miles in all directions, the road is straight, and if it werent for the endless convoys of double articulated trucks carrying bales of cotton, you would be able to see there the road disappears to its vanishing point.
Every now and then you come to a small community of huts and tarpulins - pots are drying in the sun along side skinned goats hanging from hooks. There appears to be two sort of goats around here; one, the normal sort of goaty looking thing, and the other black with a shaggy coat , a curled up tuffty tail and furry legs that make them look like theyre wearing flared trousers - in goat-terms, they really are quite cute.
We press on, our driver not speaking English, but clearly knowing the roads and avoiding most potholes - I swear we had all wheels off the ground when a bump took us all by suprise. Where a bit of road was in particular poor repair, a young man would stand beside it would stand as you approached and point at the hazard (was he paid to do that? - and how did he get there to do the job? we were in the middle of nowhere) Every now and then you would see a goat herder out in the dust leading a bunch of manky looking goats, the image is as standard as the images you see on tv or in oxfam adverts, but you had to beg the question, where on earth has he come from and where in hell is he going?
The land in fact is agricultural land, and whilst you cant see it now it is sectioned off into workable fields, but this is the dry season and the ground is dry and cracked. Come July the "rainy season" will be here and people will be working in the fields. If its a particularly heavy rainy season then the flat land will flood and the thin top layer of soil will be washed off the heavy clay subsoil. This place invented the expression "famine or fast"
Breakfast is typically big. we pull in at a truck stop. Truck stop food has to be good otherwise truckers wont come back. We are given half a roasted chicken each, two bread loaves each, a bowl of Fuul and a bowl of fried blue-nile fish. You eat with your hands and you have to hope that the washing water is better than the grime on your hands. there is a water machine with half pint mug under the tap - people all drink from the same mug as they stand at the machine (fortunately there is some bottled water, and some cadbury chocolate if you want) - Water in Sudan is a touchy subject, there are people at war over water. if you want to piss off your neighboring tribe, you put a snipers bullet through thier delivery tanker. In some places kids cant be educated because they are required to do the daily 4 hour trip to collect a bucket of water for the family. There are places that wont serve you water unless you are buying a cup of coffee or tea. Fortunately we have water where we are, and needless to say i dont eat everything, partly out of concern for hygiene and partly out of consideration of the next 5 hours cramped in the back of our toyota landcruiser. We are ust about to pull out of the truckstop when our host suggests tea, he orders his driver to stop and get tea. We remain in the car while the driver dutifully goes and gets us each a glass of minty tea, and we sit in the air-conditioned car drinking it. In all our stops we never once switch off the engine - presumably to keep the aircon running. I worry about the emissions, and the cost of the fuel, but at about half a US dollar per liter, i dont think they really care about that.
At most checkpoints we get a simple wave through. Our car has our agency logos on the doors and we are respected and welcomed (unlike, according to Wikipedia, the UN). Checkpoints are a funny affair, often maned by a couple of youths in civi clothing standing under a makeshift shade supported by a couple of truck tyres. As we enter Kassala state we are asked for our travel documents and copies of passport and visa. Theres a lot of negotiating going on, and they take several of our pre-printed copies. Lord knows where they put the things as we leave. It was only a couple of years ago that foreigners weren't allowed into Kassala, and even Sudanese were curfewed, so maybe things arent so bad
As we travel onwards we see an increasing number of little settlements. Near Khartoum, the buildings are flat-topped, cube-like mud dwellings, nearer Kassala they are round mud Yurt type things with grass roofs. And scattered in between are the nomad dwellings of skins and tarpaulins. Kids are playing with a ball in the dusty expanse, a father squats laughing as he bathes 3 little children, women are wandering around with things on their heads - every one appears busy and happy (?)
It prayer time and so we pull over by a mosque - when all the land is so dry and hard, everywhere becomes drivable and so its difficult to see how the area is organised. there is the mosque, some huts selling stuff, some shipping containers, some odd brick built builds, and a petrol station. It appears that no-one else thinks it odd when a man pulls onto the petrol forecourt on a donkey with a rickety cart in tow. When the donkey over-shoots the pump by a few feet, the man reverses it to the right position, dismounts, walks round to the back and begins to pump fuel into the tank of his donkey-drawn cart. It was the strangest of sights. I suspect he was collecting some fuel for his smoke belching Lister or Cummings stationary engine somewhere.
We waited under the shade of a netting, enjoying the opportunity to stretch our legs while our host and his driver went to pray. Today is Friday. Holiday. So prayers are a bit more elaborate and as watch hundreds(?) of men flock to the mosque (taking a pee on the way and washing their hands and feet with water from little plastic bottles, we were deafened by the mosque loud-speaker on one side and the power generator on the other.
The railway here is in disrepair (though they do run goods along the single track apparently, and despite Kassala having its own little-used airport, we see a fleet of Dutch bi-planes ready for spraying cotton crops. I wonder why we dont see things like microlights - they would certainly be a quicker way to get around here and there is an awful lot of take-off and landing space. I wonder if i should be concerned as we pass a little community of mud huts and two army tanks - i couldnt see any identification on them so presumed that the owners were either collectors or rebels
Everything is remote. Villages are remote. People are remote. You can drive for an hour before finding someone at the roadside alone sitting under a bush. How did he get there? and more importantly, why? Everything that moves has a plume of fine dust trailing behind it.
Finally we arrive in the city of Kassala. It appears to be quite a pleasant place. We are driven to our guest house and office for the week (which is opposite).
This is now my home for 5 days
The Journey from Khartoum to Kassala took 9 hours, including stopping for breakfast, prayers and checkpoints, and right now i think the exhaustion is probably acting as a useful numbing of the senses; If i had my full faculties right now i might well look around me and want to get the heck out of here.
As we left the metropolis that is Khartoum it becomes clear that there isnt much going on outside of it, the commercial buildings turn into industrial buildings, the industrial buildings into workshops and huts, and then nothing - absolutely nothing. Just grey dust - the only thing that brightens the place up is the millions of brightly coloured plastic bags that have been blown into the dry spikey bushes that edge the road - in a way its quite a beautiful sight in the sunshine. This place is flat - and i mean flat - you can see for miles in all directions, the road is straight, and if it werent for the endless convoys of double articulated trucks carrying bales of cotton, you would be able to see there the road disappears to its vanishing point.
Every now and then you come to a small community of huts and tarpulins - pots are drying in the sun along side skinned goats hanging from hooks. There appears to be two sort of goats around here; one, the normal sort of goaty looking thing, and the other black with a shaggy coat , a curled up tuffty tail and furry legs that make them look like theyre wearing flared trousers - in goat-terms, they really are quite cute.
We press on, our driver not speaking English, but clearly knowing the roads and avoiding most potholes - I swear we had all wheels off the ground when a bump took us all by suprise. Where a bit of road was in particular poor repair, a young man would stand beside it would stand as you approached and point at the hazard (was he paid to do that? - and how did he get there to do the job? we were in the middle of nowhere) Every now and then you would see a goat herder out in the dust leading a bunch of manky looking goats, the image is as standard as the images you see on tv or in oxfam adverts, but you had to beg the question, where on earth has he come from and where in hell is he going?
The land in fact is agricultural land, and whilst you cant see it now it is sectioned off into workable fields, but this is the dry season and the ground is dry and cracked. Come July the "rainy season" will be here and people will be working in the fields. If its a particularly heavy rainy season then the flat land will flood and the thin top layer of soil will be washed off the heavy clay subsoil. This place invented the expression "famine or fast"
Breakfast is typically big. we pull in at a truck stop. Truck stop food has to be good otherwise truckers wont come back. We are given half a roasted chicken each, two bread loaves each, a bowl of Fuul and a bowl of fried blue-nile fish. You eat with your hands and you have to hope that the washing water is better than the grime on your hands. there is a water machine with half pint mug under the tap - people all drink from the same mug as they stand at the machine (fortunately there is some bottled water, and some cadbury chocolate if you want) - Water in Sudan is a touchy subject, there are people at war over water. if you want to piss off your neighboring tribe, you put a snipers bullet through thier delivery tanker. In some places kids cant be educated because they are required to do the daily 4 hour trip to collect a bucket of water for the family. There are places that wont serve you water unless you are buying a cup of coffee or tea. Fortunately we have water where we are, and needless to say i dont eat everything, partly out of concern for hygiene and partly out of consideration of the next 5 hours cramped in the back of our toyota landcruiser. We are ust about to pull out of the truckstop when our host suggests tea, he orders his driver to stop and get tea. We remain in the car while the driver dutifully goes and gets us each a glass of minty tea, and we sit in the air-conditioned car drinking it. In all our stops we never once switch off the engine - presumably to keep the aircon running. I worry about the emissions, and the cost of the fuel, but at about half a US dollar per liter, i dont think they really care about that.
At most checkpoints we get a simple wave through. Our car has our agency logos on the doors and we are respected and welcomed (unlike, according to Wikipedia, the UN). Checkpoints are a funny affair, often maned by a couple of youths in civi clothing standing under a makeshift shade supported by a couple of truck tyres. As we enter Kassala state we are asked for our travel documents and copies of passport and visa. Theres a lot of negotiating going on, and they take several of our pre-printed copies. Lord knows where they put the things as we leave. It was only a couple of years ago that foreigners weren't allowed into Kassala, and even Sudanese were curfewed, so maybe things arent so bad
As we travel onwards we see an increasing number of little settlements. Near Khartoum, the buildings are flat-topped, cube-like mud dwellings, nearer Kassala they are round mud Yurt type things with grass roofs. And scattered in between are the nomad dwellings of skins and tarpaulins. Kids are playing with a ball in the dusty expanse, a father squats laughing as he bathes 3 little children, women are wandering around with things on their heads - every one appears busy and happy (?)
It prayer time and so we pull over by a mosque - when all the land is so dry and hard, everywhere becomes drivable and so its difficult to see how the area is organised. there is the mosque, some huts selling stuff, some shipping containers, some odd brick built builds, and a petrol station. It appears that no-one else thinks it odd when a man pulls onto the petrol forecourt on a donkey with a rickety cart in tow. When the donkey over-shoots the pump by a few feet, the man reverses it to the right position, dismounts, walks round to the back and begins to pump fuel into the tank of his donkey-drawn cart. It was the strangest of sights. I suspect he was collecting some fuel for his smoke belching Lister or Cummings stationary engine somewhere.
We waited under the shade of a netting, enjoying the opportunity to stretch our legs while our host and his driver went to pray. Today is Friday. Holiday. So prayers are a bit more elaborate and as watch hundreds(?) of men flock to the mosque (taking a pee on the way and washing their hands and feet with water from little plastic bottles, we were deafened by the mosque loud-speaker on one side and the power generator on the other.
