Air Con!

Not to be confused with Con Air, the fine Nick Cage and John Cusack film. I have been trying to save my piastas up so I could buy an air conditioner and I finally did a few weeks ago. It has been in transit for an age and a day, but finally arrived Friday night. We have a bunch of handy people around here and preferring to be busy while they get their drunk on, they took to installing it for me today. 5 plus hours and countless beers later and plenty of questioning of their skills by your truly later, it is pumping out the coolness. Now I just have to hope that they installed it properly. It's a fairly rough install, it's a split unit so the motor sits outside and the the fan inside with some copper piping that has to run in or out--depends on your perspective--to the motorbox outside. A clean install would mean that neither the pipes nor the electrical would be meandering along walls as much as they are now. Nor would a green garden hose be poking out of the wall as drainage. Maybe I can get them to go back and imrpove on a few things. The windows still have to be sealed up any way you cut it, so it's not outside of the realm of possibility that I can get them to drill a small hole in the wall to thread the power cable through instead of running it along an exterior wall for a half dozen feet before coming in through the window. At least it's cool in there now. Now if could just figure out why my eyes are itching everytime I go in there.

Minefield Mountain Biking

Whilst I was in the civilized world I spent an inordinate amount of time debating whether or not I should bring a bicycle back with me. On the one hand I was getting tubby and needed something enjoyable to do to keep myself fit, sane and able to see a little bit of my surroundings, on the other there was the real prospect of laying out serious dough to get the bike, get it there and then have it lost or stolen. I knew it would be key to getting my head back on straight, even so, it required a team effort to make Clinton Kelly Cannondale's acquisition a reality. I test road a lot of bicycles, I went to a lot of bike shops. A lot of bike shops. Bike shops in 4 states. 4 states.
I have found that I have become somewhat obsessed with seeking out and locking in the best value for dollar these last few years and this only added fuel to my OCD bike related fire. Plane tickets, hotels, bikes, whatever it might be I will get what I want for the right price.

The problem that develops with an obsessive type with 'discerning' taste in bicycles who goes shopping for them is that you're never satisfied that you've found the deal and coupled with the modicum of guilt about spending money that might be better used on paying off that IKEA credit card, or one of the many other debts you have and the prospect of heavy extra bagagge fees piled on by the various airlines I'd be flying, you end up so paralyzed with indecisiveness that you must be talked into doing what you clearly knew you wanted to do when you set out.

After 3 weeks of vascilating between brands, shops and states (sales tax is an important element to consider when seeking out value for dollar!) at literally the 11th hour (it was 11 am on April 27th, 7 hours and 5 minutes before my flight, I received one of the three final signs I needed to proceed; the midtown shop would match the price of the shop in Washington Heights ( I was willing to pay the higher sales tax at the right pricepoint)! I was moving in for the kill. We hustled on over to Manhattan and on the way over I was reminded my birthday was nigh. Sign two. When we arrived at the shop I was asked what I wanted for my birthday and that was the third sign. She was going to feed the beast, the old Cannondale F5 was coming home with me a right fantastic birthday present. On checkout a slight problem developed; the bike hand been built up over the weekend and they would not match the price as I had been told on the phone. Oy. Panic sets in, sweating, wavering, but fortunately I had support and an executive decision was made on my behalf. I was taking a bike back with me, we'd wait it out and the 50 extra clams wouldn't get in the way. It was now just shy of 2pm. 2 hours from when the type of individual who is in charge of ridding the landscape of an impovrished nation of the explosive remnants of war should be at the airport. They needed and hour pack the bike. It would be ready at 3. It was. We traversed manhattan rather quickly all things looked good, no delay on the Queensboro bridge, smooth smooth until just about back to Greenpoint when someone decided they needed to ply the toxic waters of Newtown creek and the drawbridge on the Pulaski Bridge went up and stayed up for an eternity.

Gathered the belongings and left for the airport at 3:50pm, for those keeping track, a scant 10 minutes from that commonly accepted 2 hour window for international flights.

My compliments to the Northside cab driver, he threaded us through some interesting neighborhoods and got me to JFK at 4:55pm. Line was short at check in, thought that was a good sign for an empty flight, but that didn't end up being the case, but that's another story!

The world's most unpleasant person was waiting there as I threaded my bike box through the ropes deftly. "You're late." My curt reply; "Thank you for stating the obvious, am I going to get on or what?". Swiss, if you're reading, you need to can that grumpy lady's derierre. Regardless of how much kvetching was going on around her, the 'tude was unecessary and she was dishing it out to everyone.

Fortunately my time with her was limited because the line was moving swiftly and I ended up with this cat who made me rearrange and consolidate my belongings so he could avoid charging me the exorbitent bike as bagagge fee! He did me a solid alright. He did take a rather long time to process me and it was still a tad uncertain if I was going to make it. I certainly wouldn't have objected to an extra night, but that might not have sat too well with the employers.

I made, just so and not without running into cruella again who was of course ready with her editorial comments about passangers who needed gate seat assignments.

Clinton was lucky he was left behind in New York, he didn't have to put up with the scene on board the leg to Zurich.

Swiss did well to reunite us only a day later. Clinton Kelly Cannondale was brought to me by an armed escort. It ain't dubbed Nairobbery for no reason.

