Here's the thing...

As anyone close to me can tell you that I am not a morning person. This is nothing interesting. There are a lot of people who aren't morning people. But, when I say that I am not a morning person I mean that I cannot function in the morning. I cannot speak coherently. I cannot pretend that I am in a good mood. I cannot pretend that I like my job, the world, or you. The people I love the most just leave me alone. They don't speak to me; they suppress their own chipperness; they might hand me a cup of coffee. I love those people. Anyway, this morning was a good example of the extent to which I am not a morning person. It was about 5am. The mullahs were mullah-ing the morning prayers. I hear a crash. I can't tell if it's downstairs or upstairs. Eyes still closed I think foggy thoughts about what it could be. Something falling off a table, the guard slamming the garage door, etc. And then I get that feeling. If you're lucky you've never had that feeling. The feeling

The sun is sinking into another perfect sunset here on the edge of everywhere. And I am waiting, pacing up and down the office because all of the boys are not back from the field. I am pacing because I cannot lock up the office and go home myself until they have returned. I am pacing because I cannot shake that leftover feeling from Darfur that when people are late then something is wrong. It's crazy, I know. There's no war here. There's not going to be a problem. The cement delivery was just late. That's all. But still...I am pacing.

I have a favourite word in every language in which I have lived for any significant period of time. I might not know the rest of the language but there is always one word that sticks with me. In French, it is: malheureusement (meaning, unfortunately). Unfortunately, I used it so much in my French essays in secondary school my teacher said I could only use it once per essay. Too bad. It took up nearly an entire line, of the two-page requirement, when written in script. In Russian, it is: ksazhelyenyu (also unfortunately). Don't worry, it's not a trend. In Arabic, it is: malesh (meaning, 'I'm sorry' or 'too bad'). In Chinese, it is: xie xie (meaning, 'thank you'...primarily because I never got very far in those Mandarin lessons, but also because I like the szh...sound. It's fun. I'm easily entertained). In English, it is: taradiddle (meaning, 'pretentious nonsense'). The problem is I never did find a good Indonesian word. Our Logisti

The doughnut men are elusive creatures. At about 6am they hit the streets; honking (tooting...whatever!) old bicycle horns and generally making their presence known. They are usually small-ish, wiry men who carry two heavy glass cases filled with doughnuts on either side of a pole that sits on their shoulder. They speed walk up and down the streets hawking their wares. At about 6am, if I am in bed, I loathe the doughnut men. I hear go up our street, down the side street, and then make their rounds on the street opposite. I'm convinced they are in league with the mosques to disturb my sleep. (The first lone Mullah begins his prayer call at 4:30. He goes on for about half an hour until joined by all the other Mullahs who don't end until 5:30) Half hour of blissful peace and quiet and then the doughnut men are out. But this morning, as I follow my mother's management advice (1. guilt; 2. bribery; 3. blackmail; 4. extortion; 5. begging), I reach point 2: bribery and so I need d

Ok, so I find 'those' types of people annoying. You know: 'them'. The ones who spend most of their blog time/space putting up photos of their children, or their neighbour's children. Or their brother's children. Well, let me reassure you that I am not becoming one of 'those' people. However, check out this picture of my nephew, Caden Jack. My brother disavows knowledge of how he got into this outfit and the picture got taken. Then again, maybe it's a slippery slope. Maybe my nephew is going to find himself, inexplicably, in cute outfits for the rest of his life. Maybe this blog is going to become nothing but adorable pictures. Let's hope not. For all our sakes.

Well, sorta wrote..mostly. Until our media department edited it. But you get the idea. On relief web: http://www.reliefweb.int/rw/RWB.NSF/db900SID/SSHN-79YHRX?OpenDocument

Meulaboh sits at sea level and gets, approximately, 10 feet of rain a year. As you can imagine drainage is an important and fairly tricky issue here. Even with drainage ditches the whole city frequently floods with knee-deep murky water in which lurk alligators, monitor lizards, and a miscellany of other moving creatures. (You might not believe me but just this morning our livelihood team was shown a 15 foot python that the community had caught in the recent flooding.) It's not the sort of place where you want to mistakenly drive into a ditch. But we do. All the time. Many of the roads here are built so narrowly that it is impossible for two cars to pass without one of them ending up in one of the 3 foot deep ditches that line every road. In many places you cannot make a right or left turn without making, at least, a two point turn. We got a call at about midnight on Friday that yet another staff person had been driving home and the left front wheel was now spinning freely in a dit

