The Woes of South Sudan and the Futility of My Life’s Work

My recent monitoring and evaluation trip to Lakes State reminded me how my life, my work, my worries, my desires, my problems along with those of most of you reading this are miniscule compared to what millions are facing day in day out in South Sudan.


For those who follow South Sudan, you are aware that Lakes State which lies in the middle of the country has been a mess for the last few years. A lot of the violence has been fueled due to exploitation by political/military leaders of the region, but as a result, over the last year hundreds of people have been killed in the state. Every other person you see walking the streets is armed to the teeth.


In short, the problem is the proliferation of arms to young cattle keepers (Gelweng), the arms are given to the Gelweng for two major reasons - firstly, to protect the cattle that are owned by the rich and powerful military leaders and secondly, to have the Gelweng as an insurance policy so that in case another civil war breaks out these same youth become the first line of defence against a rebellion. So it’s not really hard to imagine for anyone that if you give a lot of AK-47’s with a lot of ammo to kids in their teens, it is bound to not end well most of time. The result has been catastrophic for the state which has been engulfed in lootings, cattle raids and tit for tat revenge killings among subclans.


The worse thing this has done is break down the traditional structures that were in place for centuries to deal with violence. Historically, any sort of violence among communities was sorted out by the Paramount Chiefs of the communities. The word of Chiefs was Gospel. Not anymore, now AK-47’s have become the new Gospel. In many communities of Lakes State the real power now lies with the youth and not the traditional authorities.


Our program (USAID’s flagship in South Sudan) in the region recognized that and brought them to the table, making them part of the conversation because without them there would be no end to this violence. Ideally, nothing will change in the state till there is a complete disarmament campaign done, but that is a pipe dream, at least in the near future because the state and local government don’t have the desire or the resources to carry it out. Disarmament only works when it is done simultaneously in all communities because no one community will give up their arms first to leave their homes and cattle vulnerable to the 5 others that surround them. Nevertheless, once the youth had a seat at the table everyone realised that they themselves were sick of the fighting and wanted to have normal lives so that they could go to school, cultivate crops, live to get married and have their own families. We helped them become part of the solution by supporting their community policing system where Gelweng in each Payam became the eyes and ears for the local authorities to help maintain the peace. We are also looking at ways of engaging the youth in other activities that would provide a viable alternative once they leave their guns because leaving a lucrative life of looting and raiding cattle for doing “nothing” all day would also be wishful thinking.


Anyways, all of this background information brings me to the real reason behind my writing this note. The cover photo you see is from my recent trip to such a gathering where the two guys holding hands are Gelweng leaders from different subclans who were until recently trying to kill each other but now work to prevent youth from both communities from trying to raid, loot and kill one another.


Five minutes after I took this picture at the gathering where traditional chiefs, government officials and these two youth leaders were present, we heard shots being fired. If you’ve lived in Lakes recently you know that shots being fired isn’t that unusual so no one took much notice. A boy ran up and said something in the ear of Keer, the young man in the polo shirt on the right. Keer immediately turned around and started running in the direction of where the shots were being fired from. About 2 mins after that, shots were fired in our direction and everyone in the gathering ran inside a concrete building to take cover till the shooting stopped.


Long story short, we later found out that a Gelweng was drunk in the middle of the day and shooting in the air, when his uncle tried to stop him he shot at his uncle, it was at that time that the younger boy had run up to Keer and informed him. Keer fearlessly ran straight to that drunk Gelweng and tried to wrestle the AK-47 out of his hand. As a result, a shot that was fired hit and killed a prison guard who was standing near by, which prompted fellow prison guards to return fire (these were the rounds that came in our direction).


The Gelweng youth who shot and killed the guard was able to escape but Keer was able to convince the prison guards and police not to retaliate against other Gelweng youth and joined forces with the authorities to capture the perpetrator. Keer single handedly prevented possibly several deaths just that day. At such a tender age he is brave leader, he commands respect from his peers and authorities alike, he is crucial in maintaining peace in his community. A boy like that in the West would be lauded for his heroism, would have the chance to attend prestigious universities, who knows maybe even run for office one day. But unfortunately in Lakes State, Keer might become the very next victim of the same violence he strives to prevent everyday. How is my life or anyone else’s life worth more than Keer’s life? How does this all make any sense?


After the incident, I had a nice air conditioned Landcruiser that whisked me and my colleagues out of there. We came back to our nice air conditioned offices, drank our Nescafe, wrote a report on what happened, spoke about it over some nice lebanese dinner and went to bed. Keer unfortunately doesn’t have the luxury to do this, when he deserves it way more than any of us. About 5 minutes into us taking shelter in the concrete building we realised a really old, frail woman hiding between two desks. She had probably been witness to many a situations like this in her life. My colleague, who was also crouched under the desk looked at her and the lady pointed her fist to her mouth. My colleague had a bag of nuts that she handed over to the lady. Later on a local colleague of ours heard the old lady saying “at least some good came out of the shooting for me.”


While Keer keeps struggling to keep his community from killing each other, development workers like me spend our time complaining about how we’re underappreciated, overworked, how we “deserve” nice vacations, a pay raise etc. It’s sickening. I wish I knew the ending to this show we call life. I wish I knew the “master plan”, the big picture, so I could be content in knowing that guys like Keer aren’t just going to die in vain, that there will be justice in an afterlife. I don’t know how much longer I can go on without knowing this? Most of me doesn’t even want to carry on living this frivolous existence anymore.

Thank you Mr. Trump

I moved to the US as a teenager over a decade and a half ago. I came with only a semesters worth of money & a burning desire to make it on my own. This county made it possible for me, I achieved the "American dream", I had respect, a well paying job, a car, a cat and whatever else constitutes that dream these days. Even the desire of wanting to help the lest fortunate in the world blossomed in me because of America. It was there that I started to understand the meaning of what Descartes mean't when he said "I think therefore I am". I became a better Muslim and a better human being because of America. I wouldn't be sitting here in Sub-Saharan Africa working on conflict mitigation programs if I hadn't moved to America. Just like I firmly believe all this, I also believe that Mr. Trump is doing us all a big favor. Deep down inside we are all prejudiced towards something. We all fear what we don't know and unless it is brought out in the open those prejudices remain within us, polluting our souls whether we know it or not. What Trump has made me realize is how much we all needed to talk about what people actually think about Muslims in America, because until that happens one can never answer the question of why do they think that? And until that happens one can never expect to change perceptions no matter how irrational or inaccurate they might be. I firmly believe that in the long run this will only make America much stronger. So thank you Mr. Trump, because if you hadn't spoken your mind, the majority of rational Americans might have never realized the bigots in their midst, and more importantly, the discussion that just might change the mindset of some of them would have never taken place.

And while I'm on this topic I would also like to comment on millions of Muslims outside the US who are using Mr. Trump as an opportunity to take a dump on the US. Let me just say that although the US isn't perfect, as a Muslim non-American I have at least a thousand times more rights than a Christian, Atheist, Jew or even a minority sect Muslim has in "Muslim" countries. I was always free to practice my religion however I wanted in America because no matter what, the law was on my side. Yes, there are always exceptions to a rule but how many non-Muslim minorities can make that claim in Muslim majority countries? A Muslim boy in America who gets handcuffed for bringing a clock to school, sues the school district for millions of dollars and gets invited by the President of the country for dinner at the White House, while a family of a Christian girl burnt alive on false pretense in a Muslim majority country can't even file a formal compliant with the police, so one may have whatever opinions they want on America being a racist, bigoted, intolerant state but maybe we all should be more mindful of the hypocrisy they represent.

Happy 4th Birthday South Sudan

I wrote a post four years ago on the independence of South Sudan. It was really interesting going back and reading it today. As you can see below there are was a lot of hope in my writing. I argued why being free and failing was still better than having been oppressed for 50 years and failed. Sadly, it turns out I was wrong. Sadly, it turns out all the naysayers were right. South Sudan is arguably in a bigger mess than it was under Sudan. As I had written four years ago that before getting independence everyone in South Sudan was united in fighting a common enemy, but once that wasn't the case would deep rooted differences within South Sudanese re-surface? Would the corrupt elite keep getting more powerful and exploit the masses? Well they did, and in a way that has left thousands and thousands dead, about 2 million internally displaced, an economy that is near collapse with no end in sight, all because of the ego of two men right at the top (Kiir and Machar) whose fight has taken down the hopes and dreams of millions with it.  