It's been fun riding around on the alternatingly dusty and muddy roads of South Sudan. I road the old F5 to the mech team training site the other day and will do so a couple of times this week too. It's not a real minefield, not to say I might not ride to the real clearance site one day, it's certainly a more comfortable method of transportation that aged Landcruiser!

Hiatus

Hello, hello. As you might have noticed, or didn't because the blog was on hiatus, the blog has been on hiatus.

March was a long month here in the South of Sudan and I ran out of enthusiasm for recording life here. I just didn't have much to say that struck me as potentially being of interest to anyone. Too many weeks in a place like this in a row just grinds you down. I fortunately got out of the country for what amounted to a solid month between attending a training in Kenya on the specifics receiving funding for DG ECHO and some leave time.

Now I'm back, with my head screwed on slightly straighter but still sweating buckets.

More soon.

Smooth Operator

That Britt is one sharp cookie. A German Shepherd doesn't far too well in 100 plus degree heat day in and day out without a good plan. Well, I uncovered Mr. Retired Mine Dectection Dog's secret to keeping cool today; he takes a shower.

I've got this English 'bloke' hanging around renting tent space on the compound. Very nice fellow, bored with aerospace engineering so he's now doing a bit of this and that including some large scale plumbing--setting up water pumps and filters for villages here in SS.

When I learned he was a plumber and kitchen installer in his post aerospace life, I quickly set about testing the water to see whether or not he'd be interested in some projects around this place.

He was game so he and I were wandering around looking at the space and ended with a tour of the bathrooms. as we're exiting after a run through what needs to be done, trotting up comes Britt. He is not one to really wander into the buildings to much, so when I witnessed him enter into the bathroom block I was a little surprised. On the left as you enter is the shower and in he went. One of the things Malcom and I were looking at was the leaking shower head. It's been leaking for some time and Britt took note a while back I assume. It's clear that through the day when he gets toasty he goes in for a dip. That explains the very damp and muddy Britt that has been appearing more and more of late.

He'll be a little upset with me since the shower head was fixed this evening. Probably won't be long before the other shower starts leaking, so he ought to be fine.

Smart cookie taking note of something like a leaking shower.

Retirement Community

When there's Juba, why bother with Boca and Palm Springs?

The FSD/SIMAS compound is not shared with a tenant, a commercial demining organization called The Development Initiative, or TDI.

As a part of their 'Toolbox' they have mine dogs. Mine dogs are like bomb sniffing dogs in airports or train stations except they get their smell on looking for mines.

Brit--or maybe it really is Brett like the Brett in Flight of the Conchords whose name is pronounced 'Brit'--is a retired mine dog. Brit was brought up in South Africa and has been living in Sudan working as a mine dog for some time. Not too long, but long enough to justify retirement. Brit is 12. Having Brit around is a real pleasure. He is very well adjusted and mellow. He suffers in the heat as much as the rest of us do, probably more. Makes you a little nervous the way he is constantl changing positions, but I guess he keeps looking for a cool spot. He's always got a smile on too, which is nice. He's getting a little brazen trying to enter the kitchen all the time, but who can blame him?

I'd been talking about a compound dog, not some ugly-ass whippet looking local dog, but a burebred like Dr. Brit, so his addition was a welcome one. He isn't much of a guard dog, but the locals don't care for him by nature, which is good, because then we have a well mannered mine dog that does undercover work as a security dog!

Dry Season

It is dry season in lovely South Sudan and that means dust. Here is a shot from the Dell desktop that the FSD IT guy who is here visitng took apart to clear. Amazingly this puppy was still working reasonably well considering all dust and cobwebs.

This is only a year's worth of gathered dust and cobwebs.

Proud

I'm sure the World Food Program would be proud if they knew their old equipment had found a new lease on life as a bar.

Being Milton Friedman

The deminers in the field are much maligned, blamed for vehicle breakdowns and unnecessary fuel expenditures. The breakdowns may well be their doing, but it appears that none are outside of the course of the typical wear and tear a vehicle covering these miserable roads would suffer.

The sky high fuel costs it seems are the doing of the office staff plundering and using the field staff as scape goats. I've also realized that the field staff have not received an increase in their feeding allowances since 2005, forgotten by the diesel addled brains of the administrative staff long ago.

You can't arbitrarily up a feeding allowance, however, and recalling similar issue my past organizaiton faced with staff in Cambodia, I once again donned my Milton Friedman cap and broke out the calculator and various readings I could find on economics and Sudan and calculated the Consumer Price Index inflation rate for the last 4 years. For many of you the notion of myself engaged in any sort of math related practice that will have some sort of an impact on others well beings is, well, probably nothing short of appaling.

Well, I'll have you all know that I am quite confident in my calaculations. Henceforth, each deminer should receive an additional 3 pounds per day for their feeding allowance. I actually rounded it up to three pounds because I am such a generous guy.

I am very proud of my CPI calculating accomplishment, now I just have to figure out how to catch the fueling theiving office folks red handed.

Love 40

It is 930 on a Thursday night in lovely Juba and I am bouncing a tennis ball off of my bedroom wall for fun. It has come to that. Earlier I was 'juggling' the very same tennis ball with a cricket bat in my room. That at least required a modicum of skill.

Time to break out the PSP.

Why there?

