There is Hope

This is the third time I’m writing this… Third! It’s not even that interesting; it’s one of those general mumblings but the last two times I wrote this there was a power cut. So I’m writing in Word now... and not appreciating the green and red squiggly lines hindering my grammatical creativity. Ok pointing out my bad spelling.

I met up with the Canadian UN Envoy who I don’t think is in the UN or an Envoy (I think he works an adviser to the UN in issues of disarmament) but I can confirm he is Canadian. He introduced me to two of his workmates. They talked shop a lot. Masses of information on rebel groups, NGOs, tribes, weapons, militant forces and motives all wafted above my head. I listened and tried to keep up but really had nothing to add to the conversation except when it targeted down to topics like Britney’s hair or toilets.

I learnt a lot. I found out that one of the biggest and most powerful NGOs is the NRA (national rifle association, in NGO speak there is a hell of a lot of TLA – three letter acronyms) The NRA have a rep on the UN and they are one of the first NGOs to move into volatile areas and work for peoples God given rights to carry arms. It’s all such a big mess.

After asking if there was any good news, I got a few lovely stories of hope beautifully told by a man from Uruguay whose job it is to find something to do with all the soldiers left over from the Sudanese civil war (so they don’t form militant groups).

I think I managed to catch most of the story. He said that there were two warring tribes in the south of Sudan, the Dinka and the Nuir. The women from both sides, sick of their men dieing, got together and agreed to withhold sex until there was peace between them. They even got the prostitutes to strike. The men started talking to each other realising they had a common problem, and held a meeting, an agreement was reached and the fighting stopped. How’s that for conflict resolution.

The guys have given me some good advice on leaving Sudan. I had planned to cross at the safest land border which is Ethiopia, they suggest not doing that because the Ethiopian/Kenyan border is too dodgy. So I’m going to head directly south to Uganda. It means stopping at Juba the capital of South Sudan where there are so many NGOs working there that the house prices have been pushed higher than London. It’s unlikely to find a place to stay for under 80usd per night. I’m going to have to make a friend in Juba before I leave Khartoum.

I have started a myspace page (www.myspace.com/youngcrone... you properly could have guessed that one) I had hopped to use the instant message function to talk to Missy. I’m a bit of a novice at this and I think I’d have to download it first… not so easy in a third world internet café (that should be an oxymoron). I have wasted hours with failed attempts to make my page look good (I’ve settled with plain) I placed photos and quotes, and even made a wee slideshow. I now log into 4 different websites when I sit down at a screen.

So through myspace I have been able to catch up with people I haven’t seen for ages and people who exist in a world that I left. It kind of feels like a step back into Scotland, and kind of like a step backwards. I can see myself deserting it the way I did with my Gmail account. It’s a retreat into an insular world of my memory. It’s escapism. In a strange was it’s also bought back a wee part of the negative stuff too.

Remember when I left Scotland I spoke of a heartbreak and then didn’t mention it again. Well just because I haven’t mentioned it doesn’t mean it’s healed. The myspace step backwards has made me realise that maintaining email contact (no matter how funny or warm or reassuring or witty or delightful) keeps me trapped in a continuous cycle of emotions. As long as I stay in touch while I still care I’ll be nagged with pain and distrust and doubt. So after getting this perspective from my tarot cards I have decided to stop contact. Yesterday I wrote an email in the past tense. It’s taken me 30 years to get my heart broken and 6 months to get to grips with it. But I think I’ve got there finally.

Salami, Shuffle and Strappy heels.

I'm healthy again. I'm not going to enter the Olympics but I can walk, I'm getting over the flu and the random collection of insect bites and stings are slowly fading back into normal looking skin. Awesome.

Also loads of great things have happened. I was just choosing to ignore them before and focus on the crap. Sorry bout that.

Anna's husband James arrived a few days ago, he's here for two weeks. Francis (Anna's son who was visiting last month) loaded him down with salami, pepperami, pepperoni, good chocolates and other luxuries that just can't be bought here. So it could be seen that James (a vicar) became a mule for smuggling pork products into an Islamic state just so we can enjoy really great sandwiches. Brilliant.