Will it change? Will South Sudan ever become the nation it had the potential of becoming with it's fertiles lands and natural resources? I don't know anymore. I'm tired of arguing both sides. What I do know is that I still have the resolve to keep trying in my own little, insignificant way to do something about it. Maybe I'm just a glutton for misery, maybe I'm just delusional. 

Happy Birthday South Sudan! 

"Yeah, I've probably seen more horrible things than good ones but there was no better feeling than the euphoria of witnessing the birth of the world's 193rd state - The Republic of South Sudan.

I was lucky enough to be right under the flag of north Sudan when it was lowered down by the state officials and the new flag of South Sudanwas being raised. I was right there when everyone stormed towards their new flag. It was as if one's favorite team had won the world championship and everyone stormed the pitch. There were thousands of people bouncing up and down to the beat of their new national anthem under their new flag. I had chills for 10 minutes. It was a feeling I will never forget for the rest of my life. I saw tears in the eyes of men from the SPLA (sudan people's liberation army) who had probably seen more horrific things as child soldiers than we can imagine. I could do nothing to stop the tears that trickled down my own face even though I had only been part of this land for two years.

This land that is the size of France with a population of 8 million has tremendous potential. It is blessed with tremendously fertile soil, it is rich with minerals and a proven 5 - 10 billion barrels (could be a lot more) of oil, making it the third largest oil producer in Africa after Nigeria and Angola.

That being said, there is virtually no infrastructure in the country. Up until last year there were 30 km of paved roads in ALL of South Sudan. There is a great shortage of clean water in almost the entire country, vast majority of people are illiterate and their life style resembles pastorals from 500 years ago. There is a shortage of health care facilities, electricity, and other social services. There are no markets, nor any industries that could promote trade and commerce. Over the last few years money has been pouring in from other countries in the form of NGO run aid programs which has kept the ship afloat. The money that has been coming in for development is widely being accused by locals of being warming the pockets of those at the very top. You see massive mansions and brand new Toyota Land Cruisers springing up everywhere amidst shanty huts in Juba. Corruption is rampant at all levels. No money that is coming to Juba trickles down to the other 10 states. Basically, it doesn't look good at all.

 In addition, the South has always been very divided amongst various tribes that haven't coexisted harmoniously since like for ever. Over the last 50 years or so they had a common enemy in the North which they don't any more. There are already signs of discontent amongst the various militia leaders who had allied together to be part of the SPLA but now want a bigger piece of the pie. All of them want those Hummers and mansions. Yeah, I know I did say Hummers, there are plenty here.

Then there are unresolved border issues with the north in the oil rich area of Abyei (north west) and Nuba mountains (north east).

What a cluster **** right?

You hear all of what I've just said above dissected in 400 ways every day in the news. "Experts", mostly Arab mind you, use these "problems" to support their argument that "the south should not have seceded", or that they should have "waited for another few years till they could stand up on their own feet". Till they had an "infrastructure in place".

I abhor and detest these type of comments so much I can't every express it in words. "Wait" they say? Wait for what? being treated like shit for another 50 years. The reason why there is NO infrastructure, NO electricity, NO water, NO roads, NOTHING in the south is because they were under the North for the last 50 years. The North gave them nothing, except for war and misery, so how will being under them make things any WORSE off than they already are.

Whats the worst that can happen, they'll be a failed state? There won't be any development? WAKE up people they have been failed for 5 decades, at least now they will be failed but FREE and I'll take failed but free, over failed and oppressed any day, and so will all of you.

The hope of this country lies in its youth. In the hundreds of thousands who fled during the war into neighboring countries, mostly Kenya, who are dying to come back home and make something of themselves and their new nation. These are people who never were really Kenyan or Ethiopian or Ugandan even if they spent decades there. They were always Sudanese and now they are coming back. On my recent trip back from the US, I met two British Sudanese bankers who were coming back to Sudan. I asked them if this was just a visit or more than that. They looked at me as if I had cursed them out "We're coming back home, brother, home for good". It is this educated youth that gives me hope for South Sudan.

Will South Sudan be a bust or a major success? Only time will tell. But for me, I will never forget being part of history being made. It has left a mark that will never be washed away. I wish this beautiful nation the very best and I will do everything I can till I'm here to do my part in helping it." 

entire post on http://gandairi.blogspot.nl/search?updated-max=2012-04-26T12:23:00-07:00&max-results=7

When the flag of Sudan lowered and South Sudan was first raised in Kapoeta July 9, 2011

Imam Ali (a.s)

Today marks the day when Imam Ali​ was mortally wounded due to a blow to a head  by another (so) called Muslim while he was leading the morning prayer at a mosque in Kufa. Imam Ali is widely recognized by most Sufi orders as the father of Sufism, by all Muslims as the fourth Caliph of the Muslim umma and by the Shia's as the father of Ithna Ashri sect of Islam (Shiaism).
To me personally, his words are the inspiration behind my faith in God, behind the work I do and behind how I should live my life. There are thousands of his sayings that one could quote but for some reason the one that springs to mind right now is from the letter he wrote to his appointed Governor of Egypt in which while instructing him on how to rule, he says:

Remember your subjects are only of two types "Either your brother in faith, or your equal in humanity".

The sad part is that people all over the world especially Muslims today, have forgotten the latter part of this statement. I hope I never forget it though. I hope I always remember that no matter how different someone might be from me, no matter what the color of their skin might be, no mater what they might believe or not believe in, no matter how poor or rich they might be, I always treat them as my equal in humanity. 

Happy Fathers Day

I've written this piece many a times in my mind, but for reasons unknown to me I just haven't gotten around to putting it on paper.

Mr. Yusuf Raza, my father, was born December 12, 1952 to a very humble but proud family. The descendants of the Prophet Muhammad (SA) - Zaidis, from his great grandson Zain-ul-abideen. My grandfather, God bless his soul was a very smart man, had more intellect than all his sons (sorry dad and uncles), but having his own family of 7 plus extended family of about a dozen more to support, he had no choice but to work after the Indo-Pak partition. But he knew that the only way out for his family was through education so he worked and worked just so his kids could go to school.

Dad on his first vacation in years to attend my graduation @ Columbia

Unlike myself, who chose to leave home as a teenager for the "land of opportunity", my dad had no luxury at his disposal. His only option to survive was my making a 5k walk every day to school with often no lunch money just to have a shot at a better life. And because of what he'll tell you were the efforts of his mother, who stood guard at the doorstep watching her son walk over the horizon everyday as he made the journey to school, he did make it! 

He bought his dad who used to travel on a bicycle, his first motorcycle, he helped his siblings get married, he became one of the most senior Government officials, commanding thousands of employees at probably the most prestigious Government agency in the country. 

But this isn't about his achievements as a man or a son. Like most men in South Asia, transition from being a son to a husband wasn't easy for him (South Asian women you know what I mean) but the transition from being a son to a father was a seamless one. Saying that he was a great father, I feel doesn't do justice to it. I don't even know how to explain it, let's put it this way, I've never been able to relate to any issues that kids have with their dads because I've never had ANY issues.

My father never put anything ahead of my welfare, or happiness, ever. He enrolled me in schools which were way beyond what he could afford even if it meant that he could never enjoy anything for himself. He never bought a new watch or new shoes or went on vacation because after paying for me and my sister's private education there was nothing left for him or my mother. But never once, do I ever remember feeling that he was making any sacrifices. I just thought that's what dads do. They wear the same watch for 2 decades, they wear the same shoes, they have the same clothes for years, they don't have a favorite place to eat, or a hobby. I lived in a world where dads woke up every morning, drove you to school every day, picked you up, played cricket with you in the hallway after work, even when your mom would disapprove of it, sat at dinner with you every night, tucked you into bed, woke up in the middle of every night to see if the blanket was still over you, brought you a glass of water, woke you up every morning for prayer then for school and just endlessly repeated the cycle day, after day, after day without ever once saying that "my son, you are sucking the life out of me". To him I was his life, my welfare was the “be all, end all” of not only his physical being but even his soul.