The railway here is in disrepair (though they do run goods along the single track apparently, and despite Kassala having its own little-used airport, we see a fleet of Dutch bi-planes ready for spraying cotton crops. I wonder why we dont see things like microlights - they would certainly be a quicker way to get around here and there is an awful lot of take-off and landing space. I wonder if i should be concerned as we pass a little community of mud huts and two army tanks - i couldnt see any identification on them so presumed that the owners were either collectors or rebels
Everything is remote. Villages are remote. People are remote. You can drive for an hour before finding someone at the roadside alone sitting under a bush. How did he get there? and more importantly, why? Everything that moves has a plume of fine dust trailing behind it.
Finally we arrive in the city of Kassala. It appears to be quite a pleasant place. We are driven to our guest house and office for the week (which is opposite).
This is now my home for 5 days
Thursday, 10 April 2008
The Sudan - 22
9 days ago I was worrying about coming to this foreign land that i only knew of as troubled through news bulletins on the TV. And i reckon it only took about 5 days to settle in and make my hotel room "home". I rather like it here now, which is why my anxiousness has returned once more as i prepare to leave the now "comfort" of my once "grubby" hotel in Khartoum for the second stage of my asignment. Early tomorrow morning i set off with my colleague from India to Kassala - 8 hours drive due east from Khartoum - on the borders with Ethiopia. And i kind of wished i hadn't sat at dinner tonight with the crazy Australian development worker and listened to his stories of Kassala. I never thought i'd be getting homesick pangs for Khartoum
Our 5 day workshop on strategy building for project work in the eradication of rural poverty in Sudan came to an end today. It was a last minute sprint but we got there. It may be choppy out at sea sometimes on our journey but I always bring the boat into harbor in the end.
It was a great relief and typically a bit deflating once it was all over.
We had some official (I loose track of who all these people are) come and close the event for us and give out certificates of attendance. As "workshop facilitator" i was one of the signees of the certificates. They had printed my name in customary Arabic - and i shall forever now be known a Timothy Corben.
Every one appeared happy with the process and output of the workshop, and i had many invites to go and visit various projects... I'll let them know after ive done Kassala
As ive already mentioned, I haven't had a need for any cash yet and so my bundle of 50 dollar bills have remained in Georges safe (which incidentally stands aside a large picture frame containing 100 smaller works of art and signed by various world artists - it was created and auctioned to raise money for LiveAid and was donated by UNICEF to George and his hotel in recognition of thier contribution to the efforts when LiveAid was sending relief out here. Apparently Bob Geldof stayed here once) So i had to go to George tonight to settle my bill here and change some cash to pay for my accommodation next week;
"oh you dont need to pay now, pay when you return from Kassala next week" (im staying here the night before flying home) "you dont want to be carrying money around with you, change what you need and leave the rest here with us"
Im starting to understand things here - George sorts out everything, no need to question, just trust him. I reckoned i'd need $400 for next week and asked him to change it for me. As he counted out my Sudanese pounds, i simply rewrote the remaining dollar amount on the outside of my envelope and popped it back in his safe. I didnt bother to recount the currency that he handed me - not because it was a half-inch thick wad, but simply because you can trust George. He handed me my passport and the 6 photocopies of my visa and official travel papers that he'd prepared for me (just how many checkpoints have we got to cross to get to this place?). I calmly handed George my wallet complete with my credit cards, he slipped it in the safe and no-one (else) thought this was an unusual scene.
Our 5 day workshop on strategy building for project work in the eradication of rural poverty in Sudan came to an end today. It was a last minute sprint but we got there. It may be choppy out at sea sometimes on our journey but I always bring the boat into harbor in the end.
It was a great relief and typically a bit deflating once it was all over.
We had some official (I loose track of who all these people are) come and close the event for us and give out certificates of attendance. As "workshop facilitator" i was one of the signees of the certificates. They had printed my name in customary Arabic - and i shall forever now be known a Timothy Corben.
Every one appeared happy with the process and output of the workshop, and i had many invites to go and visit various projects... I'll let them know after ive done Kassala
As ive already mentioned, I haven't had a need for any cash yet and so my bundle of 50 dollar bills have remained in Georges safe (which incidentally stands aside a large picture frame containing 100 smaller works of art and signed by various world artists - it was created and auctioned to raise money for LiveAid and was donated by UNICEF to George and his hotel in recognition of thier contribution to the efforts when LiveAid was sending relief out here. Apparently Bob Geldof stayed here once) So i had to go to George tonight to settle my bill here and change some cash to pay for my accommodation next week;
"oh you dont need to pay now, pay when you return from Kassala next week" (im staying here the night before flying home) "you dont want to be carrying money around with you, change what you need and leave the rest here with us"
Im starting to understand things here - George sorts out everything, no need to question, just trust him. I reckoned i'd need $400 for next week and asked him to change it for me. As he counted out my Sudanese pounds, i simply rewrote the remaining dollar amount on the outside of my envelope and popped it back in his safe. I didnt bother to recount the currency that he handed me - not because it was a half-inch thick wad, but simply because you can trust George. He handed me my passport and the 6 photocopies of my visa and official travel papers that he'd prepared for me (just how many checkpoints have we got to cross to get to this place?). I calmly handed George my wallet complete with my credit cards, he slipped it in the safe and no-one (else) thought this was an unusual scene.
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
The Sudan - 21
During these sorts of workshops we often try to break the large group up into smaller break out groups to do various bits of work. Its good for a change in energy to keep mixing the groups up and working with different people.
I like to have a little fun while creating the groups. For instance i might ask people to line themselves up in order of their height, and then i will count them off into their groups. It causes a little bit of chaos and some laughter.
Another good way is to ask the people to sort themselves into order of their birth date (not year), so imagine my surprise, and slight embarrassment when i gave our delegates the instruction to line up by order of their birth date... and everyone burst out laughing and remained seated. This time i was the one in chaos and confusion.
It turns out that they all had the same birthday! its true - they were all "January Babies".
Birth records are a relatively new concept in Sudan (perhaps Africa) - and no one in our workshop actually knows when they were born (they probably don't even know how old they are) - and so everyone of a certain age and more, simply celebrates their birthday on January 1st.
I like to have a little fun while creating the groups. For instance i might ask people to line themselves up in order of their height, and then i will count them off into their groups. It causes a little bit of chaos and some laughter.
Another good way is to ask the people to sort themselves into order of their birth date (not year), so imagine my surprise, and slight embarrassment when i gave our delegates the instruction to line up by order of their birth date... and everyone burst out laughing and remained seated. This time i was the one in chaos and confusion.
It turns out that they all had the same birthday! its true - they were all "January Babies".
Birth records are a relatively new concept in Sudan (perhaps Africa) - and no one in our workshop actually knows when they were born (they probably don't even know how old they are) - and so everyone of a certain age and more, simply celebrates their birthday on January 1st.
The Sudan - 20
Despite not getting to sleep last night till 2am after writing up 3 days worth of facilitator notes, i was determined to get up at 6am to go for a walk with 2 of my colleagues. Other than from through the darkened windows of a car, this was my first sight of the city. I think im in north Khartoum and i dont know what i saw on my walk was representative of the city as a whole, but from what i saw its a scruffy place.
The early morning breeze was wonderful. I couldn't sense a temperature difference from indoors and outdoors so i guessed it was about 23 degrees (thats what the aircon is set to). The wind was up but not many people. We walked along the River Nile. The blue Nile is actually a dirty grey and the bit i saw must have been a good 1/4 mile wide, but I was nevertheless impressed to be walking along the Nile. Paved pavements exist in Khartoum, but they are unwalkable. Everywhere is covered in heaps of dirt and rubble. At first sight you would think that there had been a war here - theres an awful lot of rubble and holes in the ground - after a while you become aware that the heaps of rubble are actually dirty! the dust and the grim that lays on the rubble suggests that those heaps have been there for an awful long. so we walked mostly in the road like everyone else. I commented on how much crap was about - my khartoum-experienced freind reckoned this was "a thousand percent improvement" from a few years ago... Crikey there wasnt much more possible space for any more mess.
Washing cars appears to be a popular early morning activity; in this very dusty city, a clean car is a thing of respect and status. Fleets of police cars were getting special treatment - tyres 'n' all, while the policemen paraded in the police compound.
I was intrigued by the men sitting on small stools on a street corner, each with a little thin briefcase on his lap. They were "writers" and offered their services to anyone who needed something written but weren't capable of doing it themselves. If you had a form to fill in (and believe me in Sudan there are a lot of forms to fill in) you would go to one of these chaps on the street corner and he would do it for you - I wondered how much they would charge for doing my tax return?
A little further along the road was another odd collection of men squatting in the dusty street. There were about 20 of them evenly spaced over the space of a small parking lot. Each had a small stake pegged into the ground to which was clamped a hand tool; a hacksaw, an adjustable spanner, a panel saw. It looked like a dusty dada art collection. Turns out that these were handy men advertising their availability - apparently not necessarily their skill, but certainly thier capacity to have a go. Here, owning a hacksaw is as good as having your City and Guilds certificate.
We were honored to have a presentation this morning by another minister from another ministry. In the UK we joke about presentations boring audiences through "death by powerpoint". Well never again will i mock some poor salesman doing his best to tell me the benefits of his wears. This official turned up with a 53 slide presentation ..... in Arabic! Even the novelty of seeing a bullet point build from the left wore off after the first 10 slides. I wondered if the experience of the nonsensical noise that i was hearing was the same experience for anyone in the audience when i stand up and talk to them in English.
I soon became distracted and looking around this auditorium - equipped with desk mics for each seat like a G8 council meeting, I wondered why they hadnt gone the extra few dollars and bought a new projector stand - just 3 feet right infront the of the minister, a dusty old LCD projector stood on a knackered and wobbly chipboard shelf unit. It wasnt even fit to be condsidered for a carboot sale, you wouldnt have even bothered taking it there. The projector screen wasnt much better. It looked like it was once a portable one with a fold up stand, but now it hung by its screen pullout handle on a piece of string attached to the curtain rail. It is all just "good enough".
The minister eventually finished and Q&A began in Arabic - fortunately my friend Mohamed facilitated this bit. It turns out that the audience liked what he had to say and his message was very relevant to our workshop. I smiled to myself as he offered the presentation to anyone who wanted it, "Just come with your flash drive" he announced - so this is how the computer viruses are spread. Every computer that you can get access to here is riddled with viruses.
