One thing I forgot. On my night off on Friday I went to see Sex and the City at the movie theater in Kampala. A Real Movie Theater. In Kampala.
For two hours, sitting in that theater, eating my popcorn, laughing at the dirty jokes, I totally forgot where I was.
Then I walked out and had to engage in full contact negotiations with the wretched little boda boda drivers which reminded me exactly where I was. Not too often in DC or London I have to cling to the back of an insanely driven dirt bike to get home.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Me and Quennie, we're like this
Wow, the life of luxury is really really busy. Who knew? I'm working way more than I thought I would have to, so very little time to reflect on fun in Uganda.
I am staying in SUCH a stupidly nice place. It is a hotel that was built for the meeting of the Commonwealth Heads of Sates. Which means the Queen stayed here. Oh yeah, I'm that cool, I frequent the same places as her royal highness.
It's on Lake Victoria, outside Kampala. When we arrived, myself and two friends also from the field, we were embarrassing. Seriously. We're all, like "Ohmigod look at the panneling on the floor, ohmigod look at the sinks in the bathroom, ohmiGOD they're giving us complimentary passion fruit juice. Wheeeeeee."
This please has become a major center for meetings in East Africa, so you find yourself cruising past a table of men in really nice suits discussing, say, oil rights for Niger and then bumping in to a peace negotiator for some civil disturbance as you try to avoid seeing the woman you had a fight with in Sierra Leone who is apparently here on a conference for gender based violence in the next conference room. It's that kinda place.
I think I'm glad that I don't live the consultant, fancy, hopping from four star hotel to four star hotel kind of a life though. Because, seriously, when we drove in and saw the infinity pool and the horse back riding stables and the fully equipped gym and the BATH TUB it was heaven. A moment of pure, perfect bliss. I'd hate to lose that, to have this all be a mere stop along the way instead of a really freakin fabulous hotel.
I am staying in SUCH a stupidly nice place. It is a hotel that was built for the meeting of the Commonwealth Heads of Sates. Which means the Queen stayed here. Oh yeah, I'm that cool, I frequent the same places as her royal highness.
It's on Lake Victoria, outside Kampala. When we arrived, myself and two friends also from the field, we were embarrassing. Seriously. We're all, like "Ohmigod look at the panneling on the floor, ohmigod look at the sinks in the bathroom, ohmiGOD they're giving us complimentary passion fruit juice. Wheeeeeee."
This please has become a major center for meetings in East Africa, so you find yourself cruising past a table of men in really nice suits discussing, say, oil rights for Niger and then bumping in to a peace negotiator for some civil disturbance as you try to avoid seeing the woman you had a fight with in Sierra Leone who is apparently here on a conference for gender based violence in the next conference room. It's that kinda place.
I think I'm glad that I don't live the consultant, fancy, hopping from four star hotel to four star hotel kind of a life though. Because, seriously, when we drove in and saw the infinity pool and the horse back riding stables and the fully equipped gym and the BATH TUB it was heaven. A moment of pure, perfect bliss. I'd hate to lose that, to have this all be a mere stop along the way instead of a really freakin fabulous hotel.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Movin on up
Today I head out for two weeks in Uganda for various and sundry meetings and such. In a really REALLY nice resort. I mean, I have to share a room with a colleague but still... treadmills... swimming pools.... verandas! Vaguely colonial British Raj lifestyle and hot showers! Buffets people!
I've been dreading it but now, I'm a little jazzed.
Anyway, I started this posting with the intention of saying 'Oh, well, ya know, I'll be in developed Africa for a bit, so don't expect any posts, blah blah blah' however, upon reflection, y'all only ever get one side of aid world from me, the field-based, mud covered, sickly side. There is another side, the consultant, UN, six figure salary, having a conference on world poverty in a $400 a night hotel side. This isn't quite that, but it is similar.
So expect dispatches from the dark side coming your way soon.
Did I mention the satellite tv and air con? Oh baby!
I've been dreading it but now, I'm a little jazzed.
Anyway, I started this posting with the intention of saying 'Oh, well, ya know, I'll be in developed Africa for a bit, so don't expect any posts, blah blah blah' however, upon reflection, y'all only ever get one side of aid world from me, the field-based, mud covered, sickly side. There is another side, the consultant, UN, six figure salary, having a conference on world poverty in a $400 a night hotel side. This isn't quite that, but it is similar.