He was never once pessimistic, never made any excuse for anything. He would always tell me when I'd complain about injustice towards me, "son, always prepare for playing against 12 players, 11 opponents and the referee". I guess he'd crawled his way out of the so many dark places as a child that the world being unfair was nothing to complain about. I think my belief that I can accomplish anything in this world must have come from watching him growing up. To him, there was always a solution for everything, if you worked hard enough and prayed hard enough, there was no stopping you, and it just became truer and truer for him as he got older.

I could on and on with dozens of stories that keep popping in the mind while I write this but I'll end with one that for whatever reasons I want to tell the most. My first paycheck as a teenager was for around $300, and I remember I was so excited to spend it on my parents because my dad gave most of the first years of his paychecks to my grandmother, so, I went to the mall in Mankato, Minnesota and bought my dad a $120 Kenneth Cole watch and my mom a necklace. He wore that cheap simple watch for almost 15 years of his life. He wore it to board meetings all over the world. Every time I'd see him I'd tell him to take it off cause it was ugly and all scratched up, and I'd buy him new watches but he'd just give them away and keep wearing that Kenneth Cole, maybe he’s still wearing it, simply because it was from my first ever paycheck. It was the first thing I ever gave him. It means the world to him no matter what anyone thinks of it. It reminds him of me every day. 

Growing up in a traditional South Asian family you never talk about your feelings especially with your father and I know I won't ever have such a conversation with him, at least any time soon, but I want him to know that I remember every little sacrifice he's ever made for me, I'll cherish them for rest of my life and if I can become half the father he is, I will die a very happy man.  

Visit to the Holocaust Museum in DC

The highlight of my trip to DC wasn't the wonderful company of my Columbia colleagues and alums, it wasn't visiting the breath taking monuments of DC, it wasn't even my interview at the World Bank, it was the emotional 3 hours that I spent at the Holocaust Museum.

Growing up as Shia Muslims, repentance and mourning becomes part of our DNA as two months every year we mourn the injustices perpetrated on the family of Muhammad A.S. 1400 years ago. Maybe that is why I felt at peace crying for the plight of millions of Jewish men, women and children who where shot, gassed,burnt alive and starved to death for no crime that they committed other than being born Jewish and no one dared to come their help until is was too late for most. The stench of their burnt and blackened shoes will always stay with me, as a reminder that I will never, till my last breath on this earth, remain silent or stop working to fight injustice wherever I see it. That I will not be sucked into turning my life into a pursuit of mere worldly comforts, that I will not be blinded by the lights that make you forget what is actually happening to the majority of people on this planet. I may never succeed at achieving anything, but I will be content knowing that I died trying.

"Only take care, and keep your soul diligently, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. Make them known to your children and your children's children" Deuteronomy 4:9

I had recently posted an article on the bombings in Quetta, Pakistan targeting Shia Muslims that killed and injured hundreds. The BBC article addressed the fact that organizations such and Lashkar-e-Jhangvi, Lashar-e-Taiba and Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan, who have always accepted responsibilty for the attacks on minority shia Muslims were backed by the Pakistan Government in the past  who used them as proxy forces to nuetralize the threat of India in Kashmir and Iran in Afghanistan. It also explained that countries in the Middle East are a big funding source for these organizations as these organizations follow a strict interpretation of the type of Islam practiced in Saudi Arabia (wahabism). 

I lived in Pakistan through most of my teens and I can assure you first hand that most of my friends who went to Madrassas (religious schools) were preached a strict variant of wahabi Islam, where tolerance towards other Muslims or human beings was not part of the curriculum. By now almost every person whose done research on this topic will tell you that most, if not all such madrassas are funded by SAUDI money not only in Pakistan but all over Africa (where I work now). 

We all also have an idea that the west uses a lot of Saudi Oil - 10 million barrels of them are used in the US every day. We all criticize the US and the west to be part of this "Islamic Terrorism" problem. We argue vehemently that fighting wars in Afghanistan and Iraq against "Islamic extremists" are like putting a small bandage on a gun-shot wound of someone that you shot yourself. "They just don't connect the dots" we say.  "They buy oil from Saudi Arabia, Saudi Arabia funds terrorists, and then they go fight the terrorists". I've had many of my friends over the years say "well 19 out of the 22 terrorists on 9/11 were Saudi, why doesn't the US go bomb Saudi Arabia". 

Well I agree with what they are saying, and I also understand the argument that the US can't just stop using Saudi oil because the entire economy will crumble if that happens etc etc. What I CANNOT understand is the fact that all my, or I should say most of my Shia Muslim friends in America criticize the US governments actions all the time but fail to see their actions as being part of this problem. 

EVERY SINGLE one of my Shia friends in America criticizes Saudi Arabia, yet ALMOST EVERY SINGLE one of them drives a car that uses crude oil bought from Saudi Arabia. Hence they are paying the Saudi oil field owner money that he then uses to fund Laskhar-e-Jhangvi, members of which then go and blow up Shias in Pakistan. And they feel that they are absolved of any wrong doing and that criticizing the US and Saudi Arabia and marching on the street a few times a year is what will do the trick. 

I am by no means against protesting and criticizing, I believe those are brave and noble acts but at the same time I have a problem with hypocrisy and stupidity. 

Now coming to what I feel CAN actually be done in the long run to lessen the influence of Saudi Arabia on further funding terrorism. 

1. Support all Government and Non-Government initiatives that help the west move away from Middle East oil dependence. 

2. Vote for officials who do care about alternative energy sources and want to move away from fossil fuels. 

3. Call, write, do whatever to put pressure on your elected officials to vote for alternative energy initiatives. 

3. Research into what Oil companies do not use Saudi Oil and start filling your cars at their pumps (Almost all big ones do except for a very few select ones that use Canadian Oil only - Sinclair and Sunoco don't use Saudi oil. I can give references if anyone likes.

4. Sell your Gasoline Car and buy a Prius if you're really interested in not paying the Saudi's any part of your hard earned, Halal, Shia loving money. 

And if you can't do that, it's okay, there are other ways in which you might be doing your part and you should continue to do but for the love of God don't JUST be a hypocrite, look into your actions before opening your mouth. 

We are the Kufians of Today

"Deed ki gar talaash hai,sar ko jhuka namaaz mein
Dil se khudi ko bhool kar, khud ko mita namaaz mein
Aaiega tujh ko tab nazar rooh-e-khuda namaz mein
Pahle Hussain ki tarah sar ko kata namaaz mein"

If your quest is to find (see) God, then bow your head in prayer (prostration)
Remove "you" (your desires) from your heart, immerse yourself completely in prayer such that there is no "you" left.
You will only see the "spirit of God" in your prayer, when you are prepared to like Hussain (a.s) have your head cut off during prostration

Its that time of the year again, when all shia Muslims and many non-shias will wear black, flock to mosques and imam-bargahs and pay homage to the great sacrifice of Imam Hussain and his family in the battle of Karbala, which is called a battle but was 72 (approx) men on Hussain's side versus over 10,000 soldiers on Ubaydullah ibn Ziyad's side.

The next 10 days and beyond we will hear fervent sermons by scholars on how the Imam was betrayed by the people of Kufa who had written 150 letters (Ayati, ch.3) to the Imam asking for him to come lead a revolution against the tyrannical and unjust rule of Yazid. Most scholars will do a great job of laying out how these people and their leaders were despicable human beings nothing short of satan himself.