So we are one the final leg now of part one of our mission. Tomorrow is our last day, and accounting for official addresses and what not, weve only got another 3 hours left to get about 6 hours work done, which is why, our planning meeting once again dragged on for far too long again
The early morning breeze was wonderful. I couldn't sense a temperature difference from indoors and outdoors so i guessed it was about 23 degrees (thats what the aircon is set to). The wind was up but not many people. We walked along the River Nile. The blue Nile is actually a dirty grey and the bit i saw must have been a good 1/4 mile wide, but I was nevertheless impressed to be walking along the Nile. Paved pavements exist in Khartoum, but they are unwalkable. Everywhere is covered in heaps of dirt and rubble. At first sight you would think that there had been a war here - theres an awful lot of rubble and holes in the ground - after a while you become aware that the heaps of rubble are actually dirty! the dust and the grim that lays on the rubble suggests that those heaps have been there for an awful long. so we walked mostly in the road like everyone else. I commented on how much crap was about - my khartoum-experienced freind reckoned this was "a thousand percent improvement" from a few years ago... Crikey there wasnt much more possible space for any more mess.
Washing cars appears to be a popular early morning activity; in this very dusty city, a clean car is a thing of respect and status. Fleets of police cars were getting special treatment - tyres 'n' all, while the policemen paraded in the police compound.
I was intrigued by the men sitting on small stools on a street corner, each with a little thin briefcase on his lap. They were "writers" and offered their services to anyone who needed something written but weren't capable of doing it themselves. If you had a form to fill in (and believe me in Sudan there are a lot of forms to fill in) you would go to one of these chaps on the street corner and he would do it for you - I wondered how much they would charge for doing my tax return?
A little further along the road was another odd collection of men squatting in the dusty street. There were about 20 of them evenly spaced over the space of a small parking lot. Each had a small stake pegged into the ground to which was clamped a hand tool; a hacksaw, an adjustable spanner, a panel saw. It looked like a dusty dada art collection. Turns out that these were handy men advertising their availability - apparently not necessarily their skill, but certainly thier capacity to have a go. Here, owning a hacksaw is as good as having your City and Guilds certificate.
We were honored to have a presentation this morning by another minister from another ministry. In the UK we joke about presentations boring audiences through "death by powerpoint". Well never again will i mock some poor salesman doing his best to tell me the benefits of his wears. This official turned up with a 53 slide presentation ..... in Arabic! Even the novelty of seeing a bullet point build from the left wore off after the first 10 slides. I wondered if the experience of the nonsensical noise that i was hearing was the same experience for anyone in the audience when i stand up and talk to them in English.
I soon became distracted and looking around this auditorium - equipped with desk mics for each seat like a G8 council meeting, I wondered why they hadnt gone the extra few dollars and bought a new projector stand - just 3 feet right infront the of the minister, a dusty old LCD projector stood on a knackered and wobbly chipboard shelf unit. It wasnt even fit to be condsidered for a carboot sale, you wouldnt have even bothered taking it there. The projector screen wasnt much better. It looked like it was once a portable one with a fold up stand, but now it hung by its screen pullout handle on a piece of string attached to the curtain rail. It is all just "good enough".
The minister eventually finished and Q&A began in Arabic - fortunately my friend Mohamed facilitated this bit. It turns out that the audience liked what he had to say and his message was very relevant to our workshop. I smiled to myself as he offered the presentation to anyone who wanted it, "Just come with your flash drive" he announced - so this is how the computer viruses are spread. Every computer that you can get access to here is riddled with viruses.
So we are one the final leg now of part one of our mission. Tomorrow is our last day, and accounting for official addresses and what not, weve only got another 3 hours left to get about 6 hours work done, which is why, our planning meeting once again dragged on for far too long again
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
The Sudan - 18
One of the tools we use when trying to drill into a problem is "the ladder of abstraction" - its a very simple and effective tool.
Very simply, you take a challenge and repeatedly ask yourself two questions; "whats stopping you achieving this?" (the responses can help identify root causes and more concrete problems to tackle). The second question is "Why do you want to achieve this?" (and the responses can give you a higher meaning to your challenge and sometimes a new perspective on the issue, which can be useful when you are a little foggy on purpose)
When i came to teach this tool today, I made the decision to teach only half of it. We kept all our questioning to "whats stopping you from achieving this?" When working on issues like suppling clean drinking water during drought season, it kinda seems a bit of a silly question to ask "why?"
Very simply, you take a challenge and repeatedly ask yourself two questions; "whats stopping you achieving this?" (the responses can help identify root causes and more concrete problems to tackle). The second question is "Why do you want to achieve this?" (and the responses can give you a higher meaning to your challenge and sometimes a new perspective on the issue, which can be useful when you are a little foggy on purpose)
When i came to teach this tool today, I made the decision to teach only half of it. We kept all our questioning to "whats stopping you from achieving this?" When working on issues like suppling clean drinking water during drought season, it kinda seems a bit of a silly question to ask "why?"
The Sudan - 19
We hold our planning and review meetings in the hotel lobby. This really is a very cool place. Its a bit tatty and maybe a little stark, certainly everything is "good enough". But its a place for people. During our meetings (and they can drag on a bit) people are coming and going, people are on the hotel computers, people are holding different meetings on the mix of other settees and office chairs. People checking in and people checking out - every one with a mysterious story to tell. People can smoke freely here and the fans and aircon compete for air to blow and Aljazeera plays non-stop on the TV. I could imagine that this is what it might have felt for Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca.
Around our little coffee table with the dusty plastic flowers our meeting consists of 7 people, not one from the same country - hows that for diversity?
George the hotel owner bustles over and offers to get us all some lime water - its very refreshing. Later if we are still there he will bring us a little mars bar each because " you look like you're all working very hard". If you want a 2 litre bottle of cold water (and you drink a lot of it here) George will personally go and get it for you if he can, if not he will get one of his local staff to run off for you.
So far i havent spent a penny - ive eaten, partaken of the offer of several tubs of icecream that george walks around with on a tray at about 9pm most evenings. Ive had my laundry done. I have water and juice as and when i want it. And when George hears the lobby printer churning out my emails and agendas, he pops out of the office to personally load more paper
"How much is it to print here?"
"Oh dont worry about that, its free to guests!"
- and i have spent a penny yet. Mind you George does have 2 grand of mine in his safe - he knows im not going anywhere without it and i guess at some stage there will be a bill to settle
So we did the review of todays workshop and i hear that not only are some of the delegates telling their bosses about the Creative Problem Solving stuff that I presented yesterday, but their kids too. Feedback cant get much better than that.
Around our little coffee table with the dusty plastic flowers our meeting consists of 7 people, not one from the same country - hows that for diversity?
George the hotel owner bustles over and offers to get us all some lime water - its very refreshing. Later if we are still there he will bring us a little mars bar each because " you look like you're all working very hard". If you want a 2 litre bottle of cold water (and you drink a lot of it here) George will personally go and get it for you if he can, if not he will get one of his local staff to run off for you.
So far i havent spent a penny - ive eaten, partaken of the offer of several tubs of icecream that george walks around with on a tray at about 9pm most evenings. Ive had my laundry done. I have water and juice as and when i want it. And when George hears the lobby printer churning out my emails and agendas, he pops out of the office to personally load more paper
"How much is it to print here?"
"Oh dont worry about that, its free to guests!"
- and i have spent a penny yet. Mind you George does have 2 grand of mine in his safe - he knows im not going anywhere without it and i guess at some stage there will be a bill to settle
So we did the review of todays workshop and i hear that not only are some of the delegates telling their bosses about the Creative Problem Solving stuff that I presented yesterday, but their kids too. Feedback cant get much better than that.
The Sudan - 18
Ive got no idea what they are talking about.
I hope im driving them in the right direction.
The Sudan - 17
Well the little bird that was flying round our workshop appears to have got out somehow, but hes been replaced with an 8" lizard scurrying around the ceiling. Thank heavens for their little sticky feet - id be mortified if that fella fell on me.
Our car got stopped again by the police on way to the venue this morning. This time it felt a little more agitated. We had a different driver - a bit less cool than our usual driver Jamal, and the policeman was a bit more scruffy in his tatty blue uniform than the crisp white uniformed policeman the other day. I think the blue boys are traffic cops. There was a lot of shouting and arguing through the opened drivers window until the driver was ordered out and marched off to a waiting police car. In the confusion, my colleague who speaks arabic, explained that we were running late for a "meeting with the minister of finance" (which is in part true, but he wasnt actually attending the meeting himself today) - within minutes we were back on our way! Ah the life of diplomatic immunity! Turns out the the fracas was over the fact that our driver had been on his mobile phone. The police werent bothered about the act but the fact that in the processes of being on his phone he was delaying the traffic!
Today was as predictable as every other 5 day workshop ive ever run. Today we hit the low point. It always comes. Its the point when the delegates and facilitators and stakeholders (who are all starting to get a bit tired - thinking is tough work) start to realise that the end of the event is in sight and we have got so many loose ends that seem impossible to tie up. The agenda slips as people get into more heated debate, and frustrations rise as it appears to different parties that we might be going in wrong directions. Fortunately experience comforts me - its a bit like going to the dentist - you know that its going to hurt for a while, but you also know its going to be alright in the end.
Its interesting just how much stickier blu-tac is here that it is in England. you almost have to apply it with a trowel here, it kind of drips. in the uk i often have to kneed blu-tac to create some warmth and stickiness - not so here, the heat softens everything. There must be a product opportunity for blu-tac to exploit in this phenominum. As an aside i also notice that the gunk that i put in my hair (we may be helping the starving millions, but one has still got to look good!) is also much easier to apply
Starving, poverty stricken people - its a crying shame, and yet the solution appears to be so complex. Is it just about money? Could money solve starvation? I posed the question - what if David Beckham were to donate one million pounds a year to a village of 500 people (he could easily afford it and 500 people might be saved - "Beckham Village where life is not a game" - would that solve starvation and poverty for that community? A response to this that made me laugh was that the first thing that everyone would do would be to by a plane ticket and go and live in Paris! Good point - too much money would just offset the problem to somewhere else. But if managed properly could cash injection cure poverty? could it educate people - im sure it could fund a solar powered internet hub and teaching facilities. Could it create a sustainable wealth providing employment? Agriculture appears difficult, supply and demand is all topsy turvy - food prices are rising and yet the market for the crops they grow is dropping. But what about creating say,a village call center? why couldnt Beckham village build a call center for services to the rest of the world? this might help the people fund the import of water and staple foods. Of course on its own, Beckham Village would have to fortress itself against the bandits and beggers (and maybe even Governments) who would be constantly invading to have some of those precious goods.... but what if all our developed-World celebrity superstars sponsored a village of their own. We could have "Jagger Town", "Dolce&Gabbana village" and "P Diddy Hamlets" Why we might even get a "Bono Bogs" and "Sting city". Could it work?
Arrgh! did i take my Malaria tablet yesterday??
