Part 2 of my Sudan documentary...
I am staying in the capital city of Southern Sudan, Juba. There is no electricity, unless you have a generator, no sewerage, no running water, and no refuse collection. Instead little tanker trucks shuttle busily around town delivering water and emptying cess pits. Different trucks that is! Sadly, rubbish is dumped just out of town, in the bush, anywhere. Litter litters the streests.
This is a simple town, probably covering an area of about 15 or 20 square kilometres. A town at the very beginning of its development. On its eastern side flows a river that has been around forever; the might Nile!
Roads here are simply not meant for cars. Instead they are great as hiking trails and goat paths. Juba has probably less than 15km of tarred road in total. The cars that attempt to navigate these roads are generally brand new government issued gangster tinted Landcruisers. The rest are probably owned by all of the aid agencies in town. Despite the roads, trucks still manage to move good around this country. That is until the rainy season. Four months of rain that turns all dirt into a quagmire. Not even six wheel drive trucks are any use then! And trust me, there are such things!
Accommodation for visitors is an interesting mix of prefabricated rooms or tented camps. Somehow I have found myself in a luxury log cabin, which is basic and clean, and absolutely perfect. It does have two air conditioners which together battle to deal with the heat of the day. Just as well, I spend that time visiting all sorts of corners of this town and meeting the most interesting people.
Yesterday I met a potential Distributor from Uganda. We parked deep in a residential area and then followed a 3 metre wide road between a mixture of tin houses and shops. Goats mewed like kittens, an old woman screamed at an old man, and a radio crackled local tunes. After about 70 metres of interested stares, we turned left into another alley and then quickly right. I found myself in a little grass square bordered on all sides by the backs of tin shacks. Steve headed across the square and entered a dingy looking place. Inside was a ramshackle bar built out of scraps of wood. Scarred and lopsided it provided space for two televisions tuned to different stations. A generator blared, just out of sight, providing the power. A third television rested on a plastic chair, where two brothers wrestled with the dilemmas involved with breaking out of prison for about the sixth time! After meeting all of the patrons, it was down to business.
With business done, it was back to finding the rollercoaster between the potholes while we navigated back to the office.
I like this town. It is simple. People are friendly and peaceful. And there is a fun hill that I get to run on every day, but more of that later!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
My Sudan Holiday
Welcome back to Southern Sudan!
This sign is beautiful - If you cannot read it, it says 'For your own safety, stay on the road' Who would have thought? It only occurred to me much later that this refers to landmines lying undiscovered in the bush!!! The picture next to that one shows some cleared area of landmines. The system is simple really, the red sticks mark possible landmines and uncleared area; the white ones show safe areas. There are no signs that tell you this, you need to know!!
Here are just a heap of photographs from a trip we made to a town called Yei. It was an education in bruised bones due to the road condition!
This sign is beautiful - If you cannot read it, it says 'For your own safety, stay on the road' Who would have thought? It only occurred to me much later that this refers to landmines lying undiscovered in the bush!!! The picture next to that one shows some cleared area of landmines. The system is simple really, the red sticks mark possible landmines and uncleared area; the white ones show safe areas. There are no signs that tell you this, you need to know!!
Here are just a heap of photographs from a trip we made to a town called Yei. It was an education in bruised bones due to the road condition!
Typical roadside ornaments!
One evening presented a little bit of lightning and no rain. I have no doubt that nobody is looking forward to the rainy season which is about to begin. Rain = lots of water = mud = chaos...
and here are the flowers outside my hut. In the mid day heat, they open, and then close for the 'cooler' parts of the day. Are they mad??
A Holiday in Sudan
I have travelled to some interesting countries in Africa, but these last two weeks are worthy of some more detailed descriptions. I have divided up this post so as not to bore you to death!
When I think of Sudan, I think of Darfur and their humanitarian crisis. Millions of displaced people fleeing blood thirsty rebels fighting battles because fighting is what they do. Perhaps you think of the recent International Court of Justice indictment against President Omar al-Bashir for genocide or hot dusty deserts and searing heat.
