Welcome to my world...

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/jun/21/sudan-humanitarian-disaster

Ahahahaha!

Haven't laughed this hard in a long time. Recent warden message from the 'ole USG:

"The Department of State continues to warn against all travel to Sudan, particularly in the Darfur area, where violence between government forces, rebel factions, and various armed militias continues."

You don't say! Seriously? Someone should do something about that...

"American citizens who choose to travel to Sudan despite the existing Travel Warning, and those currently in Sudan, should review their security posture and take appropriate precautions."

Excuse me folks...am going to have to take a few moments to review my 'security posture'.

Regular wild kingdom over here...

errrr...mostly...

Court...Sudan-style

I don't know how many of you have had the opportunity to go to court in Sudan so for those of you who haven't I'm going to paint you a little picture so that you know what you are getting yourself into the next time a Sudanese court date or Sudanese jury duty appears on your calendar.

Oh, whoops, except there's no jury. The court is about a stone's throw from my office, as it turns out and amazingly clean and tidy. Inside the cement compound there are dozens of shifty looking men all standing in clusters around the the dirt courtyard. Our Dinka lawyer (who's about 7'8") swept across the yard and ushered me directly into the court room. It was sparcely decorated but, surprisingly, clean. The judge, a dour Northerner who spoke only in Arabic, sat at a large desk. Facing her was another desk at which the defendant (former employee who embezzled a rather large sum of money from us)and I stood. Our lawyer stood at one end and a police officer sat at the other. On the table was a Bible and a Koran. I got to choose on which I'd like to swear

So, there we were. The judge looked at me and our conversation went a little something like this:

Judge: Statement
Me: Everything. You want me to tell the entire story again? (Lawyer translates).
Judge: No. Name.
Me: Kelsey
Judge: Second name.
Me: Hoppe
Judge: Third name.
Me: Ummmm...Elizabeth?
Judge: No! Father's name.
Lawyer interjects with some argument
Judge: No! Mother's name.

This went on for quite some time until we ascertained my Mother's maiden name is what they were after, how old I was, was I married, where did I live, what religion, etc. All of this was dutifully noted by the judge.

I then gave my statement. The former employee then gave his statement. The judge told him to pay us the money back. He said he would. My lawyer told him that he's going to jail if he hasn't by July 2nd. Another court date was set for the 2nd. And that, was that. It was a remarkably ordered - but not altogether productive. I'm beginning to doubt that we're ever going to see the money but are going to keep seeing the inside of that court room.

Of course, if there is any poetic justice in the world it is this: after we fired the guy he promptly got a job at the World Bank...who never checked his references.

The problem with bleeding hearts...

If this blog has taught us nothing else I believe it is that relief and development is an amusing way to fill one's day, problematic to its crunchy-hard-currency-filled core, and so chock full of contradictions that describing it is like trying to nail jello.

And aid workers, as a group, get painted with the 'saint' brush a little more often than necessary when most of us are paid quite well and find our job difficult but also engaging, important and fulfilling. It's really not very sacrificial when you get right down to it.

This makes it difficult to come up against real need. Real need outside the bounds of the $10 million projects that donors pony up the cash for without blinking. Here in Juba there are a couple of women working with the government to work with some street kids - 45 street kids to be exact - who they have managed to get into school by day and a shifty government building at night. However, they can't feed them. And, by next week, they need $5,400 or the kids will take off to the streets again because they aren't getting fed. Can't say I'd blame them. I don't stay where I'm not fed. They need $27,000 to feed them for the next six months. That's $5 a kid for six months.

Herein lies the ridiculous dilemma, while I could easily get a million or two for a water project somewhere in Jonglei I have no idea how to come up with $33,000 so that these kids can keep eating for six months. And with all the NGOs and donors and UN in this town it really shouldn't be that difficult to get 45 of us 'mercenary' aid workers to give up 10 Sudanese Pounds a day for the next six month but - read previous article on cooks - I expect it will be like getting water from stones. I suspect that, when the rubber meets the road most of us think that we're doing our good by just existing here and shifting other peoples money around. It reminds me of the Indigo Girls song, Money Made You Mean:

So money made you mean and that's not how it's supposed to be.
You're ready to challenge and defend,
yeah, but for all the wrong reasons.

How much do we really need?
a question, if you have to ask
just means what it means-
the question that says everything.

Right and left it's all the same conspiracy
just cause you ask, doesn't make a difference to me.

You could keep it all or give it away
but where did it come from in the first place?
Robbing Peter to pay me, and I'll just be
giving it back to Peter to feel free.

Now you have to fix everything that's broke
cause it'll never leave you alone.
Reinvent the wheel, be the butt of a joke,
take the long road to charity.

Right or left it's all the same conspiracy
robbing Peter to pay Paul
or robbing Peter to pay me.
Robbing Peter to pay Paul
or robbing Peter to pay me.

Yeah it's just too hard, oh well, jump in.
Forget about the sharks and swim,
cause now you're one, now you're one.
You can't deny it anymore.

Right or left it's all the same conspiracy
robbing Peter to pay Paul
or robbing Peter to pay me.
Robbing Peter to pay Paul
or robbing Peter to pay me.

You can't deny it anymore.

A day without cooks...

I don't like to think of humanitarian aid workers as a bunch of soft, spoiled, whinging whiners but, more often than not, I think that just might be what we are. Yesterday was a public holiday and therefore, in accordance with - oh THE LAW - we gave all our national staff the day off. Including the cooks. This doesn't seem to me to be all that big of a deal. We're a bunch of grown ups. Surely we can hunt-and-gather our own food for a day...surely we won't waste away to nothing and be found by the cooks when they return (THE FOLLOWING DAY!) as a heap of corpses in front of the refrigerator our cold dead fingers having to be pried from the door that we were unable to open. Apparently, I was wrong. And I was told so in no uncertain terms in our senior managers meeting for at least half an hour. HALF AN HOUR discussion about whether we should pay the cooks overtime to come in on a public holiday. Seriously, the higher I am in senior management the sillier the discussions become.

And more puppy pictures...

These are the many poses of the puppy sleeping. He has been named: Jasper...pronounced by all the Brits as: Jaspa. And, these are the last of the photos. I swear I'm not becoming one of 'those' people.

Posting Puppy Pictures...