Our car got stopped again by the police on way to the venue this morning. This time it felt a little more agitated. We had a different driver - a bit less cool than our usual driver Jamal, and the policeman was a bit more scruffy in his tatty blue uniform than the crisp white uniformed policeman the other day. I think the blue boys are traffic cops. There was a lot of shouting and arguing through the opened drivers window until the driver was ordered out and marched off to a waiting police car. In the confusion, my colleague who speaks arabic, explained that we were running late for a "meeting with the minister of finance" (which is in part true, but he wasnt actually attending the meeting himself today) - within minutes we were back on our way! Ah the life of diplomatic immunity! Turns out the the fracas was over the fact that our driver had been on his mobile phone. The police werent bothered about the act but the fact that in the processes of being on his phone he was delaying the traffic!
Today was as predictable as every other 5 day workshop ive ever run. Today we hit the low point. It always comes. Its the point when the delegates and facilitators and stakeholders (who are all starting to get a bit tired - thinking is tough work) start to realise that the end of the event is in sight and we have got so many loose ends that seem impossible to tie up. The agenda slips as people get into more heated debate, and frustrations rise as it appears to different parties that we might be going in wrong directions. Fortunately experience comforts me - its a bit like going to the dentist - you know that its going to hurt for a while, but you also know its going to be alright in the end.
Its interesting just how much stickier blu-tac is here that it is in England. you almost have to apply it with a trowel here, it kind of drips. in the uk i often have to kneed blu-tac to create some warmth and stickiness - not so here, the heat softens everything. There must be a product opportunity for blu-tac to exploit in this phenominum. As an aside i also notice that the gunk that i put in my hair (we may be helping the starving millions, but one has still got to look good!) is also much easier to apply
Starving, poverty stricken people - its a crying shame, and yet the solution appears to be so complex. Is it just about money? Could money solve starvation? I posed the question - what if David Beckham were to donate one million pounds a year to a village of 500 people (he could easily afford it and 500 people might be saved - "Beckham Village where life is not a game" - would that solve starvation and poverty for that community? A response to this that made me laugh was that the first thing that everyone would do would be to by a plane ticket and go and live in Paris! Good point - too much money would just offset the problem to somewhere else. But if managed properly could cash injection cure poverty? could it educate people - im sure it could fund a solar powered internet hub and teaching facilities. Could it create a sustainable wealth providing employment? Agriculture appears difficult, supply and demand is all topsy turvy - food prices are rising and yet the market for the crops they grow is dropping. But what about creating say,a village call center? why couldnt Beckham village build a call center for services to the rest of the world? this might help the people fund the import of water and staple foods. Of course on its own, Beckham Village would have to fortress itself against the bandits and beggers (and maybe even Governments) who would be constantly invading to have some of those precious goods.... but what if all our developed-World celebrity superstars sponsored a village of their own. We could have "Jagger Town", "Dolce&Gabbana village" and "P Diddy Hamlets" Why we might even get a "Bono Bogs" and "Sting city". Could it work?
Arrgh! did i take my Malaria tablet yesterday??
Monday, 7 April 2008
The Sudan - 16
How long does it take for the strange to become familiar? I reckon about a week. Ive been racking my brains tonight for things to write about in this blog... i dont think ive seen or done anything unusual today. Of course this is nonsense because its only NOT unusual because ive become familiar with my surroundings and the topics of conversation and im starting to become oblivious to little details like the uniformed security man at the Bank of Sudan whose 3" embroidered security badge is held to his uniform by a single safety pin. And I dont find it odd now that we are talking with great interest on the fine details of the benefits of having more than one wife.
Oh i was a little excited to see one of our delegates in the most amazing pair of shoes. So intrigued I was, I had to stop him on the stairs to ask him about them. He was wearing a drab coloured lightweight safari suit which made his shoes look even more glamorous. At first I thought he was just into the kitsch scene, but on enquiry it turns out that they really were REAL tiger-skin shoes! they were brilliant - I could see why there would be a trade in this endangered animal skin - i'd love a pair. I asked him if it was legal to buy tiger products - he reckoned that you could hunt tiger if you had a license. That cant be true can it? Well his mate in the snake-skin shoes thought it was.
We've talked about a wide range of issues that effect the African rural poor. Topics that are so far removed from any topic of conversation i would have back home; not only because Im not poor, but because the forces of change on this country are so different to the forces of change in Europe. Climate change of course is high on the agenda here, but so also is war and divided states. We talk about energy, education, employment, agriculture, water, hygiene, medicine etc - all usually in the negative. But not once has anyone uttered the word HIV. HIV is a massive problem in Africa (and particularly southern africa) but for many reasons its a topic that appears to be taboo. HIV leads to trends in child rape (in the belief that sleeping with a virgin will cure it); displaced women (who are rejected by thier communities in the belief that it is the woman who has been sleeping around, never the husband); jail and torture (as HIV is believed to be an indicator of either a promiscuous woman, or a gay man - both punishable offences); communities of elderly people and young people - but no-one in between - theyre dead, and so the whole social fabric of such communities are crumbling (and in a world where the only capital you have is social capital, you cant afford for your community to crumble). In some areas, the massive campaigns to use condoms were rejected in the belief that this was a white mans attempt to stop black people producing more babies! HIV is a force of change that is going to have to be reckoned with, and yet no-one will talk about it. For one, talking about sex has religious complications, and for another it is still strongly associated with homosexuality and this also has religious complications.
If we cant talk about it, then maybe there is no hope
I facilitated various workshop elements today, but i also did a workshop section on Creativity and problem solving preferences. My planned 2.5 hours became crunched to 1.5 hours as the story telling activities over ran. We decided to press on regardless with the time that i had remaining. Now this never bothers me. I can wing this subject pretty well now and skip slides and activities to the important bits (actually my client remarked afterwards, that so impressed was he that he could see from now on that he could reduce my future contracts to deliver my work in half the time!)
It was clear that the people enjoyed the workshop despite my rush (i was concerned about talking too fast for people to understand - though remember, fast for me here would be relaxed in any other place) and I think the key learnings were transfered. However i wasnt absolutely happy with my delivery of the Foursight psychometric that i used. I think the participants were more than happy and understanding of the concept and the outcomes of their profiles, but i had to make a couple of necessary shortcuts. We used the paper based questionnaire as not everyone has access to the internet for the online version. Immediately i concerned that some people appeared to have a skew on their responses - had they not understood my instructions? did they still think they were being tested and needed to appear to be 'good' at problem solving? I had to let the people continue with the analysis of their profile, it would have been too complicated to explain why not. Or maybe their profiles were genuinely like this - This is certainly a culture that is different to my own - in fact it is often necessary to really labour the concept of 'deferment of judgement' in northern European organisations, but here it was accepted as if i was asking them to continue breathing - this is a society that is apparently very tolerant of different view points (though i find this difficult to reconcile with some of the political unrest)
Scoring of the Foursight questionnaire is usually a relatively simple process, but i was suprised at how complicated this was for a few people today. And drawing a neat graph between the points didnt appear to be as easy as i would imagine it to be. I had to make a quick decision - should i continue to instruct them to work out the necessary standard deviations so that they could identify their peak preferences? I made the right decision. Every one understood the concept, appeared happy with the curves of their profiles and lots of laughing and deep discussions followed as sharing thier new insights with each other they went off into the early evening 38 degrees.
And now im knackered
Oh i was a little excited to see one of our delegates in the most amazing pair of shoes. So intrigued I was, I had to stop him on the stairs to ask him about them. He was wearing a drab coloured lightweight safari suit which made his shoes look even more glamorous. At first I thought he was just into the kitsch scene, but on enquiry it turns out that they really were REAL tiger-skin shoes! they were brilliant - I could see why there would be a trade in this endangered animal skin - i'd love a pair. I asked him if it was legal to buy tiger products - he reckoned that you could hunt tiger if you had a license. That cant be true can it? Well his mate in the snake-skin shoes thought it was.
We've talked about a wide range of issues that effect the African rural poor. Topics that are so far removed from any topic of conversation i would have back home; not only because Im not poor, but because the forces of change on this country are so different to the forces of change in Europe. Climate change of course is high on the agenda here, but so also is war and divided states. We talk about energy, education, employment, agriculture, water, hygiene, medicine etc - all usually in the negative. But not once has anyone uttered the word HIV. HIV is a massive problem in Africa (and particularly southern africa) but for many reasons its a topic that appears to be taboo. HIV leads to trends in child rape (in the belief that sleeping with a virgin will cure it); displaced women (who are rejected by thier communities in the belief that it is the woman who has been sleeping around, never the husband); jail and torture (as HIV is believed to be an indicator of either a promiscuous woman, or a gay man - both punishable offences); communities of elderly people and young people - but no-one in between - theyre dead, and so the whole social fabric of such communities are crumbling (and in a world where the only capital you have is social capital, you cant afford for your community to crumble). In some areas, the massive campaigns to use condoms were rejected in the belief that this was a white mans attempt to stop black people producing more babies! HIV is a force of change that is going to have to be reckoned with, and yet no-one will talk about it. For one, talking about sex has religious complications, and for another it is still strongly associated with homosexuality and this also has religious complications.
If we cant talk about it, then maybe there is no hope
I facilitated various workshop elements today, but i also did a workshop section on Creativity and problem solving preferences. My planned 2.5 hours became crunched to 1.5 hours as the story telling activities over ran. We decided to press on regardless with the time that i had remaining. Now this never bothers me. I can wing this subject pretty well now and skip slides and activities to the important bits (actually my client remarked afterwards, that so impressed was he that he could see from now on that he could reduce my future contracts to deliver my work in half the time!)
It was clear that the people enjoyed the workshop despite my rush (i was concerned about talking too fast for people to understand - though remember, fast for me here would be relaxed in any other place) and I think the key learnings were transfered. However i wasnt absolutely happy with my delivery of the Foursight psychometric that i used. I think the participants were more than happy and understanding of the concept and the outcomes of their profiles, but i had to make a couple of necessary shortcuts. We used the paper based questionnaire as not everyone has access to the internet for the online version. Immediately i concerned that some people appeared to have a skew on their responses - had they not understood my instructions? did they still think they were being tested and needed to appear to be 'good' at problem solving? I had to let the people continue with the analysis of their profile, it would have been too complicated to explain why not. Or maybe their profiles were genuinely like this - This is certainly a culture that is different to my own - in fact it is often necessary to really labour the concept of 'deferment of judgement' in northern European organisations, but here it was accepted as if i was asking them to continue breathing - this is a society that is apparently very tolerant of different view points (though i find this difficult to reconcile with some of the political unrest)
Scoring of the Foursight questionnaire is usually a relatively simple process, but i was suprised at how complicated this was for a few people today. And drawing a neat graph between the points didnt appear to be as easy as i would imagine it to be. I had to make a quick decision - should i continue to instruct them to work out the necessary standard deviations so that they could identify their peak preferences? I made the right decision. Every one understood the concept, appeared happy with the curves of their profiles and lots of laughing and deep discussions followed as sharing thier new insights with each other they went off into the early evening 38 degrees.