What possess you to live in a toilet my little amphibian friend? Have never seen one of these little cuys anywhere but in the toilet, never. Strange place to spend ones time. They have to come from within into the bowl, which is just strange.

Please Mr. Bol, Pay Us A Visit

We've got the new FSD/SIMAS basketball court set up. I'm quite the sharpshooter from 15 feet or so. It's been nice, gets you out from in front of the computer between 530pm or so and 730, 745ish. Shoot some hoops, shower, take dinner and you're most of the way through the evening.

We've had a lot of extra people around this week to help with the Christening of the court. It's been fun to watch the locals give it a go. Not a particularly atheletic bunch these deminers, but they make up for that in spirit. I don't know very many of the deminers all that well, but those that I do know better are particularly interesting to watch play, because you can see their character traits come out. The guy who is the most analytical in the bunch really 'measures' each shot for example.

I heard there was a Manute Bol sighting up in Wau recently. Maybe he'll come spend an afternoon with the likes of us, instructing on the finer points of offensive rebounding.

I'll take 5 Realms Please

Realms, rim, rimm or ream? It's a ream of paper, right? I've been trying to introduce real procurement procedures here, among them the idea of forecasting needs and buying in bulk. I've started off with office consumables and paper being the primary consumable, it gets a lot of attention.

I've been requesting quotes from various parties and in response a number of strang sounding products and interesting offers have been presented; realms, rim and rimm. My personal fav are the realms. I am thinking a few alternative realms here in Juba wouldn't hurt. Would allow for easy R & R, just tear open a realm and off I'll go.

It's What's For Dinner

Portable Sanity Preserver

While the HMTB assures its user a chance to shake his money maker for as many of the two minutes as he/she can tolerate at the opening and close of each day (I have now worked up to 1 minute 25 seconds), the Sony PSP really does yeoman's work when it comes to staving off the onset of boredom.

Newly acquired at Christmas time--sincerest pf thanks to all who provided me with the machine and the dozen games I now have--I am already through a quarter of an NBA season in a few short weeks.

It is very easy to pass a couple of hours obsessively trying to get less than spectacular NBA players, like one P.J. Brown, to score in the double digits against the 'Lake Show' as one B.E.D. refers to them (I think B.E.D. has received more references in this blog than communications from me in the last night). My college roommates and I all rather enjoyed playing NBA Live, passing countless hours in front of the glowing box playing 'vintage' NBA Live (being from 94 or 95 qualified as vintage in 1998).

One of the favorite facets of game play from that era was the deliberate playing and virtually exclusive use of a single player from outside of the starting roster. Andrew Declerq was a favorite of mine (he had an illustrious career with the Celtics in some of the leaner years of their decade of despair). B.E.D. eclusively used Jeff Hornacek of the Utah Jazz and Reg made a habit of using Horatio Llamos, who was a Phoenix Sun at the time if I recall correctly. Reg was a real wiz of the joystick, he could make Horatio move in the paint in ways that Andrew DeClerq couldn't even dream of. B.E.D.'s mastery of "Hornball's" 3 point shooting prowess was truly remarkable. a 70 point game for B.E.D. and Hornball were the rule, not the exception.

I guess not much has changed in a decade. Wow, a decade. A decade has passed since my glory days as a video game player and here I sit in sweltering dusty Sudan trying to rekindle the flame.

I certainly have time on my side when it comes to rekindling the flame. Once I satifactorily rekindle the NBA Live flame, I will move on to Madden 2009 and see if I can't get Rookie Tight End to get his spin move on.

Time to power up, have an Oreo purchased in Kenya, made under license in the Philipines and get playing.

Cyley Myrus

Brother in law bought me a Hannah Montana singing toothbrush. Broke that out the other night and have been using it ever since. It's quite high tech and most righteous. It's a beautiful concept in dental hygiene. Brush until the music stops. Most of us don't brush out teeth long enough and that pattern is established when we are youts apparently. The inventors of the Hannah Montanna singing toothbrush want to nip poor dental hygiene in the bud with the help of America's favorite poplet by issuing the youts of America with singing toothbrushes. Apparently there are many youts out there who want to listen to the little Cyrus girl. You have to brush in order to hear the sweet siren song. If you stop brushing the volume drops.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, even when brushing the music does not really blast out of the toothbrush in a way that would cause the demining types to take notice and raise an eyebrow.

Through some sort of high tech, parent sanity saving magic, the music is conducted through our teeth into our melons and this only happens while we brush. If we stop brushing, the volume drops and I believe, though I can't be sure because I can't stand next to myself and listen, that the music is not really audible by others hardly at all. I am somewhat disappointed by that fact. It would have been nice to make the new tenants think I am weirder than they already do because I don't drink a minimum of 8 beers a night.

The sad thing is that the HMTB has not fulfilled its goal of improving my dental hygiene. So painful is it to listen to Hannah Montana tunes, that I can't make it through the full song.

I will keep trying.

Otherwise, it is very hot and dusty here. Working on installing a wiffle ball field and a basketball court. Need to find an a/c too. Busy week of working, lots to do.

Need to get back into the groove of updating.

Enjoy the photo of me and the HMTB. Thank you Kristopher.

Maybe they will come out with a Dave Chappelle or Bernie Mac singing toothbrush. Now those would be something. 'America...'