As the Christmas season descends on us so comes one of the best traditions of all time – the White Elephant Gift Exchange. I love these exchanges because, in a way, it mocks everything that consumerism has, well, consumed of the goodness of Christmas. White Elephant gifts are everything that Christmas presents aren’t ‘supposed’ to be: impractical, ugly, and cheap. But in the gift exchange the important thing is the game, the giving, the interaction that friends have while cajoling, arguing, and negotiating their way into possession of a magenta, crystal candilabre that they would normally cross the street to avoid. It’s great fun. It is because of this that I took great delight in finding the White Elephant Gift Haven. That might not be that ‘actual’ name of the store but it should be. I don’t know the name of the store but if you ever find yourself in Meulaboh, Indonesia go down Natsional until the road splits in a round-a-bout. Go left and it’s about the third store on your right ne

My long-time readers will remember my 'brief and frightening reign' in Nyala. [see deluxe wall calendar at left]. Well, good news! The Brief and Frightening Reign Part Duex is on the way. Now, new readers might be wondering what this 'brief and frightening reign' business is all about. Let me explain. No, no, it is too much. Let me sum up. Whenever I get left alone in charge of all other departments with no other authority or support it qualifies as the above-stated reign. Since I'm going to be here by myself over Christmas and New Year the second era of the reign will begin. While I was dubbed Queen of Nyala for the first reign I will be called Czarina of Meulaboh for the second. In honour of this our livelihood advisor just sent me the following Get Fuzzy cartoon. Or, you can see it here a bit better.

I just got some grave news in which I know that you will share my interest and concern. I have just been told that our cleaners AND our cooks will be in training all week. Meaning that we have to clean up after ourselves AND cook our own food. I seriously don't know if I can make it. You think I'm kidding but I'm not. I don't know how to work the washing machine. I haven't made my bed in months...nay, years. And don't even get me started about the cooking. What to do? What to do?

But, neither am I a good person which is why I'll carry on writing this blog. Now, just like anyone who doesn't have kids can tell you how to parent. I can tell you how to sing. No, I take that back. I can't tell you how to sing but I can tell you when someone can't sing. It's more like recognizing one of your own. And there are some people out there who can simply not sing....in key, hasten to add. They seem to do just fine in getting a hold of the microphone and belting it out but they miss the key part. I'm a little bitter because I just got home from a Sunday School Christmas concert here. There were kids. They were cute. They were singing - and sometimes even in key. But, it also went on for a very, very long time. When we arrived half an hour late, to a room roughly the temperature of an industrial oven, they still hadn't begun and that should have been an indication that this was going to last for awhile. Looking through the program it appeared that t

What do latrines and Christmas have in common? Oh, nothing. Except that for Christmas this year I'm going to be building them. Yep, that's right. Me and a bunch of construction guys will be staying in Indonesia over Christmas and New Year to build latrines and houses. I've tried to make all the other programme people feel guilty for leaving by saying helpful things like, 'how can you celebrate Christmas with your families knowing that children have been without latrines for three years!?' But, it's pretty much to no avail. (I needn't mention how hard their hearts must be!) So, over Christmas you can think of me, rattling around in a big, empty, echoey house singing 'Here Comes Santa Claus' at the top of my lungs. I also have a full box of candy canes to enjoy. Who could ask for anything more? (I hesitate to mention that I will be accumulating holiday like it's going out of style and that I will then have a total of 20 days of vacation to spend in

Sudan blocking UN Mission to Darfur. How shocking! Especially given how cooperative they've been in the past... http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7116284.stm

The thing that I like most about field work is that it is a lot like life. You never know how it is going to turn out. It might end in tears. You might start your day over a good cup of coffee and end it in a swamp. You never can tell. I got up Saturday morning not really anxious to go out to the field. It was Saturday, after all. I’m trying to confine work to Monday through Friday – because I can. But, our livelihoods coordinator said that the fish farming training would only run on Saturday so if I wanted to go I would have to go on Saturday. I persuaded her to go in the afternoon. The drive out to Cot Mejid is a good one. The road running parallel to the coast is new and has recently been paved. If you ignore the tuk-tuks, water buffalo, and suicidal motorcyclists it’s what I would call an enjoyable drive. To your left is nothing but flat swamp still brackish with ocean water – the path of the tsunami. To your right, more swamp and jungle. Everything is green. The jungle is green, t

(In case you need help understanding, "RUN!")