Growing up, listening to these sermons I used to feel a lot of anger and hatred towards the people of Kufa and the army of Umar ibn Saad and who fought against the Imam. What I couldn't understand then was that WHY in the world would you go against someone as pious and honorable as the Imam and support tyrants like (Ziyad and Yazid) whom most of Kufians even despised, after all it is their fellow citymen who wrote the letters asking for the imam to come to their aid in the first place.
But by reading more about the actual history of the events that took place pre, during and post Karbala (A good source is "A probe into the history of Ashura" its on Al-Islam.org for free) I came to realize that the people of Kufa 12,000 of whom vowed to support the Imam upon his arrival were just like you and I. They were as satanic as most of us, nothing more, nothing less. To them this wasn't about what was right and what was wrong. They knew that the Imam was right, to them the question was simply whether or not they would go out of their comfort zone and actually do something about  supporting the Imam? We all know the answer to that. They didn't. They all turned back on their lofty proclamations of support, many of them even using the Quran to support their new stance "Do not subject your lives to destruction with your own hands. (Surah al-Baqarah, 2:195)".

They all had the same excuses we would make today; the responsibility to support the life and well-being of their families, their being under the burden of debt from the state and for a lot of them being in the army meant that the fire in their homes kept burning and food reached the bellies of their kids. They ALL did what would be considered today as a RATIONAL decision. They knew that supporting the Imam was a losing bet. They knew supporting the truth wouldn't pay their bills or put their kids through school. DON'T most of us make the same excuse today? What are we doing today to support the innocent or any just causes? What are we doing to combat extremism in Islam which is corroding us from within? Imam Hussain didn't take up arms against the Romans or the Persians, he stood up against the biggest threat to Islam which came from within the followers of Islam. What are we, as so called "followers of the Imam" doing today to make ourselves worthy of that claim?

Nobody but you alone can answer that question. This note is not to point out the flaws in others but to get us to look at nobody but ourselves in the mirror and ask the question, "Would we truly be able to sacrifice all our comforts to support someone who we knew to be just in their cause but had nothing worldly to offer in return?". And if the answer is NO! like it is in my case then lets vow to be better, lets promise ourselves that our lives won't be just about getting a big house in the suburbs with 65 inch TV screens, but will be more about doing something to support the innocent, and change the lives of ones less fortunate than us.

I truly believe that to be the message of Karbala.

A one in a million Sister!

My time in South Sudan is up, for now! and I will write a lot about it in the coming weeks as now I'm officially unemployed till I start school again in the fall inshallah! Today, I will tell you a story that will touch your heart like it did mine. The story is about none other than my very own sister.

Before I begin the story let me just say that one of the sins that I despised the most since I was a child was hypocrisy, which unfortunately is something extremely prevalent especially amongst Muslims of this world (its okay for me to say it, I am one, a Muslim that is). As a kid I would hear countless Muslims mourn the sacrifices of the grandson of the prophet at the battle of Karbala but I always wondered how many of them would put their and their families life at risk for the sake of God, or for a just cause. The answer unfortunately is: a handful, maaaybe.

My favorite person from Karbala is Zaineb, the grand-daughter of the prophet who sacrificed everything, yet never bowed down in front of tyranny and protected not only her family but Islam as we know it.

Today's story is not about how much I think Islam owes Zaineb but about another woman I love, my sister, Mariam, who works for Unicef in Pakistan. These days she's working on the Polio Eradication Campaign (23 cases this year in Pakistan so far http://www.polioeradication.org/Dataandmonitoring/Poliothisweek.aspx). One of the major hurdles in this eradication battle in Pakistan is the fact that TTP (Tehrek-e-Taliban Pakistan) who are the followers of Al-Qaeda's policy of "lets blow up everyone who doesn't agree with our way of looking at the this world" deem this campaign to be "un-islamic" and a western scam to render the population of Pakistan impotent. Yeah, you heard me, impotent.

On the ground this means that if you are working to eradicate polio in a TTP stronghold you better not be a foreigner cause then you get shot (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-18868267), heaven forbid you're a woman, cause what do women know except for making roti's (bread) and if you're a local man then you better be prepared to deal with some extremely hostile individuals who will more than likely tell you to please be on your way, and not in such a cordial manner.

Now Mariam was on such a mission in remote parts of Punjab province in Pakistan. This places were in the DG khan district (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dera_Ghazi_Khan_District) which is not a taliban strong hold but is definitely heavily influenced by their ideology.

Mariam also has a 7 month old son, Abbas, who accompanied her on this trip. A case can be made of Abbas being one of the cutest kids you'll ever see, beatiful skin, grey eyes, healthy, looks a lot like his uncle some say, except for the eyes off-course :).

Now DG Khan has sizzling temperatures reaching up to 120 F or 49 C this time of the year making it no place for an infant to take his first vacation but my sister is a little crazy, what can I say. It runs in the family.

Coming back to Polio and how this all is connected. As expected some families in DG Khan refused to allow their kids to receive polio vaccination as it obviously causes impotency, but there was great likelihood that if left un-vacinated polio could return in that particular area. Knowing this my sister pleaded her case to the reluctant elders from the hardline Muslim families, trying to explain to them that if they didn't administer the vaccine to their kids, they were in danger of getting polio. But the elders were adamant about the vaccination being a scam and the west's plan of making their kids impotent. It was then that Mariam presented a solution that even Zaineb of Karbala would have been proud of. She told them that she is traveling with her very own infant son and if she administered the vaccine to him in front of the elders, would they then be willing for Unicef personnel to administer the polio vaccination drops to their kids? The elders were dumb-founded, surly this woman from the city wasn't crazy enough to bring her child out of the AC car in this scintillating heat and give her polio drops, and if she were to do it then surly the drops couldn't cause impotency. They agreed thinking that they had called her bluff. Mariam wrapped Abbas in a cloth and took him to several houses in the village who were refusing to vaccinate their children and administered the vaccine that supposedly causes impotency to her own son in front of them. By doing that she put to rest all the suspicions of the elders and all the kids in the area received polio vaccinations.

She truly believes in what she does and who knows, maybe her actions led to someone not being crippled by polio for the rest of their life. I am proud of having her as my sister, I am proud of her not being one of the millions of hypocrites who can talk the talk but don't walk the walk. She is my very own Zaineb.

Meet Mathew – Be inspired by the motorbike mechanic of Panijar

My work these days takes me all over Unity State (that’s the one being bombed) these days. One of the towns on the southern tip of Unity called Panijar is where this story takes place. Panijar’s not what you would call a town back in the US or in any even developing country of the world. There’s ONE road that goes in and out of the town, and its almost a dirt road. There are probably 20 – 30 small huts lined up on both sides of the road when you enter the town which serve as the main market.

I have my breakfast of champions (shisha with tea and biscuits) and brunch (again, shisha with tea and biscuits) there. Once you get to Panijar, to go to the surrounding even smaller towns, its best to take a motorcycle as the roads out of town and into the bush are let’s just say a lot more comfortable and maneuverable if you’re on a motorbike.

Last week, I was about to head out into the bush only to realize that my bike refused to start. I tried every trick I knew to make it start but it wouldn’t. I was told that there is a mechanic in town called Mathew who can help. Now for those of you who know me, you can understand that being a motorbike enthusiast to the point where I even rode my motorbike to uni in 32 degree celsius, hearing the words “take it to a mechanic” feel like someone’s pouring molten lava into my ears. Nevertheless, I had to do something so I dragged the motorbike to the market to meet Mr. Mathew.

Well ladies and gentlemen, Mathew was not only able to start my motorcycle but did it at AGE 13. Yes Mathew, who you can see in the picture attached is only 13, maybe 14, definitely not older than that. Mathew is indeed the town motorbike mechanic. Not only that, Mathew also fixes radio’s and watches in his spare time. I mean if this is not as Russell Peters would put it - MIND BLASTING, then I don’t know what is. He's FREAKING 13.
Sometimes I forget why I do this, but then Mathew comes along, who is everything that a normal teenager is. Extremely shy, goes to primary school, plays soccer with his friends, giggles when he sees a white man, but oh yeah he fixes motorcycles, radios and watches on the side.