Francis also added a wee gift just for me. A really small gift... a tiny (about 2x3cm) hot pink, Ipod shuffle mp3 player. ohmygosh. an IPOD SHUFFLE! what did I do to deserve this? So I have it currently hooked up to Rinee's computer to charge up. I found on her computer a music folder titled "big fat funky mix" from Angus, the same guy who gave me the phrase "sweating like a chimp in a gimp suit". (Actually Francis also gave me the phrase "sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop". there is a lot of opportunities to have sweating smileys here.) So soon I'll be smoking my shisha listening to a big fat funky mix on my brand new ipod shuffle. Wicked.

On Saturday I was hanging out a Rinee's place making masquerade ball masks for a US/UK embassy staff ball she had managed to get tickets to. Then Rosa (who was accompanying Rinee) called to say that she wasn't going and that if I wanted her (100 usd) ticket I was welcome to it. Hell yes! Fantastic.

There was a little bit of a maria-from-the-sound-of-music moment was a beautiful teal curtain was transformed into a sari and a gift bag into a mask. With a small cosmetic shop of make up and a kilo or so of jewelery everything was perfect. Rinee looked stunning in a sliver outfit she had bought over from England. The ball was fantastic. It was like we were not in Sudan. there was alcohol and high heels (my flip-flops were mostly hidden under my sari). wine, dancing, food, people with very long job titles... and the the question lingering in my mind... when these people packed to live in Sudan at what point did they decided to throw in a Venetian mask, a tuxedo or a pair of strappy heels? and what kind of baggage allowance do these people have?

Chatted to loads of NGO and Embassy workers. I have a coffee date on Tuesday with a Canadian UN envoy who is currently in Dafur. I'll keep you posted.

Still Complaining

My health hasn't improved that much, I now have the flu to join everything else. I have a tiny bee sting under one toe. I have a ant bite on my butt. The mosquitoes have increased. The blisters on my pink bits are taking their sweet time to heal (as long as I'm sitting I'm ok but walking brings tears to my eyes, literally) and despite sending out loads of valentines over the past few years, this year I got none (admittedly I sent none too)... yes I'm wading through a deep murky swamp of self pity and I know it.

So I thought I'd give you a different perspective. Some of the other volunteers write blogs and journals. Here are three:

Brad and Emily a lovely couple who arrived last month (Hi, by the way, to Emily's sister Kat). They also have a blog spot but theirs has more (and better) photos and video footage...yay. You get to see one of the market/bus stations. they also write more regularly : http://zigawatt.blogspot.com/

Rosa blogs sporadically like me, she has also been here since November and we often hang out together. She is having a party at her house tonight : http://rosas-place.blogspot.com/

And Kasia is a new volunteer, she's a Polish American (who denys the American bit but who wouldn't) and she writes for an online Christian journal : www.liveasif.org/view.cgi?type=w&list=20060911002 . No, she has not come here to convert anyone, and yes I did ask her.

So three totally different perspectives of similar experiences.

Too much information

I have searched for a soft, sensitive, socially acceptable way of expressing my minor medical issue, but at the moment I seem only able to find slang.

I had a few, erm, warts turn up where the sun don't shine. I went to a doctor and got rid of them the Sudanese way: they were burnt off my family jewels with what appeared to be a primitive version of a soldering iron. My steak curtains look like a pub ashtray and I'm walking like a cowboy. I'm sure there is a politer way of saying that, just can't find it right now.

I had an occurrence of witch spots on my cabbage leaves about 4 years ago when I first got to Scotland. I simply hauled myself down to the GUM clinic. a doctor zapped me with some sort of chemical gave me a prescription for ointment and that was that. done. finished. sorted. over.

Here, well things are a bit different in Sudan. I spent 3 weeks in and out of pharmacies that tried to import podophyclic solution to take to a doctor (you know, I would have attempted burning them off myself) . no luck. then resigned myself to seeing a doctor I spent 2 weeks trying to get paid from the newspaper, they finally paid me 2 weeks wages (they still owe me 2 more). Some days you need the patience of mother Theresa, the tolerance of Martin Luther King Jr, the persistence of Gandhi and the resolve of Hercules... pity I'm none of those.

(don't read the next paragraph if you are squeamish... that means you mum)

Long story short: It was simple operation (I was quite happy). The Dr prepared local anaesthetic (I was slightly concerned). He bought out an electronic contraption circa 70s from a cupboard of dirt, assorted medicine, paper, cutlery, dust, plastic flowers and grime (I was sweating like a chimp in a gimp suit) . The frayed wires attached to a long heated metal skewer. I asked him to mind the piercing (electric equipment here is not earthed). It took 30 minutes. I had 9 small injections of local. Nevertheless it hurt like a hot poker a in an axe wound, Vile smell (a smell I had smelt once before, in my parents garage, after my brother had used a blow torch to remove the hair from a pig he had shot). Crackling sound. And finally, now, burnt flesh on the bog roll. Nuff said.