You might, or might not, have heard about the tsunami early warning system that foreign governments have spent millions on in order to prepare countries surrounding the Indian Ocean of potential tsunamis. It's supposed to work like this: very high tech equipment located in the ocean monitors seismic activity which is then relayed to satellites which are monitored and that information is sent very quickly to governments so that they can warn their people. Let me tell you how it works in practice: very high tech equipment located in the ocean monitors seismic activity which is then relayed to satellites which are monitored and that information is beamed directly to CNN and BBC. Some watchful person in the the U.S. or UK sends us a message - today it happened to be my sister - saying that there's a tsunami warning. I look up from my computer and say, 'hey, did you know that there was an earthquake today and that there's a tsunami warning?' Everyone in the office stares

You knew it was coming sooner or later and so here, now, without further ado I present to you: Darfur, the music video ... Not sure how I fell about them using an IDP camp as a backdrop for a music video, but some of the footage is beautiful...

After years of taking doxycycline, slathering on the Deet, and spending time in rooms sprayed continuously with insecticide I'm wondering how bad can malaria and dengue fever be? Which is worse - the mossys or this self-poison?

I'm tired of the news coming out of Sudan these days. It's all shock and amazement at the current goings-on. ("What? The North and the South don't get along?!" or "What? There's fighting in Darfur?!" or "Weren't there peace deals? Wasn't everything peachy?!") No! Things haven't been peachy since the ink was drying on either of the so-called peace agreements with the South (CPA) or in Darfur (DPA). And, so I am going to give you a short treatise on what the future of Sudan will hold in coming years. Ready? There is no peace agreement in Darfur. The peace agreement with the south is all but dead. It never really was all that alive and it was always more of a cease-fire than a 'comprehensive peace agreement' anyway. Both the North and the South have used the period of the CPA to fortify their positions rather than actually work toward a future peace. The north has done this by bringing in Chinese weapons and soldiers by the

This is me getting shot...yes, I know that you're not supposed to wave the weapon about wildly like this but I was running away and in pain: Gun-toting hooligans: Darren examines nasty flesh wound I inflicted at close range...entirely, on accident, of course:

And by "weekend" I mean TWO days!!

I would like to preface this post by saying that I abhor violence. I hate the video games in which you kill people. I hate the television shows that involve killing people. I prefer not to watch movies in which people die. Violence is not the answer. Ok, now that we’ve gotten that out of our systems I’ll continue. Violence might not be the answer but sometimes it is good fun. Today is the second day of Idul Fitri, the five day holiday celebrating the end of the Muslim fasting month of Ramadan, and children are given gifts and allowed to run rampant. Now, you might have thought you had seen children “running rampant” before – like when they’re crying and throwing things in restaurants and shops. Let me tell you - you haven’t seen anything. I saw today – no lie – a child of no more than four years smoking. Also, in Meulaboh, it seems that every child, under 12, has been given a bb gun and these children have taken to the streets in packs where they carry out full-on gang warfare against

Logistics, in case you didn’t know, is a crucial part of all relief operations. They’re basically the people who buy stuff, store it, and get it from point A to point B. They also manage properties, deal with comms, travel, etc., etc., ad infinitum. It’s not the stuff of action movies but important, nonetheless. Without it project managers would have nothing to build with, wells wouldn’t get dug, nor would latrines, we wouldn’t ever get out to the field, and basically the enterprise would come to one massive, grinding, screeching halt. So, when logs is in trouble I’m there for them. Or, at least, I am in theory. That sentimental theory met reality today when my love and devotion to logistics was put to the test by a serious gap in logs staffing. I volunteered to take a sabbatical from communications for a couple of weeks to help logs It was valiant and gallant of me - if I do say so myself…and I do. Afterall, I’ve got a fairly good handle on logistics. It’s not rocket science. You shop

