I found out today that i'm not the only one who cant bring himself to delete the contact details of deceased friends and family from his mobile phone.
It seems to me to be a little bit too..... "Final", to simply erase an old friend from memory - and perhaps this is the problem - perhaps I have personalised the word "memory" and consider my phone now as an extension of my very being. I have no doubt that these past friends will stay with me for ever in my head, so why does it feel so wrong to delete them from my phone?
And the realisation that other people might have the same anxieties, made me think - perhaps in this digital age we need a 'digital resting place' where we could go with our mobile phones to transfer the 'memory' of a deceased friend with a little more respect and dignity than simply clicking 'delete'
Thursday, 13 November 2008
Monday, 3 November 2008
I love Paris in the Springtime,
I love Paris in the Fall.... etc etc but man, its a pain in the neck to get out of during the rush hour on a cold, wet Thursday evening. As I sat at the drivers wheel of my car staring at the miles of red brake lights ahead of me, I had a lot of time to think.
Why on earth had we come into to Paris for the day? We're we mad?
I love Paris. We had walked from the Louvre to the Arc de Triomphe, through the Tuileries and along the Champs-Élysées. We visited the Centre Pompidou and of course we shopped. All fabulous real-world physical expereinces - there is no substitute for "being there"..... or is there?
A quick search on the internet suggests that maybe we are not so far away from being able to experience foriegn travel without the hassle of rush hour traffic jams.
There are hundreds of websites that claim to provide a "virtual tour" of paris - certainly some do provide great photos of the scenary and interesting snippets of history - http://www.virtourist.com/europe/paris/
want some sounds too? http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=yDVIem1k-YU
why I can even do my own walk through paris with google streets -
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&ie=UTF8&ll=37.09024,-95.712891&spn=47.167389,92.8125&z=4&om=1&layer=c&utm_campaign=en&utm_source=en-ha-na-us-google-svn&utm_medium=ha
How about if i want try some of that lovely French wine? Well it looks like i can have an online wine tasting with http://www.tastoria.co.uk/node/1
But what about the smell of being there? http://www.rru.com/webodor/
Ah but surely you cant experience that miserable feeling of the rain online can you? Well it might not quite be rain yet, but the idea is getting closer - http://www.margaretdmcgee.com/_real_hands__real_water__57839.htm
So perhaps, we're not so far away from being able to enjoy the experiences of foriegn travel without the traffic jams...... without the travel..... without the foriegn???
Why on earth had we come into to Paris for the day? We're we mad?
I love Paris. We had walked from the Louvre to the Arc de Triomphe, through the Tuileries and along the Champs-Élysées. We visited the Centre Pompidou and of course we shopped. All fabulous real-world physical expereinces - there is no substitute for "being there"..... or is there?
A quick search on the internet suggests that maybe we are not so far away from being able to experience foriegn travel without the hassle of rush hour traffic jams.
There are hundreds of websites that claim to provide a "virtual tour" of paris - certainly some do provide great photos of the scenary and interesting snippets of history - http://www.virtourist.com/europe/paris/
want some sounds too? http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=yDVIem1k-YU
why I can even do my own walk through paris with google streets -
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&ie=UTF8&ll=37.09024,-95.712891&spn=47.167389,92.8125&z=4&om=1&layer=c&utm_campaign=en&utm_source=en-ha-na-us-google-svn&utm_medium=ha
How about if i want try some of that lovely French wine? Well it looks like i can have an online wine tasting with http://www.tastoria.co.uk/node/1
But what about the smell of being there? http://www.rru.com/webodor/
Ah but surely you cant experience that miserable feeling of the rain online can you? Well it might not quite be rain yet, but the idea is getting closer - http://www.margaretdmcgee.com/_real_hands__real_water__57839.htm
So perhaps, we're not so far away from being able to enjoy the experiences of foriegn travel without the traffic jams...... without the travel..... without the foriegn???
Sunday, 27 July 2008
Deferment of judgement
My eldest daughter is starting to look at university courses, and this weekend was the beginning of the university open days for prospective students.
We went on Saturday to look at a course and the university that she liked the look of. It did look fabulous.
On Sunday we planned to go and see another course and university, but after having seen something quite exciting on the previous day, she was reluctant to go and see something that she assumed wouldnt be as interesting.
I had to drag her to see this other university, and the viewing was a useful opportunity to build her understanding of what makes a good course for her.
I thought this was an interesting example of how a positive judgement (she really liked the first course she saw on saturday) closed down her motivation to search for more options.
If she had been disappointed with her first viewing would she simply carried on viewing courses until she found one she liked? - again an example of judging each option as it presented itself.
What ive been trying to help her do is to keep an open mind for a couple of weeks until she has seen a whole bunch of courses and universities - then, and only then will she be in a position to have a broad view on which to make her decisions
Judgement - positively or negatively - it will constrict your ability to make considered decisions
We went on Saturday to look at a course and the university that she liked the look of. It did look fabulous.
On Sunday we planned to go and see another course and university, but after having seen something quite exciting on the previous day, she was reluctant to go and see something that she assumed wouldnt be as interesting.
I had to drag her to see this other university, and the viewing was a useful opportunity to build her understanding of what makes a good course for her.
I thought this was an interesting example of how a positive judgement (she really liked the first course she saw on saturday) closed down her motivation to search for more options.
If she had been disappointed with her first viewing would she simply carried on viewing courses until she found one she liked? - again an example of judging each option as it presented itself.
What ive been trying to help her do is to keep an open mind for a couple of weeks until she has seen a whole bunch of courses and universities - then, and only then will she be in a position to have a broad view on which to make her decisions
Judgement - positively or negatively - it will constrict your ability to make considered decisions
Friday, 18 April 2008
The Sudan - 37
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?
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?
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.
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