Mathew learnt this art while he was in Bentui (the town in north Unity which is being bombed these days) hanging around motorcycle repair shops. His father died when he was very young and so he probably spent a lot of time in these shops. Many kids have that story around here, no father, hanging out in town all the time, but Mathew was/is incidentally a genius as well. Mathew moved back with his mother to Panijar last year, her home town, and is supporting her financially. If this kid was in any other country on this planet he would be paraded on TV, would go to some school for the gifted, but, alas he’s the Kohenoor (largest diamond in the world taken by the British from India) stuck in one of the remotest parts of the world.

Mathew and I are really tight now (at least thats what I think) and I asked him the other day what he wanted as a gift. That’s when the real 13 year old came out, “a motorcycle, so I can go really fast”. I told him we can think about that a few years down the road but for now if he does well in his class this year, I’ll get him a kick ass tool box. He giggled and told me “that will do as well”.

I did have something for Mathew that I hold very dear to my heart, my Leatherman multi-tool (sorry nani) equipped with pliers, cutter, stripper, knife and screwdrivers. I wish other people could see the look on his face when I gave it to him. He held that 50 dollar thing like it was a 5 carat diamond, and yet again like a 5 year old girl, I had tears in my eyes.

Sometimes, I wonder if people here realize how much joy they bring to my life. I can’t thank God enough for letting me see such wonders of this world. I will never understand how in amidst all the hunger, poverty, war and chaos such an unbelievable treasure can unearth, but I will always be grateful when I look up to the heavens for giving me the chance of witnessing it. 

Fabi ayyi aala e rabi kuma tukazibaan

The day I almost died

The Honda City was cruising along at 120 km (75 miles) an hour on the 3 lane highway that connects the cities of Lahore and Islamabad.  I had just visited my dying grandfather for what was going to my last time ever seeing him. I had landed in Pakistan from South Sudan only 3 hours ago was now on my way to Islamabad. We were about 2 hours away from Islamabad when it started to drizzle. It was prayer time so the driver and I made a pit stop for the mosque by the side of the road. By the time we were done with prayers it started pouring, and I was soaking wet when we restarted our journey. I reached back into my daypack to pull out a dry shirt to put on. Unfortunately, I had to unbuckle my seat belt in order to change my shirt. While buttoning up the shirt I realized that the car started to skid, I thought of trying to put the seat belt on but it was too late, I put my hand on the dash board, shut my eyes and hoped for the best.
The car spun a few times and ended up in a ditch. I remember while it was twisting and twirling in the air and on the ground I kept reassuring myself that I was still alive as every microsecond past. Finally, it all came to a full stop. No more movement, I was completely wet with my body underwater lying horizontal inside the inverted car. I must have past out for a few moments as I heard a faint sound that kept coming closer and getting louder - it was the driver. He just kept repeating my name and I didn't have the energy to respond. Finally, I told him that I was okay and soon after a group of people pulled me out of the vehicle and into the rain. I've had the pleasure of being in a few crazy car crashes but every time I got away with minor scratches, this time though it felt different. I couldn't move my neck  and back at all. I was pretty sure I broke something. I couldn't sit or lay down, the only thing I could do was stand with the support of my rescuers.
I remember them bringing water for me and asking me if I was okay and I just wanted them to shut up and let me be. I was in pain, it was raining and my phones were not working anymore. The luggage had apparently flown out of the trunk, everything was wet and I couldn't get through to my family. The only numbers I knew off the top of my head were my parent's home phone number and my father's cell phone. Knowing how "kabutar dil" (dove hearted) my dad is and I mean that in a loving, respectful way, I couldn't call him, so I decided to have my rescuers call the home phone. Luckily my sister picked up, I think she did, I really can't remember much but I know I spoke to her. I told her that I had been in a car crash on the highway coming and I needed to get to a hospital right away. I told her there was little chance that I could get through again cause the phones were not working.
In the mean time my rescuers were trying to look for the police patrol. Usually they are pretty prevalent on the highway and pass by every 15 minutes. Whatever the reason that day, no police car was in sight. My best option was to get to Islamabad somehow and hope that my sister arranged for an ambulance at the toll plaza.
This highway is like the turnpike where each exist is 30 to 40 minutes apart so it would have made no sense for an ambulance to come get me from Islamabad which was an hour and a half away from the site of the accident.
My rescuers were vehemently trying to pull over any vehicle so that I could be given a ride to Islamabad, but no one stopped. No one even stopped to find out what the hell was wrong with a guy bloody, being held upright by other people on the side of the road.
Now the highway connecting Lahore and Islamabad is known as the "motorway" and the motorway attracts mostly fancy cars that go at high speeds on a state of the art highway. The people who had stopped to help me were local residents from the area who had jumped over the fence to assist. They were the poorest of the poor, the scum of the earth, while the elite of Pakistan were driving by one after the other, oblivious to the fact that a desperate person needed help.
Finally an empty van did stop. I was told it was a guy who was headed to Lahore (the opposite direction) noticed an accident and turned around to drive 30 miles back to help out. The man agreed to take me another 1.5 hours in the opposite direction to where he was headed. I didn't have the energy to thank him enough. I somehow fit in the back of his van still soaking wet and he drove me to the toll plaza that marked the city limits of Islamabad. There, I saw my sister and uncle waiting with an ambulance.
I asked my sister to make sure that the gentleman who had driven me to Islamabad be compensated well. It turned out that the vehicle did not even belong to him. He was simply the hired driver for that vehicle (another poor scum of the earth who went out of his way, risked his own job to help me). My sister told me that he refused to take money stating "how can I take money from you, it is Ramadan and I'm fasting. I helped your brother because that's what God would have wanted me to do".
I ended up suffering a slipped disk in my neck and severe bruising in my lower vertebra's. I was lucky. From the pictures one can see how much more worse it could have been.
When I narrated the story to my family members and friends of my parents, they understood why people in their fancy cars didn't pull over for me. They told me that there were many robberies happening that way, where robbers would fake an accident to make someone stop and then rob them and steal their vehicle.
To me it was sickening to hear it. Anyways, I'm not going to state my feelings on why the rich have something to loose and the poor don't thus they didn't stop, and I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt, but what I did decide was that no matter what happens, I will never become them. They want to NOT stop for people dying on the side of the road, more power to them but I will never work for their betterment.
I think my accident was a reminder to me. I hear it all the time when I go back to the US or come to Pakistan, "when will you get a real job again Ali, when will this adventure of yours stop". And this job is frustrating, and many times a day you're like "why the hell don't I just go back and get a normal job, normal life with a wife and a car and a house in the suburbs and a cat, and a coffee shop, a nice imam bargah to go to, make babies" you get the point. But then incidents like these happen and you are presented to all the answers to your WHY AM I DOING THIS? question. How can I ever turn my back on the poor scum of the earth when they were the only ones who came to my aid when I needed it and asked for nothing in return.

I don't remember the faces of any of the guys that helped me, it was raining and I was in pain but that same night when I got home I got a call on my phone. I picked up and a guy asked me if I was Ali sahab (sir), the guy in the car accident. He then went on to tell me that he was one of the guys who pulled me out of the car and wanted to know how I was doing. I couldn't hold back my tears. He had gotten my contact information through the driver. He went on to tell me that I will be okay and that once I am, I should come over to his small village to see him. And that he'll show me around. After that much love how can I ever stop working for such people. Regardless of whether I end up a rich man or become poor in the process, it would be the biggest hypocrisy if I ever turned my back on the most needy in this world.

Khaleej Times Pakistan Supplement

Wanted to congratulate all the people who are working to make a difference in the lives of many who need help. Keep up the the great work!

http://www.khaleejtimes.com/ramadan2011/rmd_story1.asp?xfile=/data/ramadannews/2011/August/ramadannews_August58.xml&section=ramadannews&

The birth of a new nation - South Sudan

I've been in southern Sudan for over two years now, and it's been an emotional roller coaster. There have been tremendous highs and lows - from seeing a young boy who was wrongfully sentenced for rape to a jail cell with one meal a day for 10 years, be released only after six months to be reunited with his wife and child, to knowing about twelve, thirteen year old girls seeking shade under the chassis of a 6x6 truck from the scorching sun at the prison, trying to protect their infant children who were a result of incessant rape by the guards.