Arriving in Meulaboh was a slightly surreal experience. Like arriving back in a place you know you’ve been but nothing is familiar so it’s like being somewhere you’ve never been before. The thirty minute drive from the airport took 3 ½ hours because of flooding but once we hit tarmacked roads the scenery was totally foreign. The areas near the coast that used to be riddled with the flattened foundations of houses is overgrown with jungle hiding the destruction. The open air markets and restaurants have been replaced with storefronts and buildings. The roads have been tarmacked and driving now doesn’t involved dodging parts of the road that are washed out. The neat, newly painted houses built by NGOs as part of the response line the roads surrounded by gardens and sheds. If you had just been dropped here and knew nothing of the level of destruction this place had sustained you would never be able to guess at it. Personally, I am glad to be here. It is nice to have my belief that aid wor

"And down went Alice after it never once considering how in the world she was to get out again…She fell very slowly for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and wonder what was going to happen next. First, she looked down and tried to make out what she was coming to but it was too dark to see anything…" I came across this portion in Alice in Wonderland and thought that this is exactly what it is like going out on a new aid post. You just ship off one day to work with people you’ve never met in a place you’ve never been. You could be on a team that will be your new bestest-friends-for-life or you could not get along with a single one of them. You might love the place or find you're allergic to the very air. All luck of the draw, I suppose. Now: random musings...first let’s compare and contrast with last posting just for the heck of it, shall we? Differences between working in Indonesia and Darfur: 1) We live in palatial buildings. 2) There are hot show

Darfur attack kills peacekeepers.

The British have a nice tradition of having tea around 4pm every day and this is something that I've decided to adopt since being here. It sort of perks up the afternoon - especially afternoons when it's grey and chucking it down with rain like this one. However, I usually go about making tea without thinking too much whether there is milk in the house. So, when it turns out that there isn't what is one supposed to do? The tea is ready and hot and if I go out in the rain to get milk it will be cold when I return. Am I supposed to just drink the tea without milk? It's slightly bitter and not so nice then. These are the sorts of dilemmas that only one source I know can deal with...the internet. I turn to Google for the answers. Google, not letting me down, tells me that milk in the tea can block the health gains of drinking tea in the first place. Google finds that George Orwell thought that tea should be bitter . And lastly, Google finds that my bloodflow is improved b

“It’s over,” I announced glumly to a friend arriving home late last night. “Kels,” she said sympathetically. “He’s a communist. Don’t let him break your heart.” “He’s a communist. I’m a Republican,” I added, sullen. She shook her head. “It was never meant to be.” And it wasn’t. My love affair with Ken Livingstone is over. But, I have to admit it was beautiful while it lasted. Sure, some would have said that it was doomed from the beginning. He’s the 62-year-old Mayor of London. I am a thirty-something, middle-class American. He made a name for himself by defying Margaret Thatcher at every turn. I happen to think that Ronald Reagan was a fairly decent guy. But, you see…Ken Livingstone made the buses run on time and that’s enough to make any girl weak in the knees. London ’s a pretty decent city. In fact, I think it might be the best city on earth. I mean, I heart New York with the best of them and DC, Chicago, and LA are all pretty darn great in their own regard

I bet the 'How to Survive' books have overlooked these crucial skills! How to survive a robot uprising . Seriously. I actually learned something.