Is This Who You'd Want Your Children Taking Driving Lessons From?

After a very long silence I've decided to start sharing my musings once again.

As you might have guessed by the extended silence, the last few weeks have been quite busy. I left Sudan on December 20th for a whirlwind 13 day vacation. 27 hours in the air in 5 days. I flew all the way to LA from Zurich to finish packing up my apartment there, get it loaded and shipped across to a storage facility in the hometown Skarhead and Freddy Madball.

Once that was taken care of the remaining days were great, spent seeing family and friends. Very short stay given the amount of effort required to get home, nevertheless I appreciated and enjoy every second of being able to grace our fine country's shores with my presence. I really appreciate living there now, let me tell you. You get used to the simple way of life and the hardship that comes with living in a place like Juba, Sudan, but that doesn't mean you like it, or would trade it in. No way, no how.

Like my trip to Khartoum I transited through Nairobi, Kenya. Nairobi is an ok town, kind of like the LA of Africa, minus the film industry and the beach and the mountains. What I mean by the Los Angeles of Africa is that it is quite sprawling so, while many rave about its beauty, it is rather difficult to get a real feel for it because there is so much sprawl. Oh, and the traffic is perhaps worse than LA's. Yeah, it is that bad. Apparently, I am hearing this second hand from a taxi driver, past governments and possibly the current one, pocketed money that was to be used for infrastructure improvements like highways. Instead everything in and around Nairobi effectively travels on city streets.

The drivers are somewhat better than in Sudan, but the distinct lack of lines on the road results in a positioning free for all, and while traffic lights appear to exist, they don't seem to be in use or heeded.

The other days whilst driving downtown to get a multi-entry visa I spied the above photo which should help you understand the type of driver one can expect to encounter here.

The traffic is so bad, it is hard to get more than one thing done per day and there is no alternative but to take some form of an automobile, preferably not one of the mini buses that dart in and out and al over. I had the uncomfortable fortune of trying one out the other day. They are their own thing, the are painted up, emblazened with rappers' visages or soccer team logos and blare loud music. This is mass transit here and interestingly folks from across all walks appear to use them, unfazed by the bass thumping.

I ended up sitting all the way in the back on top of the bass in the particular mini bus I entered. This was not good and not for the more obvious of reasons. Firstly, you are far from the door, which personally bothers me. I want to be able to get out when I want to get out, I don't want to be encumbvered. Secondly, when you are behind or on top of the rear wheels things are naturally bumpier and less comfortable. The real issue, however, was head room. I was sandwiched in there like a sardine. Of course as soon as I realized this I wanted to make a bee line for the door, but it was too late we were in motion. I literally had to sit leaning forward into the seat infront of me much to the delight of the middle aged female there. Not understanding at all.

I thought, ok, this isn't fun, but I can deal. That was before my esteemed chauffeur decided to get all Travis Pastrana on his passengers and go rally racing. Nairobi, being fairly bucolic in nature is not without dirt and grass. Well, my esteemed chauffeur took it upon himself to make use of all available surfaces and space to make his way around the city. This was not fun. Try to imagine offroading in an old VW van jammed with people. Not designed for such activities.

After what seemed like an enternity, I finally mananaged to get the driver to stop and tripped my way out on the roadway. Phew. I started the walk back up to the area where I am staying. Not too far and far more pleasant than staying inside that pinball machine. Amusingly, the guy passed me a short while later with a bemused look on his face. Why was he looking at me that way when he was driving in the opposite direction from where he was supposed to be going? I should have been giving him that look. These guys just cruise all over trying to stay full. When I got out there was room, schedules be damned, he was gonna check the hood for a new passenger.

This wild ride and semi-tear gassing while downtown as they dispersed an anti-Israel protest were two unique experience during the course of an otherwise fairly normal day in a fairly normal place.

More later, forgot my adapter.


Went to the Nairboi National Park yesterday afternoon.

Only taxis in this land from here on out.

Update

Real, or real fake? Turns out after doing some perusing of the inter-dial and discovered that these sneakers are actually real!

All the little clues that reveal their authenticity are there, stars on the sole instead of just plain rubber etc. etc. Quite the score. I am going to scour the markets and acquire all the remaining pairs in Juba and take them to the US where I will sell them on Ebay to youth in Japan for a princely sum. A true princely sum.

Real, or Real Fake?

Me thinks the answer is real fake, but who's gonna know without a close exam of them? They're a wee bit too small, but I am willing to sacrifice comfort for style. Make a whole bunch of Japanese kids jealous. Bought them in the Konyo Konyo market here in Juba for the princely sum of $25 just a few hours before the market was the scene of a skirmish between clans who found missing cattle in the possession of the other.

Air Jordan IVs is what you are looking at. Takes me back to the 7th grade. Kris Kramer had a pair, two pairs in fact. This particular color scheme and the white ones they made too. It also reminds me of the one time that I can recall pitching a fit in public regarding a product. Walpole Sports Shop, late September or October afternoon. I can actually recall the way the light was in the shop. The sun was setting. Adam Wozniak had the very first Air Jordan's and I wanted them too. That must've been the third grade?

I wasn't very well behaved that afternoon.

