This is Sudan

Hello again all. I have returned to Khartoum after visiting Nyala and the surrounding areas in Darfur . It has been only a few days, but much has happened. Not all information would be suitable for posting, nor is my ability to communicate by medium of written word strong enough for such. I so desire your prayers, so here it goes…

Tony and I flew in to Nyala from Khartoum on a commercial flight (as the AU was not able to coordinate such) on the morning of July 3rd.

Let me back up a bit…To get to this point takes some doing. Once in the country you are not allowed to travel unrestricted as you can in the US . One must obtain permission from the Sudanese Humanitarian Affairs Commission (or HAC) to enter in to Darfur (that we received this permission is a reason to praise God). Written authorization to leave for Darfur is checked at the airport twice (especially if you do not look Sudanese…wink). Being here you find that the pace is different than in the US . Everything seems to move slower. Part of this is culture, part of this is technology. An example: In Sudan people love to come together and take tea with sugar (two tsp at least). Sitting at tea is when people get to talking about whatever is important to them. The real talking does not come out until the tea and sugar does. It is the catharsis of the country. It is also the means of connection. I have found that Sudan is very much a small town. Somebody knows somebody, who knows somebody, who will be happy to help you. No bribery; just friendship because of tea with sugar. This is either true, or God has really been blessing with the proper people (or both). Tea and sugar take time. Talking takes time. Relations with people take time. This is how it is. I want to send an e-mail and see a response. I can send the e-mail, but I had better follow it up with a person to talk it out face to face anyway. It is not uncommon to see a man driving a beat-up donkey cart, hauling a satellite dish, while he talks on his cell phone. This is Sudan …glimpses of present-day technology at the speed of the donkey cart.

Back to the airport in Khartoum : the airport culturally very different. All baggage goes through an x-ray machine on the way in to the ticketing, but no person is checked. To get to the ticketing counter, which are not marked as to which airline, you push and nudge and jostle your way to the front. There is no real line, just a sweaty huddle of people and luggage, and boxes with twine, and tires, and plastic tables, etc. It really helps to be tall and have long arms. I am not, but James, who works with Safe Harbor is basketball-warrior sized. There was some trouble at the counter with wanting a special security stamp, but God worked it out (Praise Him). Once the luggage is checked you go through a metal detector. The only difference being that everyone of the people in front of me and I set off the detector, and we are just frisked afterwards, which is done with everyone anyway. The gate lounge area not unlike most airports, with the exception that the power went out four or five times while waiting for the flight. You get used to it. Tony helps me with more basic Arabic while we wait. I am excited that we are going. We take a very crowded bus to the plane and board. Candy is served immediately. The Sudanese have a major sweet tooth. We are offered lunch, a newspaper, juice, water, and when lunch is finished, of course, tea and sugar. All of this on an economy 90 minute flight. It was pleasant.

As we flew over the land we crossed was arid with very little vegetation, but as we approached Darfur things became much greener and standing water was visible in some places. We were met by a Captain of the AU at the airport, who transported us to the AU base in Nyala. We found that no accommodation had been arranged for us, as had been requested and planned, so we made our plans with the Sector Commander for the remainder of our days, called in the flights and accommodation for the remaining base transfers, and left to set up at the nearby Safe Harbor house in Nyala.

The layout of the compound was great. Furnishing was very sparse. A few chairs and a few old metal-framed spring beds that reminded me of what you would see as a hospital bed in an old black and white war movie, and the blessing of ceiling fans, which really help to keep the mosquitoes off at night. The kitchen was in a separate building. The compound walls had barbed wire (common among the homes in Darfur ) and the metal outer and inner doors are padlocked at night. Though I snored through all of it, Joel, who keeps the house, said that gunshots went off through the night. He also stated that it is part of the culture here. He is Darfurian. Joel said that the locals shoot in the air for weddings, funerals, joy, sorrow, to get someone’s attention, and to communicate a warning. You do not know if they are shooting at a person unless the fire is returned from another direction. This area is much more fundamental Islam. People are killed for trying to convert a Muslim. It is also an area where the locals find liquor, though it is outlawed within the country. The colors of the area are beautiful if you stop a moment. The compound has rich butter yellow plaster walls with azure blue metal doors and window shutters with wire arcs in a cross shape that make up the security bars. The windows have no glass, just wire screens. These colors contrast well with the decaying baked red clay brick wall of the adjoining neighbors and the deep green of the trees. Off to bed at 10:30 pm.