Being a person who likes to be busy...perpetually I was slightly shocked to discover that my new job description is a bit - how-shall-we-say - lacking in this regard. It begins with detailing the main purposes of my job wherein I was surprised to find that I am, apparently: an experienced and highly skilled writer, and then goes on to list my key duties and responsibilities (media, documentation, institutional learning, etc.) with a percentage of time that each will take up listed beside it. However, despite having redone the math a number of times, I couldn't manage to make the percentages add up to 100%. While that was unnerving I began to be excited about all the ways I could fill the rest of my time. Realizing that it was late, I put the thing aside until this morning when I had a crack at it again. Suddenly, I saw where I had gone wrong - having missed an entire section that was 40% of my JD. Malesh for me. I guess my 'laying around on the beaches' and 'reading tra

Well, for those of you who have grown as bored with my comings-and-goings as I have you're in luck! I've gotten a job. Yes, no more waiting a month or more for a new entry the blog will be back up and running as soon as I ship out. Which, looks like it will be in early October. So, what exactly is the scoop? Read on... I'll be going to Meulaboh, Indonesia which is located along the western coast of the Aceh province that was the worst affected by the 2004 tsunami. Map . I'll be the Communication's Officer which means I'll be helping to write up internal documents as well as dealing with the media/local government as the programme closes. It's a six month gig and a welcome change from Darfur. Indonesia is the most populous Muslim country in the world and Aceh is under Shari'a law but the government there is...how-shall-we-say...less pervasive than in Sudan. Also a welcome change. The tsunami response programme I will be working on will be closing after ov

No matter what you think about celebrities new-found interests in charity, you need to watch this: Sarah McLachlan's World on Fire

I have been chastised, a bit, for not posting during my holiday. To me, however, this rings a bit hollow given that I'm a very boring person on holiday and...well, let's be frank, no one wants boring. So, to justify why I haven't kept you updated let me fill you in on the past 69 days. 1) London. Debrief. Psychologist tries to figure out how anger makes me feel...ummm...more angry? 2) Florence. Pool. Wine. Nice! 3) London again. 4) DC. Humid. 5) Cape Cod. Lovely. 6) Missouri. Buy house across the street from my brother. 7) San Diego. Lovely. 8) Couer d'Alene, Idyho. Well, it's Idaho. 9) DC. For a day. 10) Missouri again. US Airways loses my luggage. Discover how completely inept and incompetent an airline can be. Close on house. Rent house. 11) DC. Humid. Seriously, bitterly hot and humid. 12) London. Hope you now feel filled in. More when I do something actually of interest to anyone other than my immediate family.

I sat at the airport in Nyala with a friend under a tree where it was the only place we could find shade to escape the heat of the afternoon sun. There were no other planes but mine leaving so the place was virtually empty. She pushed the dirt with her shoe and I stared off into the bright blue hotless sky that radiated heat. 'Catso died,' she said. I have perfected saying goodbye mostly from doing it so often. I think that goodbyes should be like amputations. Quick, efficient, slicing off the life you're leaving behind with one swift cut. No drawn out waving and crying at the bus, train, boat or airport. I had managed to get out of Nyala with only a few tears from staff and none of my own. 'How?' I asked. Catso was one of my first and most unusual friends in Nyala. An inquisitive, thin tabby cat that had adopted two friends of mine and become a fixture in their compound. Before I knew anyone in Nyala I used to go over to their house after work and sit under their t

My radio call sign is November Zulu Yankee 1. It has been for nearly a year. It is how we know and find each other on the VHF radios. Losing it is something akin to losing part of myself. No one in the ‘real world’ knows me as NZY1. This is just one more reminder that I need to find myself again in the ‘real world’. Remember how to walk and talk – remember what ‘normal’ people talk and laugh about. Remember what it is like to not have to listen always for your call sign on the radio. I have exactly four days left in Darfur . It is harder to leave than I thought it would be. Not because I am not looking forward to leaving, but just because I feel like the work is not finished – like I’m leaving the game at half-time. Hardly anyone ever asks you when you’re leaving if you’ll miss Darfur because no one I know has ever missed this place very much. Just like, if you’re supporting the losing team, no one would ask you if you were saddened by missing the last half of the game. It’s just