And now im knackered
Sunday, 6 April 2008
The Sudan - 15
How many workshops, meetings, brainstorming sessions have you been in where a response to "what are our threats?" was "Landmines"? No nor have i... until now.
We started with prayers - a reading from the Koran and a reading from the bible. My toes were curling at the thought of it, but in actual fact it was a rather nice and respectful way to start proceedings. And the two "His Excellencies" graced us with their presences. One addressed the assembly in English and talked of the troubles of Sudan and the hope that we were part of the solution. The other spoke in Arabic and i have no idea what he was saying; which made me a little anxious as i was supposed to pick up after he'd finished - fortunately Fiaza did the transfer for me.
Some of our conversations today were in Arabic. Fortunately we had people who could translate back and forth, but the majority of the event was in English. Now i think i reletively sensitive to the listening and comprehension needs of people from other countries - i try to speak clearly and slowly and choose my words carefully, but today i had a couple of people ask me if i could speak a little slower. Have you ever tried to talk for a whole day at half speed? its painful. You would think that this would provide me with useful thinking time while my mouth slowly churned out the words, but no - it simply meant i was having a conversation with myself about how painful it was to talk so slowly.
There are about 40 people in the workshop - and about a 50/50 split male/female. Every one is very nice. Four of the men chose to wear ties (that truly is hardcore in this heat) everyone else is much more relaxed in thier dress. Me? today for the first time i felt a bit sweaty - is it my nerves? the running around? or is monsoon season approaching?
I discover a new challenge for the facilitator-in-sudan. You need twice as much masking tape as you might use in cooler climes. Every room here has 2 or 3 fans and aircon turned up to 11. not only does it make the room noisy, but it also turns it into a frikking wind tunnel - you cant hold the flipcharts and postit notes down without a lengthy strip of tape.
We dont take a break here, we take breakfast. At 11am - its as big as an evening meal! I didnt partake. I was offered what looked like a hamburger. I didnt want to offend so accepted, took a bite and discovered chicken inside - pinkish and a bit rubbery? Spit or swallow? I think its a bit rude not to swallow... so i did. I await the outcome.
All in all a successful day i think. people seemed pleased, client seems pleased (despite wanting to continue planning for tomorrow until 11.30 pm). Its always a good feeling to get day 1 under your belt
We started with prayers - a reading from the Koran and a reading from the bible. My toes were curling at the thought of it, but in actual fact it was a rather nice and respectful way to start proceedings. And the two "His Excellencies" graced us with their presences. One addressed the assembly in English and talked of the troubles of Sudan and the hope that we were part of the solution. The other spoke in Arabic and i have no idea what he was saying; which made me a little anxious as i was supposed to pick up after he'd finished - fortunately Fiaza did the transfer for me.
Some of our conversations today were in Arabic. Fortunately we had people who could translate back and forth, but the majority of the event was in English. Now i think i reletively sensitive to the listening and comprehension needs of people from other countries - i try to speak clearly and slowly and choose my words carefully, but today i had a couple of people ask me if i could speak a little slower. Have you ever tried to talk for a whole day at half speed? its painful. You would think that this would provide me with useful thinking time while my mouth slowly churned out the words, but no - it simply meant i was having a conversation with myself about how painful it was to talk so slowly.
There are about 40 people in the workshop - and about a 50/50 split male/female. Every one is very nice. Four of the men chose to wear ties (that truly is hardcore in this heat) everyone else is much more relaxed in thier dress. Me? today for the first time i felt a bit sweaty - is it my nerves? the running around? or is monsoon season approaching?
I discover a new challenge for the facilitator-in-sudan. You need twice as much masking tape as you might use in cooler climes. Every room here has 2 or 3 fans and aircon turned up to 11. not only does it make the room noisy, but it also turns it into a frikking wind tunnel - you cant hold the flipcharts and postit notes down without a lengthy strip of tape.
We dont take a break here, we take breakfast. At 11am - its as big as an evening meal! I didnt partake. I was offered what looked like a hamburger. I didnt want to offend so accepted, took a bite and discovered chicken inside - pinkish and a bit rubbery? Spit or swallow? I think its a bit rude not to swallow... so i did. I await the outcome.
All in all a successful day i think. people seemed pleased, client seems pleased (despite wanting to continue planning for tomorrow until 11.30 pm). Its always a good feeling to get day 1 under your belt
Saturday, 5 April 2008
The Sudan - 14
This is an amazing hotel. Ive been trying to find a way to describe my feelings about it and i cant quite put my finger on it. Its all about the people here, and if i were a comic writer and illustrator, this place would be the never ending source of inspiration.
Everybody who stays here or passes through here (there seems to be a lot of that) is larger than life and on the edge of it. These are renegade people on a dangerous mission of some kind - and in actuality many of them really are on a mission (there are many development agency people here)
Every underground comic book archetype is here in this hotel. they come and go at odd hours and interact with each other on a mysterious level. We have....
- the large fat English man in sandels with slicked back hair and a long thick bushy pirate like beard. Is he with the petite malaysian (?) lady, who flutters as he politely offers her a chair at his dinner table. He is clearly a wealthy but bent backstreet diamond dealer.
- the two chinese men - do they know each other? they seem to be together and yet distant. The dangerous one has a fu man chu beard, the other is so nondescript, hes virtually invisible. they are part of an international drug ring and close to the triads.
- the dark rugged and very mysterious man. His features are striking but ungiving of his origin. Is that a natural dark skin, or is he heavily tanned, or even just dirty - you could believe it of him. He speaks with no-one but his piercing eyes are always scanning around him. And how come he has a can of beer with his meals? Only he can get away with that here.
- The loud middle-aged, lean and round-shouldered Australian. Telling tales to anyone who will listen and some who wont about his escapades with terrorists, insurgents and militia. His stories are covering something that he doesnt want to reviel about himself - hes running away from something.
And all of these characters find refuge in this throwback hotel from the 50's. An outpost on the edge of war and crime zones. A haven run by a tall, smartly dressed greek man by the name of george - he knows everyone one of his guests and attends thier every need with a broad smile and sweeping calm. George will take care of your passport and documents, George will get you a sim card, George will change your dollars, George will arrange a driver.
And amongst all this sense of darkeness, i feel incredibly at ease. As if im living in a not-so-futuristic chapter of 2000ADs Robo-hunter
Everybody who stays here or passes through here (there seems to be a lot of that) is larger than life and on the edge of it. These are renegade people on a dangerous mission of some kind - and in actuality many of them really are on a mission (there are many development agency people here)
Every underground comic book archetype is here in this hotel. they come and go at odd hours and interact with each other on a mysterious level. We have....
- the large fat English man in sandels with slicked back hair and a long thick bushy pirate like beard. Is he with the petite malaysian (?) lady, who flutters as he politely offers her a chair at his dinner table. He is clearly a wealthy but bent backstreet diamond dealer.
- the two chinese men - do they know each other? they seem to be together and yet distant. The dangerous one has a fu man chu beard, the other is so nondescript, hes virtually invisible. they are part of an international drug ring and close to the triads.
- the dark rugged and very mysterious man. His features are striking but ungiving of his origin. Is that a natural dark skin, or is he heavily tanned, or even just dirty - you could believe it of him. He speaks with no-one but his piercing eyes are always scanning around him. And how come he has a can of beer with his meals? Only he can get away with that here.
- The loud middle-aged, lean and round-shouldered Australian. Telling tales to anyone who will listen and some who wont about his escapades with terrorists, insurgents and militia. His stories are covering something that he doesnt want to reviel about himself - hes running away from something.
And all of these characters find refuge in this throwback hotel from the 50's. An outpost on the edge of war and crime zones. A haven run by a tall, smartly dressed greek man by the name of george - he knows everyone one of his guests and attends thier every need with a broad smile and sweeping calm. George will take care of your passport and documents, George will get you a sim card, George will change your dollars, George will arrange a driver.
And amongst all this sense of darkeness, i feel incredibly at ease. As if im living in a not-so-futuristic chapter of 2000ADs Robo-hunter
The Sudan - 13
What happens when you take a very bright, passionate and intellectual committee, throw in a rapidly approaching deadline, several million dollars, a few billion starving people, some conflicting government parties and a couple of "His Excellencies"?
The answer is a bit of a deadlock and a lot of stress.
We sat in the hotel lobby tonight to finalise the process of our first day (we kick off tomorrow) - and true to form (this happens everytime we do a big event - "His Excellency" or not) we have everything ready to go but people still want to define roles, argue movements, suggest ideas etc. And true to form by the time someone suggested dinner, we were all relaxed again and looking forward to getting started.
In truth, it wasn't so stressful. The people im working with are great and very smart and very caring... but it wasnt a particularly productive meeting - i'd have been better off practising ukulele in my room... but maybe its a necessary process step when youre doing this sort of thing.
So its 10.30pm - im going to try and get a good nights sleep so that im all fresh and dandy tomorrow for "His Excellency"
The answer is a bit of a deadlock and a lot of stress.
We sat in the hotel lobby tonight to finalise the process of our first day (we kick off tomorrow) - and true to form (this happens everytime we do a big event - "His Excellency" or not) we have everything ready to go but people still want to define roles, argue movements, suggest ideas etc. And true to form by the time someone suggested dinner, we were all relaxed again and looking forward to getting started.
In truth, it wasn't so stressful. The people im working with are great and very smart and very caring... but it wasnt a particularly productive meeting - i'd have been better off practising ukulele in my room... but maybe its a necessary process step when youre doing this sort of thing.
So its 10.30pm - im going to try and get a good nights sleep so that im all fresh and dandy tomorrow for "His Excellency"
The Sudan - 12
Ive broken the golden rule of international travel to developing countries.
I was given this piece of wisdom by a good friend of mine, who has mentored me over the past few years in personal cleanliness and hygiene - and now i feel that i have let him down.
I not only accepted, but drank too - a glass of fizzy orange WITH ICE IN IT!
Its now only a matter of time.
I was given this piece of wisdom by a good friend of mine, who has mentored me over the past few years in personal cleanliness and hygiene - and now i feel that i have let him down.
I not only accepted, but drank too - a glass of fizzy orange WITH ICE IN IT!
Its now only a matter of time.
The Sudan - 11
I am struck by the coping tolerances of my international and bilingual colleagues.
While helping prepare a presentation in English on an Italian computer, I was driven to distraction by the endless red squiggles underlying every single word as if in anger at the need for the Italian user to create her presentation in English.
