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