Thunder sounds exactly like a low-flying MiG. I’d forgotten that. I’d forgotten about the apocalyptic downpours of the rainy season in Darfur until a rain storm came early last night. I say early because I am insistent that the rainy season is not yet upon us. I am insistent that the rainy season is not yet upon us because I need meningitis vaccinations and a lot of them. Meningitis, because I know you’re interested, comes in different strains. And, unless someone is willing to shell out the big bucks for the vaccine that covers all strains – which we are for aid workers but aren’t for IDPs – then there’s no way to stop an outbreak of the disease without getting it typed. In order to get it typed you need to send it to the Ministry of Health in Khartoum . Now, the MoH maintains that the slower they work the better job they’re doing (not unlike some UN agencies that shall remain nameless) – no matter that we’re talking about life and death issues like outbreaks in IDP camps. In

from: Paul Slovic's, "If I look at the mass, I will never act": Psychic Numbing and Genocide: "Most people are caring and will exert great effort to rescue individual victims whose needy plight comes to their attention. These same good people, however, often become numbly indifferent to the plight of individuals who are “one of the many” in a much greater problem. Why does this occur?...Why, over the past century, have good people repeatedly ignored mass murder and genocide? Every episode of mass murder is unique and raises unique obstacles to intervention. But the repetitiveness of such atrocities, ignored by powerful people and nations, and by the general public, calls for explanations that may reflect some fundamental deficiency in our humanity – a deficiency that, once identified, might possibly be overcome. One fundamental mechanism that may play a role in many, if not all, episodes of mass-murder neglect involves the capacity to experience affect , the positiv

I like to think of myself as a calm and rational human being. I like to think that, while I am easily angered and annoyed by ineptitude and incompetence, I generally have the capacity to smile and pretend things are ok. I have completely lost that capacity. At 9am today, my day began with a sit-in at UNICEF where I situated myself in their guard/waiting room and refused to move until someone met with me and straightened out all the issues that they seem to have a special tendency to perpetuate. Then, when they agreed to let me in I launched into, what can only be described as, a tirade. I began with a calm explanation detailing their uselessness, ineffectiveness, ineptitude; added to that the reasons why I think that it is futile to partner with them; building to a crescendo with my step-by-step plan to persuade every one of their donors in Darfur to withdraw their support; and concluding with my plan for a hunger strike in solidarity with the children that are starving in our field si

I woke up at about 4am this morning in a cold sweat. Headache, fever, nauseous, diarrhea, stomach cramps. I last until about 8am, by which time I feel like dying, and then text a friend who's a nurse and ask her what I should do. She tells me to drink water, mixed with ORS and juice and hope for the best. If I'm not better by the afternoon I should go to the clinic. I hate going to the UNMIS clinic. They diagnosis everything as typhoid. I go back to sleep, or try - it's about 118 degrees (47 C) today. I don't get out of bed until about 5pm and decide to do some self diagnosis on the internet. The problem with the internet is this. If you ever want to freak yourself out try diagnosing a medical problem with it. With my symptoms you could pretty much have everything - typhoid, malaria, food poisoning, ebola. It's not much help. So, I am going back to bed with my disgusting ORS to - at worst - slowly die of ebola or - at best - to lay there and sweat and count the day

There is considerable disadvantage to being in management. Often it means that you aren't doing the hard (and rewarding) technical work of the sectors and interacting with beneficiaries. You just deal with the bureaucracy. The bureaucracy in Darfur is astounding. Take the normal inefficient bureacracy of a developing country. Throw in the antipathy of the GoS. Add several doses of insecurity. And finally, top with the entire bureaucracy of all of the entire UN and their subsidiary agencies. It's a nightmare. I have spent the last two weeks battling someone. Battling UNICEF to get our agreements with them signed. Battling UNICEF to get them to give us soap. Battling the Ministry of Health to get them to build the addition to the hospital they promised. Battling UNICEF to get them to give us food for starving kids. Battling WFP to get them to give some food to the communities so we have less starving kids. Battling our friendly GoS to get them to not shut our programme down becau

I haven't had a good laugh in days so when a friend of mine who is stuck out in the back of beyond managing a medical programme sent this to me today it cracked me up. (You might not find it funny but I laughed out loud) I appreciate that he's thinking sensibly about my future plans: "so are you serious about coming back here with the UN? just in time for you to be a legitimate target for the waves of sui*ide bo$mbers that will flock to this place once the blue helmets arrive? don't you have enough entertaining anecdotes for the cocktail party circuit back in DC already? why don't you do the sensible thing and take a 90k a year development job in DC, marry some latin american diplomat, and make your living telling witty anecdotes with your hand wrapped around a martini glass??? zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. that was one of our six cats walking across my keyboard on his way to destroy something valuable of mine -- it wasn't me suddenly falling asleep. but it probably