And on the subject of computers - have you ever seen an Arabic keyboard? it looks just like your keyboard, except for some squiggles in the corner of each key. Nothing remarkable about that you might think until you understand that each character has a specific pronunciation but has a different shape depending on where it is in the word or phrase... for this reason, the break through innovation in arabic word processing was when they managed to get the system to work out the context of what was being typed and then adjusted the character shapes to be correct - now that really is predictive text.
While helping prepare a presentation in English on an Italian computer, I was driven to distraction by the endless red squiggles underlying every single word as if in anger at the need for the Italian user to create her presentation in English.
And on the subject of computers - have you ever seen an Arabic keyboard? it looks just like your keyboard, except for some squiggles in the corner of each key. Nothing remarkable about that you might think until you understand that each character has a specific pronunciation but has a different shape depending on where it is in the word or phrase... for this reason, the break through innovation in arabic word processing was when they managed to get the system to work out the context of what was being typed and then adjusted the character shapes to be correct - now that really is predictive text.
The Sudan - 10
I walk from the car to the back door of the office. Its 1pm and the sun is scorching. Im in the direct sunshine for no more than 3 minutes and im concerned that i haven't put any sun screen on. I ponder for a moment what it might be like to be working right now (only a few miles away from where i stand) in a desperately barren field, desperately hoping for a bit of crop to grow, desperately wishing for a swig of clean water, desperately worried about my dieing children, desperately waiting for the unrelenting sun to set. And then i think that at least this 3 minutes will keep my sun tan topped up.
Our car is stopped by the police today, we are directed to pull over by a one of a crowd of young policeman. Hes very tall and dressed in crisp white military looking uniform. Our driver winds down the smoked glass window to the policeman, and the two politely shake hands and exchange greetings as if they know each other. As our driver presumably explains what hes doing I hear the name of the organisation that im working for, and another man joins the policeman - hes just as young, but dressed in regular street clothes and demands that our driver lower the windows of the back of the car. Theres a cautious sideways glance at us in the back, an exchange of a couple of words and were sent on our way again. It probably meant nothing significant, but I was well prepared with my basic training in personal security to "remain with the vehicle but if forced to leave it remain behind the engine block for maximum protection"
Our car is stopped by the police today, we are directed to pull over by a one of a crowd of young policeman. Hes very tall and dressed in crisp white military looking uniform. Our driver winds down the smoked glass window to the policeman, and the two politely shake hands and exchange greetings as if they know each other. As our driver presumably explains what hes doing I hear the name of the organisation that im working for, and another man joins the policeman - hes just as young, but dressed in regular street clothes and demands that our driver lower the windows of the back of the car. Theres a cautious sideways glance at us in the back, an exchange of a couple of words and were sent on our way again. It probably meant nothing significant, but I was well prepared with my basic training in personal security to "remain with the vehicle but if forced to leave it remain behind the engine block for maximum protection"
The Sudan - 10
Someone asked me why i was writing this blog. I guess I should view a question like that as feedback, but I went on obliviously to explain.
In Sudan you need a permit to take photographs. Yes its true. I havent found out why yet, but taking photos without a permit is a serious offence.... here is a paragraph from my security clearance papers......
Photography
Do not take photographs. Photography without a permit is forbidden in Sudan.. In case anyone stops you while photographing, do listen to him. The person may be from a security agency in civilian clothes. Alternately you may ask an official at site if you can take photographs of your friends.
Apparently it has been known for tourists to be arrested for taking pictures of the Nile!
I am a visually orientated person, and it would be my natural preference to take photographs as a way of remembering and describing by visit to The Sudan, but i have decided that i'm not up for the challenge of either 1) going through the beaurocratic process of applying for a permit (crikey it took 4 passport photos just to get this hotel room) or 2) taking undercover pictures
And so that is why i am writing this blog - painting in words
In Sudan you need a permit to take photographs. Yes its true. I havent found out why yet, but taking photos without a permit is a serious offence.... here is a paragraph from my security clearance papers......
Photography
Do not take photographs. Photography without a permit is forbidden in Sudan.. In case anyone stops you while photographing, do listen to him. The person may be from a security agency in civilian clothes. Alternately you may ask an official at site if you can take photographs of your friends.
Apparently it has been known for tourists to be arrested for taking pictures of the Nile!
I am a visually orientated person, and it would be my natural preference to take photographs as a way of remembering and describing by visit to The Sudan, but i have decided that i'm not up for the challenge of either 1) going through the beaurocratic process of applying for a permit (crikey it took 4 passport photos just to get this hotel room) or 2) taking undercover pictures
And so that is why i am writing this blog - painting in words
The Sudan - 9
It is so dusty here. The floors of my hotel are hard reconstituted marble tiles - they keep the place nice and cool and they are diligently mopped daily. However, despite the noble attempt, my suede shoes (im a trend setter like that) are constantly dirty with dust - its starting to irritate me. Aren't dessert boots made of suede? that seems like a design error to me - surely rubber boots would be a more satisfactory option for the shoe-proud man-about-dessert.
in my "personal safety training - basic" course, I was informed that in the event of being kidnapped, it would be good for my moral to maintain a good personal hygiene and appearance - i can see these bloody suede shoes being the death of me.
in my "personal safety training - basic" course, I was informed that in the event of being kidnapped, it would be good for my moral to maintain a good personal hygiene and appearance - i can see these bloody suede shoes being the death of me.
Friday, 4 April 2008
The Sudan - 8
38 deg centigrade at 8.30 in the evening. Its been a long hard day today - everyone wanted to keep working (mind you there is a startling amount of work still to be done before we start the workshop on Sunday) so it was with great relief when we finally walked out of the office at 8.30pm despite the air being almost overwhelmingly suffocating with heat. Actually I have to say this is brilliant weather - sure its hot, dang hot, but its also dry - there is no humidity - its not at all sweaty
I sat in the meeting with 18 other people - not one of them English, and yet we all talked English all day. Fortunately for my humbling embarassment, there was also an India, a Moroccan, an Italian, and an Egyptian at the table, so i convinced myself that they weren't all talking my mother tongue just for my benefit.
Today is Friday. Fridays and Saturdays are the weekend here, so technically many of the participants in the meeting should have been with family and freinds. Many of the men came in their weekend dress - crisp white robes and head wraps (i cant remember the names for these items) They looked very elegant especially the older men with snow white whiskers to match their clothes and contrast their dark skin. Interestingly that the clothing is traditional, but there appears to still be a place to put their ever-ringing mobile phones.
There was lots of talking and plenty of laughing, and of course the plentiful supply of tea. Rather disappointingly, it appears that the tea of choice is lipton bag on a string - but with a couple of heaped teaspoons of powedered milk and a couple of heaped teaspoons of sugar. I counted the sugar bowls - each twice as big as a tea cup - there was a sugar bowl for every 3 tea cups.
I had a vision of loosing weight while i was out here - i could do with a few pounds off, and i lost nearly a stone when i was out in India this time last year. But eating here doesnt appear to be that far removed from back home. Biscuits with your afternoon tea, chicken and chips in a tin foil basket for lunch (and sadly for tea if your unlucky). there is always potato fries androasted veg with your battered fish or braised meat. Now i appreciate that im in a hotel that clearly caters for international travelers, journalists and business men, but i wouldnt mind having a go a some more traditional local faire.
Well the panic is beginning to settle in, and so tonight i must burn some midnight oil so that i am both ready with my own presentations AND my proposed plans for the running of things - it can sometimes be a bit tricky to get others to listen to sense, but im sure a prepared "document" might speak their language
I sat in the meeting with 18 other people - not one of them English, and yet we all talked English all day. Fortunately for my humbling embarassment, there was also an India, a Moroccan, an Italian, and an Egyptian at the table, so i convinced myself that they weren't all talking my mother tongue just for my benefit.
Today is Friday. Fridays and Saturdays are the weekend here, so technically many of the participants in the meeting should have been with family and freinds. Many of the men came in their weekend dress - crisp white robes and head wraps (i cant remember the names for these items) They looked very elegant especially the older men with snow white whiskers to match their clothes and contrast their dark skin. Interestingly that the clothing is traditional, but there appears to still be a place to put their ever-ringing mobile phones.
There was lots of talking and plenty of laughing, and of course the plentiful supply of tea. Rather disappointingly, it appears that the tea of choice is lipton bag on a string - but with a couple of heaped teaspoons of powedered milk and a couple of heaped teaspoons of sugar. I counted the sugar bowls - each twice as big as a tea cup - there was a sugar bowl for every 3 tea cups.
I had a vision of loosing weight while i was out here - i could do with a few pounds off, and i lost nearly a stone when i was out in India this time last year. But eating here doesnt appear to be that far removed from back home. Biscuits with your afternoon tea, chicken and chips in a tin foil basket for lunch (and sadly for tea if your unlucky). there is always potato fries androasted veg with your battered fish or braised meat. Now i appreciate that im in a hotel that clearly caters for international travelers, journalists and business men, but i wouldnt mind having a go a some more traditional local faire.
Well the panic is beginning to settle in, and so tonight i must burn some midnight oil so that i am both ready with my own presentations AND my proposed plans for the running of things - it can sometimes be a bit tricky to get others to listen to sense, but im sure a prepared "document" might speak their language
Thursday, 3 April 2008
The Sudan - 7
A year ago (to the week) i sat one evening under a clear sky in the foot hills of the Himalayas with the same two men that I sat with tonight under the clear skys of Khartoum. A World apart and yet a World together. A Moroccan, an Indian and an Englishman. We continued the conversation that we started a year ago as if it were yesterday. We put the World to rights.
Its a real privilage to be with people like this; not only are they giving in their thoughts, but also welcoming of yours, and in this way the exploration of ideas is limitless.
As we began to feel the effect of a hard days work, we pondered why these conversations were so energising and natural. Of course we came up with a number of possible reasons, but my favourite one was to do with a "maturity of identity", a level of self-confidence that resulted in not having to defend your insecurities.
And if this is the case, then could "insecurities" and "immature identities" be a reason for conflict between say the North and South of Sudan?
Its a real privilage to be with people like this; not only are they giving in their thoughts, but also welcoming of yours, and in this way the exploration of ideas is limitless.
As we began to feel the effect of a hard days work, we pondered why these conversations were so energising and natural. Of course we came up with a number of possible reasons, but my favourite one was to do with a "maturity of identity", a level of self-confidence that resulted in not having to defend your insecurities.
And if this is the case, then could "insecurities" and "immature identities" be a reason for conflict between say the North and South of Sudan?
The Sudan - 6
Its quite a challenge to understand people here. Everyone ive met so far speaks English, but its always a bit tricky to pick out the meaning between broken sentences and accents. And its doubly difficult when the subject is as complicated as Global poverty and Political turmoil. And its even more difficult when you are sitting at a board table with a large fan blowing in your ear.