My arrival in Southern Sudan was a revelation. Hot, oh yeah, but lush and green instead of windblown sand. Politically the country of Sudan consists of two countries; Northern and Southern Sudan, each with their own governments. In 2011, Southern Sudan will hold a referendum to decide on whether they want to become their own separate country or not. Little doubt that Southern Sudan is here to stay!
Up until 2004, the North and the South had been at war. My simplistic understanding of the war is that the local Sudanese were tired of their Arab Muslim masters and sent them packing to the north. The real Sudanese are easy to spot as they are tall, with pronounced cheekbones and an almost ebony complexion. Many proudly display their tribal markings on their foreheads, which are essentially patterned scars. Southern Sudan, though, is a mix of many cultures including Ugandan’s, Eritrean’s, and Ethiopian’s. And then of course there are the countless aid workers from the fabled West!
In stark contrast to my experience in Nigeria, where the white man represented the rape and pillage of their society, here the white man, and woman, is associated with aid and understanding. It is a society still recovering from many years of war, so it is simple and scarred. Yet people seem to be genuinely pleased to be free and developing on their own.
There are very few brick and mortar buildings in the capital city, Juba, and a building taller than a single story is a rare sight indeed. The more cynical point them out as residences of government ministers! Traditional housing consisting of a stick frame coated with clay and mud, and finished with a thatched roof. They can be found intermingled with tin roof structures. Sadly the misconception that the iron box is progress just does not work for me...
There is zero industry within the entire country. Everything that can be found here has been imported, another by product of war! The company that imported me for almost two weeks is one of the first companies in the country to manufacture a product!
More tomorrow with some pictures (I hope)...
When I think of Sudan, I think of Darfur and their humanitarian crisis. Millions of displaced people fleeing blood thirsty rebels fighting battles because fighting is what they do. Perhaps you think of the recent International Court of Justice indictment against President Omar al-Bashir for genocide or hot dusty deserts and searing heat.
My arrival in Southern Sudan was a revelation. Hot, oh yeah, but lush and green instead of windblown sand. Politically the country of Sudan consists of two countries; Northern and Southern Sudan, each with their own governments. In 2011, Southern Sudan will hold a referendum to decide on whether they want to become their own separate country or not. Little doubt that Southern Sudan is here to stay!
Up until 2004, the North and the South had been at war. My simplistic understanding of the war is that the local Sudanese were tired of their Arab Muslim masters and sent them packing to the north. The real Sudanese are easy to spot as they are tall, with pronounced cheekbones and an almost ebony complexion. Many proudly display their tribal markings on their foreheads, which are essentially patterned scars. Southern Sudan, though, is a mix of many cultures including Ugandan’s, Eritrean’s, and Ethiopian’s. And then of course there are the countless aid workers from the fabled West!
In stark contrast to my experience in Nigeria, where the white man represented the rape and pillage of their society, here the white man, and woman, is associated with aid and understanding. It is a society still recovering from many years of war, so it is simple and scarred. Yet people seem to be genuinely pleased to be free and developing on their own.
There are very few brick and mortar buildings in the capital city, Juba, and a building taller than a single story is a rare sight indeed. The more cynical point them out as residences of government ministers! Traditional housing consisting of a stick frame coated with clay and mud, and finished with a thatched roof. They can be found intermingled with tin roof structures. Sadly the misconception that the iron box is progress just does not work for me...
There is zero industry within the entire country. Everything that can be found here has been imported, another by product of war! The company that imported me for almost two weeks is one of the first companies in the country to manufacture a product!
More tomorrow with some pictures (I hope)...
Friday, June 12, 2009
Synchronicity
There are few days when everything in life merges perfectly and result in a synchronous experience!
I know that these written snippets of my life often harp on about surfing and skating. They are of course, important forms of exercise, relaxation, and surges of unfiltered adrenaline, for me! So please bear with me once again...
Any sportsman or passionate enthusiast out there will know that sometimes in life, it all just comes together. For a surfer, it means the right offshore wind or no wind at all, the right swell direction, and the right swell size that combine to create smooth or glassy waves. Add to that some bright sunshine and you have perfect conditions. The only lacking factor is a surfer equipped with the right attitude and a little skill!