However, someday I'm going to be more than 'an aid worker'. http://www.ogleearth.com/2007/04/cant_get_google.html

Over the year that I've been here I've become accustomed to hearing about all sorts of security incidences - hijackings, armed robberies, shooting, lootings - even rape - becomes something commonplace. It takes a lot to get a roomful of humanitarian aid workers to react to something. However, I just returned from our UN security meeting and, at one point there were audible gasps. Here are my notes from one point in the brief: Group of armed men attacked 5 boys (age 10-15) who were looking for grass for donkeys. 1 boy escaped and reported to police at 18.00. When returned 3 boys been killed - cut into pieces, and left at site. 4 th boy had only legs cut off and was evacuated to Mukjar but later died. I was walking out with a friend and she said, 'and to think that you might miss it here.' 'I sometimes wonder if I will,' was all I could say.

Ok, so if you haven't worked in Sudan this will probably mean nothing to you and you shouldn't even bother with the link. However, if you have, this site will crack you up. My sister has put together some merchandise you'll want to run right out and buy. My personal favourites are the 'my other car has already been hijacked' bumper sticker and the I 'heart' HAC thongs. You'll want to check it in upcoming days as there are a couple of other logos going onto the merchandise! http://www.cafepress.com/noclevername Happy shopping!

The subject of my upcoming marriage is of endless fascination to my staff. Never mind that there is no date, there is no location, the proposal is non-existent, as is - possibly the clincher (!!) - the groom. No matter, this doesn’t discourage them. I cannot convince our staff that I am not getting married anytime in the near future. Without fail, at lunch everyday the subject comes up. They will not be dissuaded. They are simply convinced that one of these days I’ll show up at the office married. They talk about whether I will marry a Sudanese, a Brit, an American and the pros and cons of each of those choices. They talk about the ceremony, the food, the venue, the cost. The entire thing has been hashed through down to the smallest detail - how much livestock will be traded, what I will wear, what gifts I should buy for my non-existent in-laws, if I should be a first wife, a second, third, etc. (you're allowed 4 in Sudan). And then, the next day, it is brought up again and so on.

So, I did an interview for an British, political, internet TV show and learned a few things. The first being that seeing yourself on camera is never a fun experience. I sat there watching in disbelief trying to come to grips with the fact that 1) I actually look like that and 2) I actually sound like that . Yes, I should have been concentrating on the substance of the interview and whether the questions were diplomatically answered but find myself, vainly, wondering how I did the whole interview without noticing that my necklace was twisted and why I use so many adverbs. Apparently, though, my friends and family are like-minded. Here are a few comments I've received: from a friend: 'nice hair.' from my sister: 'Very nice. Very non-implicative. You could be on Meet the Press.You should have answered money for the last question. That would have been so awesome.' from another friend: 'Synonyms for 'essentially': approximately, in effect, practically, relat

Last night we had some people around for dinner and were listening to some music when my administrator pipes up and says, 'hey, this song reminds me of you.' 'Really?' I say 'Who sings it? Why does it remind you of me?' 'Well,' she says. 'I could just imagine you saying the chorus. Wait for the chorus - it's the type of thing you'd say.' The song continues. It's 'I can't decide' by the Scissor Sisters. We come to the chorus... I can't decide Whether you should live or die Oh, you'll probably go to heaven Please don't hang your head and cry No wonder why... Oh I could throw you in the lake Or feed you poisoned birthday cake I wont deny I'm gonna miss you when you're gone Oh I could bury you alive But you might crawl out with a knife And kill me when I'm sleeping That's why I can't decide Whether you should live or die Oh, you'll probably go to heaven Please don't hang your head and cr

My boss is not known for his motivational talks. However, he outdid himself yesterday with this little chat: Him: Did you talk to UNICEF about the tents for the extension of the stabilization centre in the hospital like we discussed? Me: No. Him: Well, as long as you know that starving children are suffering due to your incompetence and you're ok with that, and you can sleep at night, then there's no problem. Me: Thanks for that. You should write motivational cards for Hallmark. Him: Thanks.