The first thing that struck me about this particular government ministry was the fact that it was more grubby than id expect and indeed our hosts were rather excited about the new carpet that had been laid in their office; which could have done with a lick of paint at the same time. The second thing that struck me was the lady sitting at her desk playing "who wants to be a millionaire" on her computer - in Arabic!
Im slightly embarrassed to say here how suprised i was that our official meeting around the board table was with 4 women. No reason why it shouldnt be, but i kind of expected here that the meeting would be with men. We spent the meeting confirming plans and expectations for our workshop. It was important to do because the 2 "His Excellency State Minister" of various what-nots are going to be there and they needed to prepare thier addresses.....
Hang on! i wasn't told about this! Im not so sure im up to this!
I spent the day quietly reminding myself that i dont need to know about the detailed content of Sudanese politics or development funding for the starving millions - im the process man - all ive got to do is get these 50 people to play nicely together for the week
We discuss the protocol on who makes his address first and if there is going to be a reading from the Koran, then there should be a reading from the Bible - i wondered if as "who wants to be a millionaire" has been translated into Arabic, has the Bible too?
Everybody is terribly nice and i think a government official who takes such care over the beautiful henna on her hands is certainly the right person to be caring for her country.
My phone rings, but i dont take the call from my mate Hughie, though i'd love to tell him that i cant talk now as Im in the ministry for finance talking strategy on poverty reduction.
Breakfast is a big deal here. People take tea first thing in the morning and then stop around 10.30ish for "breakfast". A tradition breakfast is "Fuul" - a kidney bean type mix with tomato and spring onion with a dash of cheese on top. We all sit around a wok type dish on the board table and dip in with fluffy processed bread rolls. Its very nice and very social. I had a bottle of fizzy orange to wash it down.
Bit by bit things start to fall into place for our workshop that starts on Sunday. There is a lot of organising to do and a lot of expectations to manage. Back in my hotel room after a full day i think i need a snooze.
The first thing that struck me about this particular government ministry was the fact that it was more grubby than id expect and indeed our hosts were rather excited about the new carpet that had been laid in their office; which could have done with a lick of paint at the same time. The second thing that struck me was the lady sitting at her desk playing "who wants to be a millionaire" on her computer - in Arabic!
Im slightly embarrassed to say here how suprised i was that our official meeting around the board table was with 4 women. No reason why it shouldnt be, but i kind of expected here that the meeting would be with men. We spent the meeting confirming plans and expectations for our workshop. It was important to do because the 2 "His Excellency State Minister" of various what-nots are going to be there and they needed to prepare thier addresses.....
Hang on! i wasn't told about this! Im not so sure im up to this!
I spent the day quietly reminding myself that i dont need to know about the detailed content of Sudanese politics or development funding for the starving millions - im the process man - all ive got to do is get these 50 people to play nicely together for the week
We discuss the protocol on who makes his address first and if there is going to be a reading from the Koran, then there should be a reading from the Bible - i wondered if as "who wants to be a millionaire" has been translated into Arabic, has the Bible too?
Everybody is terribly nice and i think a government official who takes such care over the beautiful henna on her hands is certainly the right person to be caring for her country.
My phone rings, but i dont take the call from my mate Hughie, though i'd love to tell him that i cant talk now as Im in the ministry for finance talking strategy on poverty reduction.
Breakfast is a big deal here. People take tea first thing in the morning and then stop around 10.30ish for "breakfast". A tradition breakfast is "Fuul" - a kidney bean type mix with tomato and spring onion with a dash of cheese on top. We all sit around a wok type dish on the board table and dip in with fluffy processed bread rolls. Its very nice and very social. I had a bottle of fizzy orange to wash it down.
Bit by bit things start to fall into place for our workshop that starts on Sunday. There is a lot of organising to do and a lot of expectations to manage. Back in my hotel room after a full day i think i need a snooze.
The Sudan - 5
Its difficult to describe the growing anxiety one gets as one draws close to the half way mark of his last loo roll here. And its nigh on impossible to describe the sheer delight of returning to your room after a days work to find that not only has that loo roll been replaced, but a spare one has been installed too!
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
The Sudan - 4
Im in a small hotel in the middle of Khartoum, which is in the middle of the desert, which is in the middle of Africa. I am with my Indian colleague from Chennai, when in walks a Polish man, who once worked with my Indian colleague on a project in Nepal.
And if you dont think thats enough proof that this is indeed a small world - turns out that this polish man lives only a couple of miles from where I work in England!
And to top it all off - hes a really interesting chap - doing a really interesting job. Reducing world poverty by knowledge sharing through technology. Check out http://practicalaction.org/?id=technologychallengingpoverty
And if you dont think thats enough proof that this is indeed a small world - turns out that this polish man lives only a couple of miles from where I work in England!
And to top it all off - hes a really interesting chap - doing a really interesting job. Reducing world poverty by knowledge sharing through technology. Check out http://practicalaction.org/?id=technologychallengingpoverty
The Sudan - 3
Ive put my cash in the hotel safety deposit box; A huge safe just like the ones you see being cracked in black and white gangster films. I was given an envelope, told to put my cash inside and write the amount on the outside.... i wonder if i should have got a receipt?
Another part of my personal safety training was to ensure that i personally gave my key to the reception manager on exit from the hotel. This I did. On my return, the hotel manager wasnt at his desk. He soon emerged from a back office and said "if theres no-one here, just nip round and take your key. Make yourself at home, we treat it like a family"
So thats OK then
Another part of my personal safety training was to ensure that i personally gave my key to the reception manager on exit from the hotel. This I did. On my return, the hotel manager wasnt at his desk. He soon emerged from a back office and said "if theres no-one here, just nip round and take your key. Make yourself at home, we treat it like a family"
So thats OK then
The Sudan - 2
Well it would appear that man and mosquito can live together in harmony.
With the aircon on and shutters shut, you have no idea as you wake up what the weather might be like outside. You can, however, take a pretty good guess that its very hot and dusty.
I am scheduled today with a "workplan" - not of my making, but of the people who are organising the event here. They want me to be sure that all is in order with the preparations for our week long workshop starting on Sunday.
In the lead up to coming here I have been inundated with papers and programmes as background and preparitory material. This is a big deal, by anyones standards. This is literally, life or death. As i read the local newspaper over a breakfast of things that i can peel, I see that all the articles are about the rebuilding of Sudan - but not about rebuilding as part of its economic growth strategy as we might read about in the south east of England - This is far more fundamental - creating peace and reducing poverty. Im not here to help with the peace bit, but i am here in the thick of poverty reduction. Paradoxically this makes me feel "rich" in a non-financial sort of way.
And this is big in the sort of way that ministries and governments are involved, and it is planned that i hve to go and meet some of these people. There are so many acronyms and organisations and agencies involved that im a bit confused as to who im seeing or why, but im happy to do whatever my hosts feel fit and im ready to go where-ever my driver takes me. He doesnt speak much English (and i still dont even know how to say hello in Sudanese) so im in his hands. I note with interest that he sprays something into the center consol storage compartment before we set off... mosquito repellent? air freshener? chloroform?
White taxis are gleaming, but the yellow ones are a masterpiece of "good enough", revived from frequent previous bumps and bashes, hand beaten back into shape. Plenty good enough with the angle-grinder skids across wrinkled bodywork. The more loved ones have cracked bodyfiller bulging out (how do they get so much damage on the roofs of their cars?) and yellow over-spray on rusty bumpers and balding tyres. There are a lot of white wall tyres here too - most of them peeling off the main tyre to look like cars driving on inverted dinner plates
It appears that one method of deterring other drivers from coming too close is to fit shiney hubcaps that stick out about 6 inches from the wheel with what looks like the spikes from the wheels of boadiceas chariot
I wasnt sure on how to dress for the occasion, so i went for what im comfortable in (and thats all ive bought with me) but to make an impression i did wear a suit jacket. I was worried that at 40 deg Centigrade, Id be sweating like a pig, but i have to say, that whilst it is indeed terribly hot, its not as humid as say Taiwan or India, and so a jacket is not impossible to wear.
I am taken to CCU (central coordination unit for IFAD funded project in the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry). The director proudly shows me the list of materials that he is assembling for the workshop - i nod approvingly and politely decline a cup of tea.
and then i am taken to see the workshop venue in the ABS (Agricultural Bank of the Sudan).
Every one is so polite and keen that i am keen. "As long as you are happy, then we are happy". Well this should all work out swimmingly then.
The workshop venue is plenty big enough, but not ideal. It is almost identical to the room we had to work with at IITM (Indian Institute of Technology in Madras) - a conference auditorium with a fixed layout of lecture type seating and intercoms on fixed benches. it would be a perfect venue for a signing of a peace treaty.
Under normal circumstances (but im starting to question what normal is now) id have encouraged people to find a different venue, one with lots of open space where people can be more free in how they move or where they sit, one where they can cluster with different people and have space for creative expression. However in this circumstance, I primarily wanted to give these great people my approval, for which they seemed delighted.
In the car back to my hotel, I wondered about what is the best environment for this workshop. I know what i would like.... but what about what these people would like? what about the delegates? Who am i, a comparitively wealthy, privilaged and relaxed Englishman, to say that this isnt the best space for the job? Maybe this is just the right space for these people. maybe it gives them the formality they need or expect for such an important event. Maybe they dont have the luxury of clear open spaces. Maybe they do their creativity in a very different way to me. Maybe i shouldnt expect them to shift thier working practices toward mine, but i should shift my working practices toward thiers ("There is no such thing as a difficult audience, only inflexible facilitators")
I worked with another facilitator once who created what i thought was too much of a fuss about a room not being ideal for the job of a creative workshop - and i believe that negative energy was transfered to the audience and room itself. It will be my job to make this room work... thats what makes me the professional thats been hired to do the job
Within an hour i am back in my dark aricon'd hotel room. Id better get on with making my agenda look like the work of a professional
With the aircon on and shutters shut, you have no idea as you wake up what the weather might be like outside. You can, however, take a pretty good guess that its very hot and dusty.
I am scheduled today with a "workplan" - not of my making, but of the people who are organising the event here. They want me to be sure that all is in order with the preparations for our week long workshop starting on Sunday.
In the lead up to coming here I have been inundated with papers and programmes as background and preparitory material. This is a big deal, by anyones standards. This is literally, life or death. As i read the local newspaper over a breakfast of things that i can peel, I see that all the articles are about the rebuilding of Sudan - but not about rebuilding as part of its economic growth strategy as we might read about in the south east of England - This is far more fundamental - creating peace and reducing poverty. Im not here to help with the peace bit, but i am here in the thick of poverty reduction. Paradoxically this makes me feel "rich" in a non-financial sort of way.