So expect dispatches from the dark side coming your way soon.
Did I mention the satellite tv and air con? Oh baby!
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Shoulda been a mercenary... and a boy
I've been meeting some different types of people this weekend, due to a constellation of coincidences I spent most of the weekend not hanging out with other UN and NGO types but, instead, with the private sector and military/mercenary crowd.
Which means a couple of things:
1) I have been mildly assaulted more times in the past 48 hours than in the past 5 years combined. Seriously, these security guys can NOT handle their liquor and get confused and start thinking that the word "Hello" is girl code for "Please lurch at me with your huge, over muscled 6"4' frame and try to kiss me, all while pouring your rum and coke on my feet.
2) I have heard more stories that involve phrases like "When I was in Mogadishu in '95..." or "Hey, Al, do you remember that firefight out of Kandahar? No, not that one, the one with the thing that... yeah, that one."
3) Kabila's old helicopter pilot bought me a few rounds of drinks because he liked my jewelry (the beaded forever 21 necklace from New Years two years ago and the cuff from Truworths, in case anyone was wondering).
Kabila, by the way, for those who don't know, was the leader/man with the guns of The Democratic Republic of Congo (I'm talking about Kabila the elder, who was killed, not Kabila the younger). This guy, a white kenyan, somehow became his personal heli pilot and, after around beer 15 or 16, has some very interesting stories to tell about the kind of fear that can greet a huge white Kenyan dude landing in the middle of the jungle with a commander in the back.
I have to say, other than the constant pawing, it is nice to hang out with the non-NGO people occasionally. There are a lot more off color jokes, a lot more mildly uncomfortable stories and a lot more smoking, but, at the same time, there isn't all the work talk and they just seem to have a much better perspective on why they are here.
Which is to make money.
Which means a couple of things:
1) I have been mildly assaulted more times in the past 48 hours than in the past 5 years combined. Seriously, these security guys can NOT handle their liquor and get confused and start thinking that the word "Hello" is girl code for "Please lurch at me with your huge, over muscled 6"4' frame and try to kiss me, all while pouring your rum and coke on my feet.
2) I have heard more stories that involve phrases like "When I was in Mogadishu in '95..." or "Hey, Al, do you remember that firefight out of Kandahar? No, not that one, the one with the thing that... yeah, that one."
3) Kabila's old helicopter pilot bought me a few rounds of drinks because he liked my jewelry (the beaded forever 21 necklace from New Years two years ago and the cuff from Truworths, in case anyone was wondering).
Kabila, by the way, for those who don't know, was the leader/man with the guns of The Democratic Republic of Congo (I'm talking about Kabila the elder, who was killed, not Kabila the younger). This guy, a white kenyan, somehow became his personal heli pilot and, after around beer 15 or 16, has some very interesting stories to tell about the kind of fear that can greet a huge white Kenyan dude landing in the middle of the jungle with a commander in the back.
I have to say, other than the constant pawing, it is nice to hang out with the non-NGO people occasionally. There are a lot more off color jokes, a lot more mildly uncomfortable stories and a lot more smoking, but, at the same time, there isn't all the work talk and they just seem to have a much better perspective on why they are here.
Which is to make money.
Yes most honorable and exalted commander sir
I was sitting out the other night at a friend's tented camp, having a drink and relaxing at the end of the week under the glow of the kerosene lamps (this friend's tented camp has no power) which made it hard to see the others who were scattered around the platform.
Suddenly, this large Sudanese man in a suit turns to me and stares me down with a, it must be said, pretty aggressive glare. "I am Commander Deng" he tells me, "But you can call me the Honorable Deng."
Of course.
Honorable Commander Deng, I come to find out, was one of the senior rebel commanders during the war. Honorable Commander Deng is now an extremely powerful man in the South Sudanese assembly, being the head of the law and security committee, the chair of the SPLM caucus and generally just a man not be trifled with. Honorable Commander Deng feels that of ALL the horrors of the war, the killings, the looting, the displacement, the subjugation, the most awful thing, the thing that is really going to kill South Sudan, you know what it is? Women and girls no longer ask permission before they go out. Men are no longer able to control the movements of their women-folk quite as much as they did.
Now, obviously, Honorable Commander Deng could have me arrested, beaten, deported or killed pretty much with a twitch of his little finger so, uncharacteristically, I kept my mouth shut.