My surfing life has never known all of that to come together and yet last weekend it did resulting in a surreal and magical afternoon surf. For more than two hours, four buddies swapped waves and hoots of laughter as we played and played and played. This was the session of my life!
Thinking about it all, I realised that my good old wooden half pipe, yes the one that still scares me to death, has given me skills and confidence that I once could only dream about. Funny how I can be scared and yet still regard it as my best friend! Actually I think I am falling in love with that wooden wave in my garden!
Strange how sometimes everything in life is just aligned and one operates in this state of flow. Unfortunately I cannot control all of the factors in life, but I can bring my attitude and the talents that I have been blessed with to the party. I sincerely believe that with the right attitude, one can do absolutely anything. Without it, you are doomed to fail no matter the talents, the income, or the fun!
I know that these written snippets of my life often harp on about surfing and skating. They are of course, important forms of exercise, relaxation, and surges of unfiltered adrenaline, for me! So please bear with me once again...
Any sportsman or passionate enthusiast out there will know that sometimes in life, it all just comes together. For a surfer, it means the right offshore wind or no wind at all, the right swell direction, and the right swell size that combine to create smooth or glassy waves. Add to that some bright sunshine and you have perfect conditions. The only lacking factor is a surfer equipped with the right attitude and a little skill!
My surfing life has never known all of that to come together and yet last weekend it did resulting in a surreal and magical afternoon surf. For more than two hours, four buddies swapped waves and hoots of laughter as we played and played and played. This was the session of my life!
Thinking about it all, I realised that my good old wooden half pipe, yes the one that still scares me to death, has given me skills and confidence that I once could only dream about. Funny how I can be scared and yet still regard it as my best friend! Actually I think I am falling in love with that wooden wave in my garden!
Strange how sometimes everything in life is just aligned and one operates in this state of flow. Unfortunately I cannot control all of the factors in life, but I can bring my attitude and the talents that I have been blessed with to the party. I sincerely believe that with the right attitude, one can do absolutely anything. Without it, you are doomed to fail no matter the talents, the income, or the fun!
Friday, June 5, 2009
Boys, Balls, Babies, Birth
I have to share this story – all names omitted to protect the innocent, and they really are innocent!
One of my son’s friends came over to play for the afternoon. My wife happened to be nearby and overheard their conversation, which was more than a little interesting. Babies it would seem have a way of getting everyone to talk about them even thought they are not yet present!
This kid asked my son if he knew how babies are born. My son replied of course, although he is quite sure that they are mainly cut out ala a discussion with his mother about his brother’s birth. This child then said to my son, “Do you know that you have to be married to have a baby?’ Again my son replied, ‘of course!’ He then added, ‘it’s because the men have the balls!’ Fair enough!
At this point, this child turns to my wife and asks, ‘so what do the balls taste like?’
Oh Boy!
One of my son’s friends came over to play for the afternoon. My wife happened to be nearby and overheard their conversation, which was more than a little interesting. Babies it would seem have a way of getting everyone to talk about them even thought they are not yet present!
This kid asked my son if he knew how babies are born. My son replied of course, although he is quite sure that they are mainly cut out ala a discussion with his mother about his brother’s birth. This child then said to my son, “Do you know that you have to be married to have a baby?’ Again my son replied, ‘of course!’ He then added, ‘it’s because the men have the balls!’ Fair enough!
At this point, this child turns to my wife and asks, ‘so what do the balls taste like?’
Oh Boy!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Today saw me back at the top of the halfpipe with my skateboard, but this time armed with my camera, and fully in control. Don’t be distracted by my skinny legs and well worn running shoes, rather share my fear!
Luke has been able to drop in for ages. His problem is that he reaches the other side with speed and little idea of what to do with it. The last couple of weeks have seen him trying to harness all of that speed into a big turn, but with little success.
Yesterday he tried until his session ended with a thump as he landed on his head. It turned out that he had hurt his wrist as he tried to stop his fall. After a few moments spent moaning on his back, he tried again. And landed on the same wrist, retiring hurt. I did pause for the briefest of moments to consider the injury potential of this insane ramp, but those moments passed! He did of course require a bandage for his wrist, but I think that was mainly for his school appearance!