The next day, July 4th we joined the AU for a patrol to pick up the Civic Police Commander from the airport and escort him to the IDP (Internally Displaced People) camp of Al Sharif, which is about twelve miles to the South-West of Nyala. The trip over is like a National Geographic special. Dirt roads through a village of brick buildings ( Sudan is made of bricks, concrete, and plaster. God save them if there is ever an earthquake here. Even the five-story buildings in Khartoum are made without supporting steel beams. Yikes!), round huts with red brick or mud bases and conical grass roofs, areas of garbage, mud, thatched fences, goats, donkeys, and people going about business in robes, long dresses and head scarves, or pants and shirts. After passing through town there were several miles of open land on which several people were scratching at the ground by donkey-powered plow. The freshly turned soil looks promising. In the distance you could see the IDP camp. These are not small places. Thousands of shelters of some form exist, one right next to the other. The poverty is obvious. The concept of having to live in this way for years brings sorrow, the thought of raising one’s children in this; that they grow up believing that this is the way of life is heartbreaking. We are instructed to remain close to the AU personnel and with them and the CivPol Commander enter a tent prepared for a special meeting. The camp leaders – elders, the local police, and the AU gather for this meeting. The opening speaker talks of civil rights. He speaks of concepts seeming universal to us: right to work, to life, to speak, to assemble… When he is finished the group applauds and they ask for questions. One very old man stands up and states that he came to this IDP camp with nothing but the clothes on his back, and that he depends upon the mercy of NGOs (non-government organizations like World Vision, Samaritan’s Purse, or The International Red Cross, there are about 16 NGOs in this area) for his every need. He has no idea when he will be able to return home. He then asks what rights he has. The tent goes silent as some of the other IDPs smile that this old man got away with asking the un-askable question that was on their mind. My head is reeling and my heart is breaking. This man has the same rights as described; we all do. Only for him, he is situationally unable to access these, so he feels that they do not exist. Hopelessness has begun to set in. A belief that an inhumane situation not only has disallowed access to rights, but has taken those rights away such that they no longer exist for him. Heart breaking. The rest of the meeting was just talk for me. I was still hearing this old man, a leader for his portion of the camp. What became clear was that security was next in line to food, clean water, shelter, and sanitation. Without security the camps become chaos; without security no one returns home. As I spent time talking to people the issue of security became clearer. I will have to put more of that down later.

After spending a moment taking pictures of the kids swarming around me (wanting to see themselves in my digital camera, just like every other kid) we left with the AU, and talked one on one with some of the soldiers. The one on one time with the men revealed a need for ministry as well. As with any soldier time away from home is difficult, and we heard the stories of family and friends suffering in some way at home, and how they longed to be there. We also heard of the financial issues. The men told us of how the AU is very behind in paying the AMIS (African Mission In Sudan) personnel. The men who had been there long enough had just received the salary that was due in February. Those that have been there since February have not received pay yet. Because the AU is an assembly force made up of many countries in Africa , some home countries will pay a portion of the salary due to the soldier’s family so they can try to meet their obligations, but other countries do not have such a policy. We saw or heard from several men who had boots that were torn or worn out, but with no means to get another pair. This peacekeeping force is under manned, under supplied, under paid, and has a smile, a warm handshake, and a greeting for everyone on base. God, bless them please.

We left the AU after sharing dinner in the mess hall and went home to the SHIR compound, and to sleep by 10:30 pm.

Todd