Just sitting here in Juba sweating and counting the hours until next Saturday when I will be spending 10 hours in Nairobi before an epic series of flights back to LA. Wish I hadn't lost my Lufthansa Miles and More card for the second time in a year and a half. Those are some serious air miles I will be racking up.

There are now 3 'internationals' here as we added one last weekend. He has helped to really organize the workshop area in short order and is taking and inventory and arranging all the spares so they can be properly accounted for. We're going big in 2009 and a serious inventory control system is much needed.

I am officially bored now. I have had lunch. There isn't a comfortable chair in this place. I may as well go lie down.

Oh, maybe not. My people have decided they want to do some work I've been asking them to do now. Goody.

A Little Bit of Justus

I was reminded of Justus, PA's favorite son Blaise Edward Defazio, this evening. The gods have been smiling upon me and have provided me with frozen boneless chicken breasts. Only $20 a pound, so not too unreasonable. Might even have been only $20 a kilo, which would be an even better deal.

2 weeks ago whilst in Khartoum I was astounded to see Old El Paso Soft Tacos in a box on a store shelf. Apparently the old embargo doesn't quite extend to Old El Paso. Or Carrier Air Conditioners for that matter, but I digress.

So I had the tacos in a box burning a whole in my food shelf and I decided to whip them up. The turned out rather well if I do say so myself. I have no spice mix leftover, but i do have some more chicken and taco sauce left for another meal.

Being the wonderful soul that I am, I decided I would offer my dutiful security detail a chicken taco. It was supposedly 'Tamam', though I will never really know if that was the case or not until I learn me some Juba Arabic. Even the worst food I cook has to be better than the best thing they get from the barracks. The local food here is just awful. I can barely choke down what the cook/cleaner prepares for us at lunch. Can't wait for TDI to get their chef over here! Hurry up already. Seriously, I can't even look at the lentil mush anymore, it's fast replacing mayonnaise as the number one item to get me to the nausea breaking point (aside from that mystery Chinatown/Konyo Konyo Market smell of course).

My dutiful security detail politely took his plate straight up back to the spigot and rinsed it off. And then promptly brought it inside and stacked it with the clean plates. He had given it the famed Blaise Edward Defazio "Once Over." Hold up there pal! That dish is not going back on the clean dish pile, no sir.

Blaise Edward had a habit of serving himself up a heapinghelping of venison or another rather unusual concoction then just rinsing the plate, rather than actually applying soap and a sponge.

Wau has it's very own Blaise Edward. Wau is the city my dutiful guard hails from.

Today was a long day. We had a full compliment of help around here, but a half compliment of management. Everything was being done frustratingly wrong. It was exhausting to run around and look at all the wrong. Paint all over the bathroom inspite of issuance and pleas for use of drop clothes. Locks on doors put in upside down and gaping holes so large you could fly an Antonov through without difficulty. I exaggerate, but the whole is sizeable, sizeable enough you could without difficulty just sneak your fingers through and twist the key inside. Oh, but wait; with the lock in upside down theives and child snatchers will be thrown off and not be able to enter, maybe the source of my frustration is really a stroke of luck or had been deliberatly engineered to safeguard my well being!

So tomorrow it all will have to be redone. It isn't acceptable. Appearances count. That being said maybe I should try shaving and wearing some item of FSD paraphanaelia from time to time. It is in the rule book afterall that I sport the logo. I hate oversized shirts now and the onlly available FSD shirts are too huge for my tastes. We're working on new order.

Thanks again to Khartoum for providing me with the culinary delight that is Old El Paso taco in a box after a long one. Went down smooth.

Now if only Juba could offer up the delightful array of foodstuffs Khartoum does. Night and day, Waertown New York, to New York, New York. Juba and Khartoum are worlds apart just like those two towns. Funny thing is a Khartoum has been 'downgraded' from a 10 weeks then a break for UN personnel to 8 weeks and a mandatory break location. Uhhhhh don't quite understand that one. Juba is 6 and a break for UN. Khartoum is lightyears ahead of Juba comfort-wise. No arguing that point. Municipal water, municipal power, paved roads, plenty of food etc. etc.

None of it affects me anyway since I am not UN, but if I were I'd be a little ticked off at my counterparts in Khartoum.

The Hills of Los Angeles are Burning

Thanks to Bad Religion for the blog title. I got to see them pre-departure for free at the Etnies Skatepark/warehouse down somewhere I can't remember north east of San Diego.

While I think the hills of Los Angeles are doing alright right now, no fires that I am aware of, greater Juba is ablaze. The difference being that the fires here are being set--well I guess you can't rule that entirely out in the case of the various fies that plague Southern California each year--to clear the dried out chest high grass that covers much of the Southern Landscape.

No one farms, so I am a litle perplexed as to why people bother to do this. Aesthetics, or to kill mosquitoes and drive out snakes? For fun? The way these fires move I can't help but think that many innocent little Tukuls and their inhabitants are burned to the ground. Reckless. Reckless and does nothing for the sub par air quality that already exists due to the fine dust that gets churned up by the traffic and blows everywhere.

Sunday night the fires came very close to burning into the compound, the wind changed its direction away from us and burned into our neighbors a bit, then changed direction one again and came back this way. The dutiful guard Yak--the only one of the two lifts a finger beyond opening the gate but still is asleep before I am and barely gets up before I do--unbeknownst to be me had made his way around the back fence to monitor the fire up close. I saw him back there and walked over to take a look myself with shovel in hand to give him something to work with, to create a fire line with if he so chose. He opted for a leaf covered branch to bat the flames out with. He managed to keep the fire at bay using that method quite effectively.