Yeah, I've probably seen more horrible things than good ones but there was no better feeling than the euphoria of witnessing the birth of the world's 193rd state - The Republic of South Sudan.

I've been living in Juba for the last few months and was very exited that I would be able to witness the speech given by the interim President of a new nation, live! Unfortunately, last minute work related activities required me to travel to the city of Kapoeta situated in the south east corner of South Sudan. At first I was really bummed cause I wouldn't be able to witness history in the making and would have had to watch the speech of Ban ki Moon and Salva Kiir on TV like everyone else even though I was in the south. I couldn't have been more incorrect.

Kapoeta is a big regional town, home to the Toposa tribe, but they are not the only ones here, the Nuer, and many from the powerful Dinka tribe (President's tribe) are also residing here. It is where the locals are, the actual people of this land. The people who have been part of struggle for Independence for over 50 years. Everyday people, cattle herders, black smith's, traders, and farmers - not the thousands of aid workers and dignitaries who were going to witness a dog and pony show in Juba. This was going to be original, this was going to be extemporaneous, this would be an outburst of joy unlike the planned activities of Juba. And yes, I wasn't disappointed for one moment.

I was lucky enough to be right under the flag of north Sudan (on the right) when it was lowered down by the state officials and the new flag of South Sudan (on the left) was being raised. I was right there when everyone stormed towards their new flag. It was as if one's favorite team had won the world championship and everyone stormed the pitch. There were thousands of people bouncing up and down to the beat of their new national anthem under their new flag. I had chills for 10 minutes. It was a feeling I will never forget for the rest of my life. I saw tears in the eyes of men from the SPLA (sudan people's liberation army) who had probably seen more horrific things as child soldiers than we can imagine. I could do nothing to stop the tears that trickled down my own face even though I had only been part of this land for two years.

This land that is the size of France with a population of 8 million has tremendous potential. It is blessed with tremendously fertile soil, it is rich with minerals and a proven 5 - 10 billion barrels (could be a lot more) of oil, making it the third largest oil producer in Africa after Nigeria and Angola.

That being said, there is virtually no infrastructure in the country. Up until last year there were 30 km of paved roads in ALL of South Sudan. There is a great shortage of clean water in almost the entire country, vast majority of people are illiterate and their life style resembles pastorals from 500 years ago. There is a shortage of health care facilities, electricity, and other social services. There are no markets, nor any industries that could promote trade and commerce. Over the last few years money has been pouring in from other countries in the form of NGO run aid programs which has kept the ship afloat. The money that has been coming in for development is widely being accused by locals of being warming the pockets of those at the very top. You see massive mansions and brand new Toyota Land Cruisers springing up everywhere amidst shanty huts in Juba. Corruption is rampant at all levels. No money that is coming to Juba trickles down to the other 10 states. Basically, it doesn't look good at all.

In addition, the South has always been very divided amongst various tribes that haven't coexisted harmoniously since like for ever. Over the last 50 years or so they had a common enemy in the North which they don't any more. There are already signs of discontent amongst the various militia leaders who had allied together to be part of the SPLA but now want a bigger piece of the pie. All of them want those Hummers and mansions. Yeah, I know I did say Hummers, there are plenty here.

Then there are unresolved border issues with the north in the oil rich area of Abyei (north west) and Nuba mountains (north east).

What a cluster **** right?

You hear all of what I've just said above dissected in 400 ways every day in the news. "Experts", mostly Arab mind you, use these "problems" to support their argument that "the south should not have seceded", or that they should have "waited for another few years till they could stand up on their own feet". Till they had an "infrastructure in place".

I abhor and detest these type of comments so much I can't every express it in words. "Wait" they say? Wait for what? being treated like shit for another 50 years. The reason why there is NO infrastructure, NO electricity, NO water, NO roads, NOTHING in the south is because they were under the North for the last 50 years. The North gave them nothing, except for war and misery, so how will being under them make things any WORSE off than they already are.

Whats the worst that can happen, they'll be a failed state? There won't be any development? WAKE up people they have been failed for 5 decades, at least now they will be failed but FREE and I'll take failed but free, over failed and oppressed any day, and so will all of you.

The hope of this country lies in its youth. In the hundreds of thousands who fled during the war into neighboring countries, mostly Kenya, who are dying to come back home and make something of themselves and their new nation. These are people who never were really Kenyan or Ethiopian or Ugandan even if they spent decades there. They were always Sudanese and now they are coming back. On my recent trip back from the US, I met two British Sudanese bankers who were coming back to Sudan. I asked them if this was just a visit or more than that. They looked at me as if I had cursed them out "We're coming back home, brother, home for good". It is this educated youth that gives me hope for South Sudan.

Will South Sudan be a bust or a major success? Only time will tell. But for me, I will never forget being part of history being made. It has left a mark that will never be washed away. I wish this beautiful nation the very best and I will do everything I can till I'm here to do my part in helping it.

Trip to Pakistan Part II - Mo and the merry men of Parachinar

So after a mini hiatus I write the part II of my very contentious earlier post. I hope the folk who criticized me so vociferously do read this edition as well.

As soon as I got home in Islamabad from the airport I had forgotten about my encounter with the "smoking guy" and the police officer. I was looking forward to my sisters wedding which I was here for. As I had written in the last post weddings in Pakistan are a huge deal. When I mean huge, I mean really really huge. Festivities that go on for at least a week, one ceremony after another. Too much food, too much 'bling'. Sorry I digress, weddings in Pakistan can wait another day. Coming back to the dichotomy in Pakistan. In my last post I presented a bleak view of the conditions with the airport story but the flip side of the coin was shown to me on my trip to the mosque on Friday.

Fridays are always fun in Pakistan. You feel spiritual as soon as you wake up. There is something very mystical about them. Everybody cleans up well, wears sparkling white clothes, gels back their hair, puts on perfume to go to the mosque for 'Friday Prayer'.

I've attended the same mosque every Friday since I was about 10 years old, and now I make sure I visit it every time I'm in Pakistan. It used to be a very modest building back when I was a young boy but now its blossemed into this beaituful mosque having tall marbled minarets with an adjecent library and academy.

Before 2005, it used to be that one could enter and exit the 'house of God' without any fear but these days thanks to our 'true' believer friends, the 'Taliban' and the ones that they inspire, it feels like you are an Arab passing through an airport checkpoint in the US. Two sets of pat downs, all items to be displayed etc etc. But it has become an unfortunate necessity and I salute the boys and girls who are standing at the checkpoints as they are always the ones who end up loosing their lives when the crazy lunatics do decide to blow themselves up. For those who haven't been following closely, last year their were over 70 bombings in Pakistan, that's a bomb going off once every five days or so and most of them were at mosques or schools. Obviously, what else would you like to bomb to show your dismay towards the great satanic forces of the west right? Vulnerable worshipers and kids, makes complete sense!

I finally enter the mosque and get situated to listen to the lecture by the maulana prior to the namaz. After the Friday prayer you have kids going through the isles collecting donations while the management makes announcements/pledge calls for different charitable causes. One of these announcements caught my attention. The announcement was of group of young men who were in the local city hospital brought over from Parachinar (Parachinar is capital of Kurram Agency has an area of 1305 square miles and situated in KP province of Pakistan right on the border with Afghanistan) after deadly clashes while fighting the Taliban.

After the prayers were over and everyone was leaving I went over to the gentleman who had made the announcement to inquire more details. He directed me to another gentleman who gave me the phone number to a man by the name of Muhammad who was looking after the injured at a local hospital in Islamabad.