With my camera poised for a beautiful shot through my legs, I was most surprised to see Luke charging up to the ramp with board and pads in hand. The bandage had disappeared and in its place was a proper wrist guard. This boy was ready for action! It was a hard session to watch as he crashed spectacularly five or six times. Each time required a little more time for recovery, until I was sure it was the fatherly thing to do to step in and get him off the ramp. He of course knew better and wanted to try once more.
He dragged himself to the top of the ramp and then readied himself. A moment passed before he threw himself off the edge, accelerating down his side of the ramp, riding the flat section and starting up the far side in the blink of an eye. I almost closed my eyes as he went into the top turn but was surprised to see him make it and ride it out shakily on two wheels. He jumped off his board, mid ramp, punching the air with a smile that said, ‘I am the man!’ Then he picked up his board and did it a couple more times to make sure.
Just like that his success had brought about the potential for learning two critical life lessons. We had a great chat about his injuries, the pain, and his complete lack of tears. He suddenly saw that he had managed to rise above his pain and reach much further toward what he really wanted. A remarkable breakthrough for a sensitive eight year old! We also talked about how long it had taken him to get this one move right. He reckoned about 20 weeks, although it was more like six! The point was that he persevered until he got it right, as not everything in life is so easy it can be done right first time. Now that he has seen how it is possible to conquer his fear and pain, he should be able to tap into this mind set again and again!
His dad on the other hand is a whole different story. He is still wallowing in his own fears. But the time will come when he will have to face that fear and take the plunge. And I will be on hand to report on every aspect of that adventure!
Luke has been able to drop in for ages. His problem is that he reaches the other side with speed and little idea of what to do with it. The last couple of weeks have seen him trying to harness all of that speed into a big turn, but with little success.
Yesterday he tried until his session ended with a thump as he landed on his head. It turned out that he had hurt his wrist as he tried to stop his fall. After a few moments spent moaning on his back, he tried again. And landed on the same wrist, retiring hurt. I did pause for the briefest of moments to consider the injury potential of this insane ramp, but those moments passed! He did of course require a bandage for his wrist, but I think that was mainly for his school appearance!
With my camera poised for a beautiful shot through my legs, I was most surprised to see Luke charging up to the ramp with board and pads in hand. The bandage had disappeared and in its place was a proper wrist guard. This boy was ready for action! It was a hard session to watch as he crashed spectacularly five or six times. Each time required a little more time for recovery, until I was sure it was the fatherly thing to do to step in and get him off the ramp. He of course knew better and wanted to try once more.
He dragged himself to the top of the ramp and then readied himself. A moment passed before he threw himself off the edge, accelerating down his side of the ramp, riding the flat section and starting up the far side in the blink of an eye. I almost closed my eyes as he went into the top turn but was surprised to see him make it and ride it out shakily on two wheels. He jumped off his board, mid ramp, punching the air with a smile that said, ‘I am the man!’ Then he picked up his board and did it a couple more times to make sure.
Just like that his success had brought about the potential for learning two critical life lessons. We had a great chat about his injuries, the pain, and his complete lack of tears. He suddenly saw that he had managed to rise above his pain and reach much further toward what he really wanted. A remarkable breakthrough for a sensitive eight year old! We also talked about how long it had taken him to get this one move right. He reckoned about 20 weeks, although it was more like six! The point was that he persevered until he got it right, as not everything in life is so easy it can be done right first time. Now that he has seen how it is possible to conquer his fear and pain, he should be able to tap into this mind set again and again!
His dad on the other hand is a whole different story. He is still wallowing in his own fears. But the time will come when he will have to face that fear and take the plunge. And I will be on hand to report on every aspect of that adventure!