War is no longer declared, but rather continued. The outrageous has become the everyday. The hero is absent from the battle. the weak are moved into the firing zone. The uniform of the day is patience, the order of merit is the wretched star of hope over the heart. It is awarded when nothing more happens, when the bombardment is silenced, when the enemy has become invisible and the shadow of eternal weapons covers the sky. It is awarded for deserting the flag, for bravery before a friend, for the betrayal of shameful secrets and the disregard of every command Ingeborg Bachmann

Dr. Jill John Kall is one of my best friends here, and a generally amazing woman. She is the medical coordinator for IMC and recently wrote an article about Darfur. Here is a tidbit: "Hope is defined as a feeling that events will turn out for the best. I sometimes wonder if hope will ever return to Darfur. I caught a glimpse of it last year from about February to May 2006. Of course, once the Darfur Peace Agreement was signed, it ironically seemed to signal the end of hope. Since then, the security situation in Darfur has worsened steadily and shows no signs of improving… Since my return to Darfur in early January, the one question on the minds of every NGO and UN agency is “What is our threshold?” At what point do we say enough is enough and pull out?...Today, I visited Al Salaam camp… It was then that I realized why we aid workers stay on: we continue because the conflict continues, we continue because we cannot turn a blind eye to the escalating violence, we continue to g

So, decided yesterday that I need a plan for my life. Well, who are we kidding? I need a plan for the next six months. Mostly, because my boss is going to fly in tomorrow and ask me some hard questions about jobs I want and I would just like to have public accountability that I will not extend again. So, here's the plan (mom, listen up): Finish contract by end of May. Do not extend any more! Do not extend, do not extend...that's my mantra. Go to London and faff around until mid-June. Go to Italy for a week or more with friends. Go back to London and perhaps do more faffing. Go to the U.S. and visit all the people who think I've fallen off the face of the earth. Including, but not limited to: Cape Cod, Missouri, San Diego, Alaska?, Idaho?, DC. Hope that the UN has offered me some brilliant job back in Darfur. Return here in August. I know what they say about the 'best laid plans' but I'm going to attempt to see this one through.

Oh yeah! I was just detained for several hours in the airport in Geneina for absolutely no good reason whatsoever. GoS harrassment? What GoS harrassment? "You will never get out of here!" the GoS guy yelled. "Never! You will live here!" 2 hours later as I walked out I was tempted to go smile and wave goodbye. But, I'm a humanitarian.

My dear friend Kate recently had an excellent question. How does the pit latrine work, exactly? Let me answer that by going through the 3 most frequent questions that I've been asked. 1) How does it work exactly? Wikipedia's pit latrine entry: Tearfund's own publications: And more...with drawings of how to use: 2) Doesn't it...ummm...splatter? Well, yes, and no. After about a week you develop a certain amount more control over bodily functions that you wouldn't normally think twice about. Aim is an especially key skill to hone. You also develop an ability to squat for an extended period of time. So much so, that, after awhile, you begin to think that squating is actually a very comfortable way to spend your time. 3) How do disabled people use it? To be perfectly frank, there are far fewer disabled people in Sudan than you would think. I have seen disabled adults but never disabled children. I think that it's almost impossible for them to survive. The amount of r

Not Waving But Drowning Stevie Smith Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.

(If you haven't noticed I'm enjoying having good internet access for a couple of days. Don't expect such rampant posting to continue...) Reuters - U.S. envoy fears "blood bath" in Darfur http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/N14414854.htm “The U.S. special envoy to Sudan said on Wednesday he feared aid groups could be forced out of Darfur and pro-government Janjaweed militia would try to close camps sheltering millions, resulting in a "blood bath."…"The government has lost control. There is anarchy in large parts of Darfur . The risk is that if the NGOs (nongovernmental organizations) leave, the U.N. humanitarian agencies leave ... there will be no one to care for these people in the camps who can be trusted.”…It has become increasingly difficult for relief workers in Darfur and the U.N. said last week that attacks on aid workers there almost doubled in 2006. In addition to insecurity, government-imposed bureaucracy and travel restrict