After calling a few different people I was able to get a hold of Muhammad who went on to explain to me that the injured were indeed civilians from Parachinar, some who were severely injured in fighting against the Taliban. The Taliban and their allies have been trying to get a foothold in that region for many years now but have been met with brave resistance from the local community. Their reasons for doing that are very straightforward, they don't want to get screwed over by the Taliban or the US drone attacks, if not the US army itself. For them its all about survival, the Taliban hate them and they don't particularly like the US army either. So if they don't fight, the Taliban end up getting a foothold in that area which would give them easy access to Peshawar and Islamabad. Furthermore, it would give the Allied forces in Afghanistan reason to bomb that area with drone airplanes which would also lead to civilian casualties. So the solution is to take up arms against the Taliban themselves.

After talking to him I was very intrigued and wanted to pay the hospital a visit. The next evening I took a break from the crazy wedding activities and headed over to the hospital where Muhammad was waiting for me. Muhammad who looked to be in his early thirties, an accountant by profession, was a pashto speaking typical 'pathan' in appearance; tall, broad, fair in complexion, and very soft spoken. If I ever brought him over to my house I can hear my mom saying 'Ali, why couldn't you ever turn out to be this gentlemanly'.

Muhammad and I exchanged pleasantries, and while we made our way to the hospital ward where they were admitted he explained to me who these injured guys were, what and how they sustained their injuries and what all their needs were? Upon arrival I saw several men between the ages of 18 - 25 all having sustained severe injuries. Some with amputated legs, others with broken bones, shrapnel wounds, you name it. But what hit me the most was not the severity of their wounds, but the magnanimity of their spirit. Muhammad introduced me as a 'khairkwa' - (concerned person) from the mosque who had come to visit them, thank them and hopefully assist them. I was greeted by them like a brother, like one who had been fighting alongside them in Parachinar. A few of them went on to tell me how they received no support from the Government or any other sources in their quest to resist the Taliban, but their spirits were high and as soon as they got better they would go back, be it on one leg. They were doing it for their survival and more importantly for the survival of their religion. The message that they wanted me to convey to whoever I met in the west was that 'not all of us are like them, and we will not sit back let our lands be conquered and our religion be hijacked by thugs'.

After this very emotional meeting, Muhammad and I walked out while he explained to me how he has along with taking care of the wounded, been working with the community in Parachinaar for years now trying to build schools and basic health care centers in that region. He also explained to me how little support they have received from the Government and how most of his funds are from private donors, mosques etc.

Muhammad and I are in constant touch now and I'm pretty sure in the coming years after my Carter Center campaign is over I will move to the North West part of Pakistan and help him in his quest to bring more attention to this forgotten part of Pakistan where 'men of honor' still exist in abundance.

I had written earlier that Pakistan is a place where you will find corruption and apathy in abundance, but it is also a place where you will find selflessness and valour in people like Muhammad who will literally fight for the just cause till their last breath. For those who say that Pakistan is a failed state that will crumble soon, I say that you need come and meet Muhammad and his merry men of Parachinar and if you stay a little longer I'm sure you'll have no trouble in finding millions like him all over the country.

Love from Sudan

Trip to Pakistan and Referendum in Sudan Part I

It's been eighteen months since I got here, and its seems like I left Minneapolis yesterday. Don't get me wrong I remember most of my most of my time here and its been a very tiring and rewarding time, its just that whenever I go back to the US or Pakistan I expect things, people, relationships to be just as they were when I left and that is almost never the case.
Take my recent trip to Pakistan a few weeks ago. As has been the case since I left Pakistan a decade ago, whenever I go back its a bigger cultural shock than when I go back to the US.

Part of it is cause things don't change at the same rate in the US as they do in the developing world. Whenever I visit Islamabad there is always more people, more roads, more traffic, more buildings, more shops, more police, more beggars, less order, less trees, less parks, less tolerance, whereas in Minneapolis things are not really changing at all - I think I like it better that way, I think I'll always keep a home there.

My trip to Pakistan this time was for my sisters wedding, my only sisters wedding, and those of you who don't know how big of a deal weddings are in Pakistan, go watch "Monsoon wedding" and multiply that by like four. That's how crazy it was - festivities that lasted for a week.

But I'll start my story with my journey to Pakistan. On my flight from Doha to Islamabad, I met this young lady who was on her first 10 day trip to Pakistan. She was going to evaluate the efficacy of a USAID funded program and was currently doing her master's in Public Policy. As it was her first trip to what "TIME" magazine calls the most dangerous place on earth she had many questions about Pakistan. How are the people like? Hows the food like? What are good places to go? etc etc. I answered her every question as truthfully as I could, maybe more truthfully than I think she would have liked I suppose.

Pakistan is a very confusing place, you will find extreme corruption and honesty at the same time, you will find apathy and enthusiasm also in abundance and it drives even a guy like me whose lived 18 years in the country absolutely nuts.

Lets take my flight back as an example, when boarding the plane from Doha all the passengers who were mostly Pakistani were relatively orderly, queuing properly, not being overly loud just like people from any other place, but as soon as the plane landed in Pakistan it was like all of them were bipolar. Even before the plane had stopped moving most of them got up from their seats and started removing their luggage, the cabin crew kept mentioning on the PA system that we haven't stopped yet but had no affect on what seemed like a herd of wilder-beast on their annual migration from the Serengetti to the Masai Mara. Bags were falling over, people started arguing and I was just sitting back and telling myself "yup, nothings changed, I'm back home".

I had told the USAID lady earlier during the flight that the problem in Pakistan is not that there aren't proper rules or policies in place, the problem is enforcement, and as soon as she saw these people getting up from their seats on a moving plane she looked at me and smiled.

Finally everyone got off the plane to get into the bus that had to take everyone to the terminal at the same time so God knows what the hurry for leaving the plane was all about. Once on the terminal, passed the immigration and customs to the baggage claim you could see signs everywhere which read NO SMOKING, in both Urdu and English but as I expected 6 or 7 people lit their cigarettes. I confronted one of them and pointed out the signs to him, to which he replied, I'm back home, I can do whatever I want. I pointed him out to a police officer who politely told me off "kuch nahin hota jee..cigarette hee to hey" - "doesn't matter sir, its only a cigarette". For the LOVE OF GOD, it is not "only a cigarette", its the law.

That is the problem in Pakistan, these same people who were probably day laborers, who are abused and overworked in Dubai but because there is someone who enforces the law no matter how inhuman that law might be, refuse to revolt or say anything, but in their own country take advantage of the fact that no one is there to enforce the laws.

To be contd.........................

Update from "Those of the Sudan"