As I was walking back form the fence I noticed a largeish metal object on the ground. I walked over and took a closer look. It was a UXO. A UXO inside an organization that specializes in the clearance of such items compound. Not sure if it is a fluke, or I should be worried. A neighbor might have dumped it over the fence, who knows how it got here. It had no fuse so it was very safe, but still.

Thanks to all 2 readers out there for patiently awaiting my next entry. The Deputy Director of FSD was in town with me here in Juba for a week after we hit up Khartoum. I will doing some catching up on the finer points of those two weeks very soon.

Major achievement today in finding a package of frozen boneless chicken breats and mozzarella cheese! Only cost me $30 too!

Going to go whip up something with it all. I happen to have a spare box of stove top to go along with it.

The Perils of Hoarding

See that massive stain on the pocket of my favorite piece of oi-wear? That's from a pat of butter I was hoarding. Butter is unavailable in the South, only thing that is available is a margarine spread. It's just no substitute for real butter. Here in Khartoum butter abounds.

I wasn't planning on taking the pat back to Juba with me--let's be reasonable here, I'm not that out of touch yet--I was just going to savor it in the privacy of my own room. In the privacy of my own room where I can eat butter without the interference of bread or other like items. Just gobbling straight butter.

I do hope I can get the grease stain out of this shirt. It took one for the team.

PT

So I have been traveling a bit the last few days, but before I tell you about my new favorite place, I want to finally get around to a post I've been meaning to write since the first days of this adventure. It's a quick post really, just a bit of a note on the morning routine on the wrong side of the Juba bridge.

Out in Gumbo, that's the name of the 'suburb' of Juba where the compound is located, more and more people and 'structures' are popping up. The current main attractions in our neck of the woods besides ourselves are the GTZ/WFP crowd and a SPLA barracks.

Mornings are fairly pleasant times, because the relative cool of the night time lingers nicely. Most people in the lesser developed parts of the world operates roughly speaking on the sun-up to sun-down schedule, the folks in my neighborhood are no exception.

I of course do not and that is probably why I am so frustrated sleep-wise. What I have come to appreciate about the early morning hustle and bustle is the rhythmic sounds of boots hitting the ground and the pleasant sounding songs the SPLA soldier sing that they get their morning jog in. I haven't the foggiest as to what their singing about, but it sure sounds since. I particularly like the parts punctuated with little high pitched yips and ululating.

The funny thing is while the jog by the front of the compound heading away from the barracks towards town, they never seem to come back by the front.

Where do they go? There must be a trail around the back that takes them back to the barracks or something.

Excellent!

Denied the Thai Saturday night, I decided to go for it tonight. Came around the roundabout smoothly, cruised up one of three tarmaced roads in the town and took the right onto the smooth dirt road that takes you to the fine establishment that is Home and Away.

As I took that right hand turn off the tarmac road I noticed the 'splaaaaahh' presence. 'Splaaah' as in SPLA, Sudanese Peoples Liberation Army.

"Not again", I said aloud to myself as I straightened out from the turn and moved down the road ( I talk to myself a lot these days. I am good company if I do say so myself).

I took the left to head towards the gate and was surprised to see both sides of the street were lined with cars.

"This does not bode well", I thought as I parked the Land Rover.

As I walked toward the gate I noticed one side was open, a positive sign that was not there the other night. Lots more 'splaaaaah' but no heavy artillery tonight, just the AKs. I ask if I can eat and they wave me through the metal detector. It goes off, no one cares, I have nothing metallic besides my zippers on my person.

I go walk up to the Thai restaurant area and notice a 'Reserved' sign. I walk back down looking for someone to ask whether I can eat up there or not and they say yeah, so I walk up there and get the stares. I see some randoms and ask them. They indicate yes, so I go back up there and the looks begin, yes I have ridiculous hair people, it's the cold water, dust and lack of Aveda products. It's not polite to stare. Stop it. I ask the Rwandan waitress what the story is and she shoos me down to the patio a level below and tells me I can order from there because the upper area was indeed reserved.

I went and sat down and was actually able to order, off the menu even--Tuesday's are generally buffet night, so that was a small miracle. I generally don't like buffets unless they are composed of items I want to eat.

I was unconvinced that I was actually going to be served, but as time went on I started to believe.

While I was waiting. I noticed a nappily attired fit young guy with a walkie talkie come up and plant himself in the fenced in patio entrance way. After a couple of minutes everyone around me, about 10 people rose to their feet, I anticipating what was to come next at this point and rose to my feet as well and low and behold His Excellency, Lt. General, First Vice President of the Sudan, President of the Government of South Sudan, Salva Kiir did indeed appear, resplendent in his signature hat and beige suit!

There he was, my boy Sal. If only I could have joined him for dinner, said hello. All in good time. We're clearly going to cross paths since we've both decided this is the best eatery in town, which it is, at least as far as I am aware.

Again, very amazing that one can circulate in the same basic area to a rather important political figure, let alone literally be less than 20 feet away. Is he in the same league as a Gorby, Reagan, Bush, Mitterand, Sarko-Fascist, or Blair? No, but still in this neck of the woods where all these people are essentially omnipotent, it is rather amazing you can get that close.