This could have been a horrific ordeal, but it wasn't. the doctor may have given me permanent physical scars, but he was personable. He was nice. He spoke to me like a human, and not a breathing corpse. And that made all the difference. It's only been 2 days, all's healing well, though I'm not going camel riding any time soon.

I have worked in the world of STIs and believe that they are often spread through silence, denial and embarrassment. Yet for the past couple of months that I have been dealing with this I have remained quiet. It is only now that I sit on the charred blistered remains of my quim that I feel comfortable about it. Despite the fact I'm slightly maimed and in a bit of pain, now that I'm cured it's a story not a problem. Everything is better in retrospect.

Sudan For Dummies

Not much is going on. Anna's son Francis has gone back to the UK after his two week holiday... and now there is a void of hot tea at the flat without his constant supply of the stuff. Before he left he bought me a little shisha of my own, it's lovely, I smoke rose, apple, mint and peach flavoured tobacco. For Francis' birthday I made him a blog site and put up a pile of pictures of his visit (I still have a few more to go up) it's http://www.franinsudan.blogspot.com/ .

Anna's husband will be arriving in a couple of weeks. Anna really is getting a lot of visitors for someone living in the third world. Popular lass.

So I've been here for a while so I thought it was about time to tell you about Sudan. Partly my impressions, partly what I have read from guidebooks and partly the opinions of others that I shall present as my own to make myself look more worldly.

Ancient Sudanese history seems to be dominated by the Nubia who predate the Egyptian Pharaohs. Things got intertwined a lot and sovereignty bounced around a bit over the centuries between the Kush and independent christian kingdoms. Some people build some pyramids. I never said that I was going to give you a accurate or detailed account did I.

In the 14th Century the Turkish rulers came down from Egypt and established Islam.

In the 19th Century the Brits got their foot in the door and re-introduced Christianity. This annoyed the locals who by this time were quite happy with the Turkish ways and with Islam. In 1881 the Mahdists expressed this annoyance by leading a revolution and killing the British appointed Governor General Gordon. Lord Kitchener then defeated the Mahdists and made Sudan a British colony (1898) Throughout all this was the Slave trade, one of Sudan's most formative industries.

I think was during this time of British rule that the lines were drawn that define the boundaries of Sudan. These lines were not drawn by changes in cultures, people, religion nor geography. They are decisions made by non-Africans that determined where one country ends and another begins.

By the time the British left in 1956 the civil war between the North and South had already started. Western media (and christian aid groups) love to over simplify this as being Arab Muslims vs Black Christians. Complexities of economic, social, political, tribal, ethnic and religious forces all play their part.

Sudan is about 70% Sunni Muslim, 5% Christian and 25% traditional religions. It's only about 40% Arab and has 19 ethnic groups. I have met people with black skin, flat noses and curly hair who call themselves Arab. I have met people with pointy noses fair skin and wavy hair who call themselves black African. I have also met families that have a huge, mixed up variety of features in the same family. Sudan is incredibly diverse and totally mixed. It is known as the Africa inside of Africa.

Sudan is Huge, really massive, almost the size of western Europe. I have been told it is the largest county in Africa, though looking at a map, Algeria and Congo can't be that far off. The top bit is a great big sandpit and the bottom bit is tropical. It's flat as a pancake and broken by the Nile that joins in Khartoum. Sudan has 9 neighbours, and seems to have had (or is having) disputes with all of them.

The civil war ended, and Sudan was pretty relaxed and liberal. Then it started again in 1983 when the government introduced Sharia law. That's Muslim law. Two years ago the civil war ended again, and things have been pretty Ok. Of course the whole Darfur thing has kicked off. but that's another story... when I can get my head around it a bit more.

The best thing about Sudan is the people. And I know I really sound like a patronising imperialist wanker when I say that, but it's true. The people have a resilience, genuineness, openness and generosity that I have never before encountered. It's not to say that the slowness, disorganisation and lower standards of expectation isn't frustrating sometimes. It's just that the people out weigh it.

So them's the basics.