And this is big in the sort of way that ministries and governments are involved, and it is planned that i hve to go and meet some of these people. There are so many acronyms and organisations and agencies involved that im a bit confused as to who im seeing or why, but im happy to do whatever my hosts feel fit and im ready to go where-ever my driver takes me. He doesnt speak much English (and i still dont even know how to say hello in Sudanese) so im in his hands. I note with interest that he sprays something into the center consol storage compartment before we set off... mosquito repellent? air freshener? chloroform?
White taxis are gleaming, but the yellow ones are a masterpiece of "good enough", revived from frequent previous bumps and bashes, hand beaten back into shape. Plenty good enough with the angle-grinder skids across wrinkled bodywork. The more loved ones have cracked bodyfiller bulging out (how do they get so much damage on the roofs of their cars?) and yellow over-spray on rusty bumpers and balding tyres. There are a lot of white wall tyres here too - most of them peeling off the main tyre to look like cars driving on inverted dinner plates
It appears that one method of deterring other drivers from coming too close is to fit shiney hubcaps that stick out about 6 inches from the wheel with what looks like the spikes from the wheels of boadiceas chariot
I wasnt sure on how to dress for the occasion, so i went for what im comfortable in (and thats all ive bought with me) but to make an impression i did wear a suit jacket. I was worried that at 40 deg Centigrade, Id be sweating like a pig, but i have to say, that whilst it is indeed terribly hot, its not as humid as say Taiwan or India, and so a jacket is not impossible to wear.
I am taken to CCU (central coordination unit for IFAD funded project in the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry). The director proudly shows me the list of materials that he is assembling for the workshop - i nod approvingly and politely decline a cup of tea.
and then i am taken to see the workshop venue in the ABS (Agricultural Bank of the Sudan).
Every one is so polite and keen that i am keen. "As long as you are happy, then we are happy". Well this should all work out swimmingly then.
The workshop venue is plenty big enough, but not ideal. It is almost identical to the room we had to work with at IITM (Indian Institute of Technology in Madras) - a conference auditorium with a fixed layout of lecture type seating and intercoms on fixed benches. it would be a perfect venue for a signing of a peace treaty.
Under normal circumstances (but im starting to question what normal is now) id have encouraged people to find a different venue, one with lots of open space where people can be more free in how they move or where they sit, one where they can cluster with different people and have space for creative expression. However in this circumstance, I primarily wanted to give these great people my approval, for which they seemed delighted.
In the car back to my hotel, I wondered about what is the best environment for this workshop. I know what i would like.... but what about what these people would like? what about the delegates? Who am i, a comparitively wealthy, privilaged and relaxed Englishman, to say that this isnt the best space for the job? Maybe this is just the right space for these people. maybe it gives them the formality they need or expect for such an important event. Maybe they dont have the luxury of clear open spaces. Maybe they do their creativity in a very different way to me. Maybe i shouldnt expect them to shift thier working practices toward mine, but i should shift my working practices toward thiers ("There is no such thing as a difficult audience, only inflexible facilitators")
I worked with another facilitator once who created what i thought was too much of a fuss about a room not being ideal for the job of a creative workshop - and i believe that negative energy was transfered to the audience and room itself. It will be my job to make this room work... thats what makes me the professional thats been hired to do the job
Within an hour i am back in my dark aricon'd hotel room. Id better get on with making my agenda look like the work of a professional
The Sudan - 1
Stepping off the plane into the evening heat of Khartoum makes me suddenly realise that my mission has commenced. A "mission" sounds a bit grand - but thats what these IFAD people call these trips.
Ive never had my hand luggage xray'd on entering a country before and i soon come to realise why one of my suitcases has had a large cross chalked on it during its transit - im directed toward a chaotic corner of the airport customs where i have to show the contents to what i presume to be an official. Hes rather more interested in the argumentitive family with what appears to be shredded cabbage in their suitcases. I get a sticker of approval and go outside in search of my driver.
Why is his dashboard covered in a thick woolen carpet underlay type material? is it to stop the dashboard from melting in the sun? not that much sun light comes into this car with its blacked windows all but for the letter box slot that the driver peers through. The roads and traffic remind me of New Delhi - chaotic and dusty, but a little less noisy (hooters are for drawing attention here, not for confirming that the driver is alive). At every junction a police man patrols to check presumably car tax stickers, and young men walk up and down in the hope of selling a box or two of tissues - every car has a box of tissues on the dashboard (a flowery, girly sort of box - most strange - you'd think that if this were a required item for every car, someone would have by now either made a slot for it in the dashboard or have advertising or entertainment printed on the box its-self)
Im driven up and down dusty unmade back streets toward i hope my hotel. Im a little more relieved when we get onto a mettaled road, only to be a little taken aback to arrive at a back enterance to what appears to be an office block?
The Hotel is fine - everything works enough. And in the grand scheme of things why should it work any more than enough. i have a hard double bed with crisp sheets, i have aircon and a ceiling fan, i have a western style loo with 2 rolls of soft loo paper and i have a shower and bath.
And there is wireless internet. before ive even taken my now very dusty shoes off, i hook up and call the family. thank heavens for Skype. Im here for 17 days, and instead of wallowing in my slight pangs of homesickness, i can talk with my wife about holiday plans and blown light bulbs.
I read with interest that this is the oldest hotel in Khartoum - from the 50's - a creation of a chap from the Greek island Kefalonia. I read that "during its reign of five decades" the hotel has seen some "easy times and witnessed also some hard times" particularly when in 1988 a terrorist attack "blew off the main building killing 7 people and injuring several others"
Dinner looks fine. I choose a baked potato, some roasted vegetables and an orange. A gentleman in a turban informs me that the plate im using is for soup - didn't i want soup or some meat? Im sure that all is well here, but ive been ruined by the influence of a colleague whilst in India who would only eat what he knew wouldnt "upset" him. Ive got work to do here and i dont want to be ill, so for the time being if i can peel it of it looks like its been well cooked, thats good enough for me.. though i should really wash my hands a bit more before eating.
Theres a mosquito in my room. i think its only one. and i havent yet been able to splat him with a clap of my hands. I keep my aircon on - its supposed to subdue them - but im starting to get a bit chilly myself. ive got my mosquito replent on, though i think its starting to etch away the plastic of my laptop where my hands rest to type.
I had to do a 3 hour course on personal safety before coming out on this "mission" - it was only the basic course so only covered things like kidnap, rape, child soldiers, AIDS etc - ill get onto the advanced course for the next mission. It did however cover suggestions like choosing a room between 2nd and 5th floor (not so near to the ground that people can easily break in, but not so high that you can escape in the event of... ??) and how to refuse your room if the hotel manager calls out your room number for others to hear. So it was with intrepidation that i lay in my bed next to the french windows with broken lock onto the terrace having been warmly welcomed earlier to "Room 16". Ive got over a grand of dollars stashed around my various suitcases (they dont have ATMs and credit cards here in Sudan, and they dont handle travelers cheques - only hard cash - ive chosen to bring dollars, but euros and sterling would do just as well). What with the threat of terrorism, robbery and that bloody mosquito, it was a miracle that i slept so soundly all night
Ive never had my hand luggage xray'd on entering a country before and i soon come to realise why one of my suitcases has had a large cross chalked on it during its transit - im directed toward a chaotic corner of the airport customs where i have to show the contents to what i presume to be an official. Hes rather more interested in the argumentitive family with what appears to be shredded cabbage in their suitcases. I get a sticker of approval and go outside in search of my driver.
Why is his dashboard covered in a thick woolen carpet underlay type material? is it to stop the dashboard from melting in the sun? not that much sun light comes into this car with its blacked windows all but for the letter box slot that the driver peers through. The roads and traffic remind me of New Delhi - chaotic and dusty, but a little less noisy (hooters are for drawing attention here, not for confirming that the driver is alive). At every junction a police man patrols to check presumably car tax stickers, and young men walk up and down in the hope of selling a box or two of tissues - every car has a box of tissues on the dashboard (a flowery, girly sort of box - most strange - you'd think that if this were a required item for every car, someone would have by now either made a slot for it in the dashboard or have advertising or entertainment printed on the box its-self)
Im driven up and down dusty unmade back streets toward i hope my hotel. Im a little more relieved when we get onto a mettaled road, only to be a little taken aback to arrive at a back enterance to what appears to be an office block?
The Hotel is fine - everything works enough. And in the grand scheme of things why should it work any more than enough. i have a hard double bed with crisp sheets, i have aircon and a ceiling fan, i have a western style loo with 2 rolls of soft loo paper and i have a shower and bath.
And there is wireless internet. before ive even taken my now very dusty shoes off, i hook up and call the family. thank heavens for Skype. Im here for 17 days, and instead of wallowing in my slight pangs of homesickness, i can talk with my wife about holiday plans and blown light bulbs.
I read with interest that this is the oldest hotel in Khartoum - from the 50's - a creation of a chap from the Greek island Kefalonia. I read that "during its reign of five decades" the hotel has seen some "easy times and witnessed also some hard times" particularly when in 1988 a terrorist attack "blew off the main building killing 7 people and injuring several others"
Dinner looks fine. I choose a baked potato, some roasted vegetables and an orange. A gentleman in a turban informs me that the plate im using is for soup - didn't i want soup or some meat? Im sure that all is well here, but ive been ruined by the influence of a colleague whilst in India who would only eat what he knew wouldnt "upset" him. Ive got work to do here and i dont want to be ill, so for the time being if i can peel it of it looks like its been well cooked, thats good enough for me.. though i should really wash my hands a bit more before eating.
Theres a mosquito in my room. i think its only one. and i havent yet been able to splat him with a clap of my hands. I keep my aircon on - its supposed to subdue them - but im starting to get a bit chilly myself. ive got my mosquito replent on, though i think its starting to etch away the plastic of my laptop where my hands rest to type.
I had to do a 3 hour course on personal safety before coming out on this "mission" - it was only the basic course so only covered things like kidnap, rape, child soldiers, AIDS etc - ill get onto the advanced course for the next mission. It did however cover suggestions like choosing a room between 2nd and 5th floor (not so near to the ground that people can easily break in, but not so high that you can escape in the event of... ??) and how to refuse your room if the hotel manager calls out your room number for others to hear. So it was with intrepidation that i lay in my bed next to the french windows with broken lock onto the terrace having been warmly welcomed earlier to "Room 16". Ive got over a grand of dollars stashed around my various suitcases (they dont have ATMs and credit cards here in Sudan, and they dont handle travelers cheques - only hard cash - ive chosen to bring dollars, but euros and sterling would do just as well). What with the threat of terrorism, robbery and that bloody mosquito, it was a miracle that i slept so soundly all night
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