Clearly I am not threatening looking.

Let's Do Work

I'd like skip into a day's work like Rob & Big, or an evening's work as was the case tonight, pounding fists and saying "Let's do work", but I just don't enjoy forced social encounters and that is exactly what I found myself wrapped up in.

The promise of food and sense of duty are all that get me to things of this nature. I am new in town, but I know most everyone already casually, that still doesn't ease the pain. I don't drink and I don't crank butts furiously and I don't like 'football' (soccer), or cricket, or rugby. Well, rugby is ok, but the point being that the majority of the lot here are capable of conversing about landmines and the aforementioned topics and must do so while consuming copious amounts of beer. Don't know how anyone can drink like the fish they do given the heat here, dry you right out.

I also forgot to mention that I never have been one to enjoy walking into a room of already ensconced people, making the rounds etc. That colors my opinion of these kinds of events and certainly sends me in with the wrong attitude about everything but the food since I know this is what awaits me.

People are fine and it wasn't that bad an evening to be honest, met one nice Japanese guy who works for UNMAS in New York and a Swedish guy who is here with the UN in Juba. I now have a meeting set with people there that will be good, so all in all it really was a productive evening, tme well spent.

It's a competitive world and we're all in essence attempting to curry the favor of the same people. The best conversations you have are with the UN people themselves because they hold the power in the funding sense and otherwise, accreditation etc. Things could go one of two ways with them and all are pleasant and chatty rather than the opposite fortunately. You've got to keep an eye on the other NGOs, they're the schemers. Ironic.

Ahhh well, what are you gonna do? More of it is in store next week as I get to go to Khartoum to try to chat up folks there and convince them to send the dollars our way. Maybe I will just tire of being worked up by it and just take the 'I don't give a rat's behind' approach and just do it and not think about it.

It takes a lot of energy to be tense. And now I am jittery from drinking coke since they didn't even have water to drink. Beer, or Coke. I don't drink Coke.

My New Best Friend

It's another lazy (read boring) Sunday afternoon here in the dust bowl that Juba has now turned into as a result of the rainy season abruptly drawing to a close. No trickling off, one last wild dumping of rain a week ago Friday followed by a cool Saturday and that was it.

Now a hot dry breeze blows and the once red and muddy roads are now dusty and bleached white. With the wind and traffic you get a steady cloud of dust blowing that coats everything. I've just noticed the grit on my arms and have felt it in my eyes, which isn't the kind of thing a contact lens wearer really wants to experience. Can't be good for the corneas.

You also get a little extra crunch with your meals as a result. I'm starting to get used to it, I've stopped thinking I've chipped a tooth or I'm chewing on bone.

Funny thing is I'm breathing better here than in LA even though I would assume the air quality is worse than that member of poor air quality royalty. More cars in LA yes, but as many old, poorly kept cars running on bad gas? No. Lots of fires in LA, lots of fires burning here too! These are deliberately set however. Burning here is like mowing your lawn in the US. I'd say it was to facilitate farming, but no one farms here along the fertile Nile oddly enough. From eggs to soap, everything is imported. Rather sad.

After that digression, back to my boring Sunday. This morning I had to drive one of our deminers to the airport for a trip to Nairobi where he's getting his Level III Explosive Ordnance Disposal training. Afterward I tried to find Nimule Logistics, a company that is supposed to have some solid, quality fresh meats on hand. I drove back and forth where I thought the joint was to be, to no avail. Not a great loss since as of right now I still do not have 24 hour power.

After that little sidetrip after the airport drop off i went to pick up two electricians who are working on rigging up the compound perimeter lighting. I ended up driving back and forth and forth and back because they weren't where they were supposed to be. They are pleasant people though, Kenyans.

I noticed a stepped up Police/SPLA presence around town today, the Kenyans thought it was because they heard a rumor that there was going to be another student protest tomorrow. Well, that theory was quickly dismissed when the lone police motor cycle in the area came blasting by and nothing followed it for a good long while until the town's only police car came up behind us. This is when I figured it was time to pull over. Following the police car was a brief gap, then a military pick up truck and the presidential Landcruisers, which were tailed by another pick up full of soldiers.

As soon as I saw the police motorcyle, I knew exactly what was up, because Salva is my new best friend. We keep running into each other all over town, we share the same fine taste in food.

Last night I attempted to go to the one place in Juba that actually manages to a) taste good b) fill me up c) is almost worth the exhorbitent prices they charge. When I drove by the normally open gate was closed and there was a heavy 'security' presence. I decided a few AKs and one PKM was not going to keep me from a decent meal, so I drove back by for another look, raising suspcion no doubt as it looked like I was casing the joint, parked the Land Rover and walked on over to the door.

I asked the crack security team ( only just a hint of sarcasm there a motley bunch for what turned out to be the presidential guard) if they were open and if I could eat and they said sure. So I stepped through the open door and the metal detector, which of course bleeted because it came upon me so fast I didn't have time to empty the pockets. They just waved me through and patted me down. I pulled out the car keys and the Thuraya just to be sure I wasn't raising their ire and they were happy and sent me on my merry way. I intended to go for a hamburger at the Nile restaurant, one of 4 establishments on sight and then get some take away from the Thai place for later in the evening. Much to my dismay, moments after I sat down the waiter came back and informed me there was a long back up in the kitchen, would I like a sandwich. No, I would like a hamburger I thought to myself while politely looking once again at the menu. Salami, no. Chicken sald, absolutely not.