Fear
The smell of fresh pine is still strong even though it has been well layered with wood preserver and epoxy. I can’t smell those chemicals but I can smell the neighbour’s dog. I can almost feel the gritty surface of my skateboard through my shoe. I move my foot, tiny movements to the left and right, desperate to find the perfect position. So tuned are my senses that I hear my shoe rasping over the grit, the sound amplified by unseen speakers. My garden stretches away in front of me in various hues of iridescent green and lies drenched after days of rain. Some distance ahead of me the mighty Helderberg’s majestic bulk imposes its presence. Behind me somewhere is the sea, but I would not be able to see it even if I did dare to look around. I wonder if the neighbours are watching me standing at the top of my halfpipe. Absolutely paralysed with fear! Their windows reflect the setting sun, leaving my imagination to run wild with possibility.
The back of my skateboard rests comfortably on the metal rail which marks the top of the halfpipe. I can feel the back wheels resting firmly on the deck. I know that they are ready to slide, to harness the power of gravity and drop me senseless to the hard deck miles below. Theoretically I have to do everything in my power to prevent them from doing just that. Somehow I have to tame them, make them work for me, to harness their power and fly. Instead the front of my skateboard protrudes resolutely above the ramp like some plank that needs to be walked. If I let my imagination run far enough, I know I will see the sharks milling around in the waters below me, waiting to feast on my warm beating heart.
I am frozen. Not with cold but fear! The ramp stretches down below me, endlessly. With conviction I remind myself that I have made this drop four times before. I know that while the statement might be true, the results were far from successful. The last drop resulted in a twisted ankle and wrist. Yet here I am, madly standing on the edge of this precipice attempting to do it again. My mind leaps back past those injuries to the other time I attempted to drop into a halfpipe. My toes curl inside my shoe as I remember how I tore all of the ligaments in my one foot. If I get this wrong again, that same foot is going to need some serious medical attention.
In the back of my mind, I know that this is not something I am going to do once and then be satisfied that I have achieved. Instead I want to be able to do it fearlessly with ease! There seems to be a solid yet invisible wall between where I am and the point where I can begin to move again. Perhaps I am not ready? Perhaps I need to continue practising my drop in on my specially created gadget at a much lower level? Perhaps I will never be ready? Can I accept the consequences of getting this wrong again? Are the odds stacked too high in the favour of my fear?
I shake my head, pick up my skateboard, and slide down the ramp on my butt. The fear has me tightly bound in her clutches. I feel empty and beaten. I look back at the top of the ramp and wonder how something so small could terrify me so deeply?
The back of my skateboard rests comfortably on the metal rail which marks the top of the halfpipe. I can feel the back wheels resting firmly on the deck. I know that they are ready to slide, to harness the power of gravity and drop me senseless to the hard deck miles below. Theoretically I have to do everything in my power to prevent them from doing just that. Somehow I have to tame them, make them work for me, to harness their power and fly. Instead the front of my skateboard protrudes resolutely above the ramp like some plank that needs to be walked. If I let my imagination run far enough, I know I will see the sharks milling around in the waters below me, waiting to feast on my warm beating heart.
I am frozen. Not with cold but fear! The ramp stretches down below me, endlessly. With conviction I remind myself that I have made this drop four times before. I know that while the statement might be true, the results were far from successful. The last drop resulted in a twisted ankle and wrist. Yet here I am, madly standing on the edge of this precipice attempting to do it again. My mind leaps back past those injuries to the other time I attempted to drop into a halfpipe. My toes curl inside my shoe as I remember how I tore all of the ligaments in my one foot. If I get this wrong again, that same foot is going to need some serious medical attention.
In the back of my mind, I know that this is not something I am going to do once and then be satisfied that I have achieved. Instead I want to be able to do it fearlessly with ease! There seems to be a solid yet invisible wall between where I am and the point where I can begin to move again. Perhaps I am not ready? Perhaps I need to continue practising my drop in on my specially created gadget at a much lower level? Perhaps I will never be ready? Can I accept the consequences of getting this wrong again? Are the odds stacked too high in the favour of my fear?
I shake my head, pick up my skateboard, and slide down the ramp on my butt. The fear has me tightly bound in her clutches. I feel empty and beaten. I look back at the top of the ramp and wonder how something so small could terrify me so deeply?
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