But I always find coming across these old rebel guys interesting. They are almost never good and noble men, as you would hope. They are usually arrogant, misogynistic, violent assholes (please excuse my language) who spent too long living in the jungle with a gun.
Suddenly, this large Sudanese man in a suit turns to me and stares me down with a, it must be said, pretty aggressive glare. "I am Commander Deng" he tells me, "But you can call me the Honorable Deng."
Of course.
Honorable Commander Deng, I come to find out, was one of the senior rebel commanders during the war. Honorable Commander Deng is now an extremely powerful man in the South Sudanese assembly, being the head of the law and security committee, the chair of the SPLM caucus and generally just a man not be trifled with. Honorable Commander Deng feels that of ALL the horrors of the war, the killings, the looting, the displacement, the subjugation, the most awful thing, the thing that is really going to kill South Sudan, you know what it is? Women and girls no longer ask permission before they go out. Men are no longer able to control the movements of their women-folk quite as much as they did.
Now, obviously, Honorable Commander Deng could have me arrested, beaten, deported or killed pretty much with a twitch of his little finger so, uncharacteristically, I kept my mouth shut.
But I always find coming across these old rebel guys interesting. They are almost never good and noble men, as you would hope. They are usually arrogant, misogynistic, violent assholes (please excuse my language) who spent too long living in the jungle with a gun.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Breathless Wonder
I was suffused with SUCH goodwill for South Sudan this morning. I was driving out to the airstrip from the office in Yei and from the minute I left the compound, everything was just so damned picturesque.
Right outside the gate, there was a long tallllllllll man with his little one year old son perched on the back of the bike, hanging on to the frame like a monkey and staring at everything going past with huge, serious eyes.
Women were walking in to market with their wraps, tied like colored frat party togas over one shoulder and baskets full of greens on their heads.
Three men walked past me, pushing cycles loaded down with logs which looked like they weighed around 1,000 pounds each as they sank further and further in to the mud.
A truck ahead of me was loaded down with bags of sorghum and, perched on top, five children sat clapping and singing songs at passersby. One of them was wearing a huge, yellow fur cossacks hat with ear flaps that covered his whole head and was clearly his prize possession.
Soldiers, their guns dangling off their toes by their straps, sat on the top a truck's cab, staring at me with, for once, friendliness instead of some sort of lecherous suspicion.
AND it was bright blue sky sunny.
AND there was a light cool breeze coming through the window.
AND Dolly Parton was on the radio.
There are just moments where it works, you know? And all of a sudden I forget how much I hate all the nonsense and the fighting and the bugs and the swollen eyes and how much I love being in a different country on a pretty day.
Right outside the gate, there was a long tallllllllll man with his little one year old son perched on the back of the bike, hanging on to the frame like a monkey and staring at everything going past with huge, serious eyes.
Women were walking in to market with their wraps, tied like colored frat party togas over one shoulder and baskets full of greens on their heads.
Three men walked past me, pushing cycles loaded down with logs which looked like they weighed around 1,000 pounds each as they sank further and further in to the mud.
A truck ahead of me was loaded down with bags of sorghum and, perched on top, five children sat clapping and singing songs at passersby. One of them was wearing a huge, yellow fur cossacks hat with ear flaps that covered his whole head and was clearly his prize possession.
Soldiers, their guns dangling off their toes by their straps, sat on the top a truck's cab, staring at me with, for once, friendliness instead of some sort of lecherous suspicion.
AND it was bright blue sky sunny.
AND there was a light cool breeze coming through the window.
AND Dolly Parton was on the radio.
There are just moments where it works, you know? And all of a sudden I forget how much I hate all the nonsense and the fighting and the bugs and the swollen eyes and how much I love being in a different country on a pretty day.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Total tart for a guy with a strong position on peacekeeping
I have the biggest crush on Alex de Waal. Have done for years. The few times I've met him, I've been reduced to a quivering mess of jelly who can't coherently get out a sentence.
Most of you are wondering who Alex de Waal is, I know. He's a humanitarian theorist and pundit who has written on any number of things, food aid, HIV and Darfur being what he's best known for. But he's just so passionate and smart and....
Yeah, I get a bit overwhelmed.
Anyway, he has an excellent op-ed on the BBC right now that basically says what I always was screaming about when I was in Darfur. This isn't a genocide, it is a horrible, messy awful war where there are no good guys anymore and everyone is culpable. Further, there is no WAY a military solution will ever lead to lasting peace, it will just lead to more fragmentation of the rebels groups and more isolation of Khartoum as they fear a forced regime change by Western countries.