Today is the first day in a few months where I have nothing to do to the point where i'm finally writing something. Its 44 degree Celsius (111 F) in the shade and I have this fan in my office which is preventing me from dehydrating to death.
It's the middle of shipping season which means that the roads (gravel) in South Sudan are dry enough to have supplies shipped on them to the 16 sub-stations we have West of the Nile. All the food, construction supplies, fuel, car parts, UN food for training, you name it is shipped from Rumbek where the hub is to all over south west Sudan.
Working in a place like this you start questioning pretty much everything about life and nature, and inequality and well pretty much everything thing else that can be questioned. It bamboozles you when you see the things you see here and look at the calender to see the year 2010 written on it.
Most of the people living here in the South are at least 100 - 200 years behind the rest of the world. If you see a good house made of bricks with a water tank and lights, the first thing that comes to mind is the word "NGO" and the second "MINISTER".
Being a person of faith you get frustrated when you see people living in abject poverty, dying because of lack of basic facilities taken for granted elsewhere in the world. You try to do what you can, but you just keep facing one obstacle after another. You keep going and you keep getting hurt and it wears you down and you just hope you can keep going and not become cynical and turn into those people who you hated in the first place and were the reason why you come here. The people who are of the view that, "we are who we are because we deserve it. We live in a big house, have cold and hot water, have AC, a nice car, because we worked hard for it. Nothing is by chance" they say. "If you work hard enough you can achieve all that you want" is another one of their favorite lines. Well i can assure you, none of these people have been to South Sudan, or Haiti, or even the south side of Chicago.
Everyone on my compound, EVERYONE, works harder than I do. They work more, they eat less, they don't have a fan at night, they don't take antimalarial pills like me, they can't afford a thermos to keep their water cold. They work all day, but the combined salary of all my staff in Rumbek would be less than my salary. How f'd up is that for lack of a more appropriate word.
Yes, I know I know, I can state the reasons for this, their lack of education, no market structure, sixty years of civil war bla bla bla...... but the fact of the matter is that none of these can reasons can provide any comfort to the families whose kids die of malaria, typhoid, diarrhea, the heat, just simple every day things.
I'm not saying this because I'm ashamed of what I do or who I am and I want to run away into the jungle never to be seen again. I promised myself that I'll do something about and till the last useless breath is taken by me, I will keep trying! It probably won't change a thing, but I'll keep trying. I was taught by my faith that "saving the life of one person is like saving entire humanity" so, I will take it step by step, one person at a time and at least when its all said and done I can look up to the heavens and say, "well I did try, probably not as much as I could have, but you know I did".
One thing that I have learn't here, though which I'm sure all of us have heard from elders or read in books at some point in our lives, is that nothing except for the human relationships we make matter in life. That holds true more than anything when you come to a place like South Sudan. I once read this research that concluded that the majority of people on their death bed did not care about anything that they were leaving behind except for the human connections they had made in their lives. Not money, not cars, not their extravagant portfolios, nothin.g
I have people here that I haven't offered anything except for a few days worth of food, helped lessen their suffering temporarily, and greeted them with warmth, and in return they are willing to lay their lives for me. I say this with tears in my eyes but I would leave Sudan a content person because there is ntohing I have done for them yet I have been showered with so much love.
I remember when i was leaving town to go back to Pakistan and Minneapolis for the new year vacation, I walked out of my room and everyone wanted to see me off. We drove in multiple cars and everyone wanted to carry some little luggage of mine to the airstrip. How many people come to drop us to the airport when we are leaving our homes in the West? Maybe our closest friend or our wives and parents? And that is after you have spent years and years with them. Here, you have people who will show you so much love and ask NOTHING in return. And when you see such suffering for such amazing people it just breaks your heart and you don't know what to do except for looking up and yelling "WHY, why them with all the suffering and why not me, what is so much better about me"
Anyways, sorry about the mundane, depressing talk, and for all 10 of you who have decided to read on, on the bright side of things, I am supporting a few local business agricultural ventures, locally run NGO's, and bright local kids who want to go to university. Some of these ventures include girls' boarding schools run by wonderful missionaries who are overcoming tremendous obstacles to provide education to the local women.
I'm also supporting Sudanese kids who are trying to seek higher education in universities is East Africa as the educational structure in South Sudan is not good enough yet. I work with hundreds of Sudanese involved with the health programs and many of them are very bright kids who work with us as field officers and area supervisors, compound staff, etc and are unable to continue education after secondary school due to various problems at home.
I'm telling ya'll all of this because I know many of you have asked me on various occasions on how they can help. I'm in the process of starting a website dedicated to the people/groups that are being helped and also registering an NGO so that ya'll can be tax exempted as well, but that might take a bit. In the mean time if someone needs any details or wishes to help they can deposit money in my US accounts. I can provide you with the details upon request.

I'll leave you with a few "Only in Sudan" to lighten up the mood:

Only in Sudan - will MEN have plastic pink colored flowers on the handle of their bicycles for decoration. I repeat, MEN

Only in Sudan - will you see people driving their bicycles without any brakes and using their feet to stop themselves (true story)

Only in Sudan - will the same people be using different signatures each time they sign

Only in Sudan - are you LEGALLY required to turn on the hazard light of the care if going straight through a round-about (20 USD fine if you don't)

Only in Sudan - is it ILLEGAL to drive WITH sunglasses on

Contd....The layoffs, the pregnancy and the chaos that ensued

So hopefully on the 6th the judge will instruct Mike to buy a few cows and that'll be that and I'll get my assistant compound manager back.

Now moving on to yet another "only in South Sudan story". So I posted for this new "Office Manager" position around town to help out with inventory and accounting. The posting requires that applicants have an undergraduate degree and had like a whole list of requirements and about 10 bullet points of job responsibilities. I posted this on the 22th and the applications were due in until the 30th.

Everyday I would have one or two people drop off their application at the gate or come inside talk to me and hand their application over to me. Barring 1 the 8 or so applicants that I met did not really speak any English and certainly did not have an undergraduate degree. So finally, I asked one of them if he was indeed applying for the office manager job and what in his eyes made him qualified for it. Oh! I forgot to mention, his application job envelope said "transport officer application". So at this point I was totally bewildered. I thought, I was in charge of the Carter Center here, who's been going around advertising a transport officer job behind my back.
The guy whips out the posting of the Office Manager Job that he had made a copy of, (which in itself is pretty impressive for South Sudan) and points to the no. 5 bullet point on the job responsibilities section.

"No. 5 - Help the transport officer calculate the fuel being using on a monthly basis"

So in case its not clear yet, this guy was applying for only one of the responsibilities of the Office Manager job. I couldn't get myself to tell the guy that he had gotten this all wrong. We were looking for a guy who could do all the ten things listed. Not 10 guys doing one thing each. But I was like "Thank you Chol, we will call you if we are interested".
Then I went back to look at the other applications, and yes you guessed it all of them barring one were for "No. 5 - Help the transport officer calculate the fuel being using on a monthly basis".

The evenings here at the compound are actually pretty awesome. I made friends with these Italian folks that work for CEFA and we have a good game of 5 on 5 soccer three times a week. The rest of the evenings of the week it rains, so Peter Mawel (Papa Mike) the mechanic and I - Papa Mike being his call name during the war days here, sit and have some quality "hookah" with chai.

The best thing that happened this week was me slaughtering a goat, those of you who haven't done it, ya'll have no idea what I'm talking about but those of you who have, know that its pretty interesting. The interesting and kinda unsettling part of it all, were the thoughts running through my mind as the events of the goat cutting unfolded. Steffen, the former Op manager was leaving so he bought two goats for the last supper here in Rumbek. Now butchers all over East Africa just like in India are muslims, (never seen a butchery in Africa that didn't have a resident muslim slaughterer yet) as muslims arn't supposed to eat meat that is not Halal (the animal has to be slaughtered in the name of God so to speak, similar to Kosher, where a Rabai has to bless it). So me being the resident muslim had to slaughter the goat.

Now up until the point I actually did it, I'll be honest, I wasn't too sure about the whole thing. I mean, I like everyone else here is a big hypocrite when it comes to such things. I love all sorts of meat but killing the animal myself, naaah, I just want it in pieces so that I can cook it, I don't want to see all the blood gushing out and the animal being in pain for a good 30 seconds before it actually dies.

So Aloro, the turnboy took the goat down, grabbed the legs and handed me the knife. I asked him repeatedly if the knife was sharpe enough, and which one of the three I had there was the sharpest, cause I wanted this to be quick and dirty. Finally, I decided on which knife to use, pulled the head of the goat back and "Bismillah-e-wallahallah-o-akbar" and obviously the blood came gushing out and I kept going till I made sure I cut off the main artery so that the blood would come out faster and the poor animal would get out of its misery a bit quicker. Well as I said earlier the whole thing might have been 30 seconds tops, but something very piculiar happened that has me thinking even now. Up until the point that I actually did start the process of cutting the goat's neck I was very nervous, mainly for the goat. I didn't want to hurt it, it had done nothing to me and I felt really really bad for the poor thing. I didn't even think I would go through with it at one point, but the moment I started cutting into its skin, all that care and fear for the animal disappeared. All I cared about was getting the job done and nothing else. No more thoughts of how the animal would be in pain. I will admit I might have even enjoyed it a little.
Since then I've been wondering about how these things that we feel like - acts of torture or extreme violence are unfathemable for anyone to do, and we abhor everyone who does them, and we can't believe how normal people can do these things? are they not human? etc etc. Well I realised yet again today that I am as much capable of doing really bad things and enjoying them as any "lost boy" of the South Sudan child army. Humbling to know that perhaps there is nothing, absolutely nothing special about you except for the circumstances that you were born in.

Till next week, Kwaheri