Only he says it much better.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/7411087.stm
Sigh.... SUCH a big crush.
Most of you are wondering who Alex de Waal is, I know. He's a humanitarian theorist and pundit who has written on any number of things, food aid, HIV and Darfur being what he's best known for. But he's just so passionate and smart and....
Yeah, I get a bit overwhelmed.
Anyway, he has an excellent op-ed on the BBC right now that basically says what I always was screaming about when I was in Darfur. This isn't a genocide, it is a horrible, messy awful war where there are no good guys anymore and everyone is culpable. Further, there is no WAY a military solution will ever lead to lasting peace, it will just lead to more fragmentation of the rebels groups and more isolation of Khartoum as they fear a forced regime change by Western countries.
Only he says it much better.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/7411087.stm
Sigh.... SUCH a big crush.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Mixed messages
I got home from beers last night and was just settling in to bed when I heard a single gun shot behind our house. Now, those who remember the Darfur blog remember when I (arrogantly) laid out what gun fire to be worried about and what gunfire was "o.k". Single shots are definitely worrying.
It turns out that a man was beating his wife and her family intervened and someone was killed. It isn't clear who it was, if it was the husband or a family member, but the family's intervention in to this man's beating led to someone dying.
Earlier, oddly, I had been talking with my staff about this very subject. I was wondering if people will intervene when they hear a woman being beaten. The general consensus was that, while a certain amount of wife abuse is considered right and proper for a man, if he is really wailing on her, the community will intervene, even going so far as to beat the door down to rescue the woman.
Now, that is pretty remarkable, don't you think? I can't imagine a situation in the States where someone would break down the door of someone else's house to rescue a woman who was being smacked around. Maybe, maybe they'd call the police to report a domestic disturbance, but, more likely, they would turn up the volume on American Idol, shake their heads about the trash living next door and give a sympathetic/pitying/censuring look to the woman when they saw her walking out with a black eye the next day.
God knows there are so so many things wrong with gender relations here. Women are subservient and women are expected to act as their husbands chattel, for sure. But there is something about the communal idea of protection, that a woman's family would come and defend her to the point of death that I find... heartening.
It turns out that a man was beating his wife and her family intervened and someone was killed. It isn't clear who it was, if it was the husband or a family member, but the family's intervention in to this man's beating led to someone dying.
Earlier, oddly, I had been talking with my staff about this very subject. I was wondering if people will intervene when they hear a woman being beaten. The general consensus was that, while a certain amount of wife abuse is considered right and proper for a man, if he is really wailing on her, the community will intervene, even going so far as to beat the door down to rescue the woman.
Now, that is pretty remarkable, don't you think? I can't imagine a situation in the States where someone would break down the door of someone else's house to rescue a woman who was being smacked around. Maybe, maybe they'd call the police to report a domestic disturbance, but, more likely, they would turn up the volume on American Idol, shake their heads about the trash living next door and give a sympathetic/pitying/censuring look to the woman when they saw her walking out with a black eye the next day.
God knows there are so so many things wrong with gender relations here. Women are subservient and women are expected to act as their husbands chattel, for sure. But there is something about the communal idea of protection, that a woman's family would come and defend her to the point of death that I find... heartening.
Monday, June 2, 2008
The end of the era of icky face - inshallah
I woke up this morning to find my face had gone down to almost no swelling (and, better yet, almost no pain!) and eye is half open. Yay for steroids!
Now just working on the eyelid, which has cracked from the swelling, and trying to get the rest of the swelling in my face down.
Drama for the day completed!
Here's the new and improved me:
Now just working on the eyelid, which has cracked from the swelling, and trying to get the rest of the swelling in my face down.
Drama for the day completed!
Here's the new and improved me:
Sunday, June 1, 2008
One of those East Coast papers anyway
I was wrong, not the article isn't in the New York Times, it is in the Washington Post. The link is:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/05/29/AR2008052903983.html
Face has gotten much worse, the thinking seems to be now that it is some sort of strange edema and so I am going on high dose steroids. Which apparently will make me fat and hairy. Which is SUPER exciting.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/05/29/AR2008052903983.html
Face has gotten much worse, the thinking seems to be now that it is some sort of strange edema and so I am going on high dose steroids. Which apparently will make me fat and hairy. Which is SUPER exciting.
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