"I can wait, I am not in a hurry, I'd really like a burger please."

The waiter left to see what the hope there might be of me getting what I wanted. He quickly returned and said the kitchen was unwilling to make me anything, they had to focus, the president, Salva Kiir was there.

Ahhhh ha! That explains that. Disappointed I packed myself up and left. The guys outside were wondering what was up in a nice way, I said they wouldn't cook for me, they hoped I'd come back some other time. I thought that was nice of them, but that didn't help me out last night.

I trudged off to the Land Rover and made my way to another establishment that worked, but wasn't really satisfying like this place would have been. Ohhhhh weeellll.

Salva's got a little work to do on making his motorcade a truly regal and ostentatious affair, just a half dozen, maybe 8 vehicles isn't a motorcade befitting of a man of his stature. And I hardly doubt it was a conscious decision to keep it simple to maintain his street cred with the proletariate, though you never know. Interestingly there are no Benz' or BMWs here. This is strictly Tie-ota, Nissan and Mitsubishi territory with the odd Land Rover thrown in. Most exotic cars I have seen to date; Lincoln Navigator and a Volkswagen Polo 4 door. Wild!

Upon seeing Salva for the second time in less than 24hours--well, upon being in close proximity for the second time in 24 hours, neither time did I actually see him--the theme song from my favorite buddy reality show, Rob & Big popped into my head. Salva and I are best buds now, so that's a logical reaction.

I suggest you all seek it out and give it a listen, or better yet, give the show a watching. I see all episodes are available for download on the MTV website. Too bad I can't download worth a hoot here, because the zany antics of Rob & Big would sure help me pass the time!

Someone could do that and burn it onto a DVD or three for me for Christmas, that would be most rightuous. Oh and so would a copy of Bill and Ted's! Get the staff gathered round watching that? Now that would be something.

I wonder what Mini-Horse it up to in those Hollywood Hills?

Let me tell you about my beeeest friend, he's a warm hearted person who will love me to the end...

Meflo-trippin'

That's the new term I just coined. Mefloquine is a antimalarial prophylaxis noted for it's tendency to induce vivid dreams. I have been having one vivid dream a week, generally the evening after I've taken my weekly dose of Mefloquine. One totally random person who I haven't associated with in ages per dream. I should probably try to keep a record of who makes an appearance, would be interesting to see.

I am hopeful that Meflo-trippin' will fast become part of every Mefloquine user's repertoire. A clear and concise way of letting folks know that they've been having some kooky mefloquine induced vivid dreams.

Stinking Hot

While we're still a bit away from the dry and therefore hot season here, it's plenty warm enough currently for someone who hails from balmy New England, attend University in the "Lake Effect" impacted regions of Upstate New York.

Yesterday the SIMAS finance guy and myself were scheduled to go to the bank and take care of a few other errands. Errands here are a 2 hour affair without fail, but yesterday due to the 'surprise' visit of Hosni Mubarek, the Egyptian President, our trip turned into a four hour slog.

Only once before have I been on the go something that made me want to vomit on the spot and very nearly did; passing by a fish market in Chinatown in New York City on stinking hot late July afternoon.

Burning trash; nasty, but not vomit inducing. Stinking nasty mess of a little river full of trash and lord only knows what else here in Juba; revolting, but not vomit inducing. Diapers; nearly vomit inducing, but not quite so. Close though.

Mayonnaise notwithstanding, I am fairly certain this scent i caught a wiff of in Chinatown that afternoon is the only odor that can instantly bring me to the precipice of vomitdom.

Well, what to my wondering olfactory senses did appear yesterday wafting through the air as we were driving through the Konyo Konyo fish market yesterday morning, but this very same odor.

Mind you I've driven through here before without catching this glorious scent making an appearance.

Apparently the conditions were just right and just like before, boom, instantly I was feeling the proverbial flow.

Fortunately if the action does begin right away, it's not a feeling that lingers. So far I am 2 for 2 in escaping embarrassment in that regard.

The rest of the day was hot, dusty and draining. The toll the heat and moving around to do things like go to the bank takes is amazing, considering these are the very same things you do at home, just under different climactic circumstances.

After a long hot one, I was in no mood for driving all over creation and I went to this over priced place called Da Vinci Lodge, which is down by the river. I must stop going there, maybe it was the food, or maybe it was the day catching up with me, but I sure wasn't on top of my game after finishing up there.

And of course when I got back to the compound there was a small army of people milling around, our future tenants has a puncture and had pulled in to repair it, but didn't have the tools to do so, which left me in my state having to hunt around for an appropriate 'spanner'.

It all came together and I went to sleep early and slept fairly well.

Today we're going up to the minefield to watch the lads work and blow stuff up.

A 3 Hour Tour

Torrents of rain have been coming down this afternoon/evening. It has finally stopped after nearly a solid 5 hours. It didn't stop before I had to venture out in it unfortunately.

The majority of the employees around here do not have their own means of transportation and we are in a fairly annoying spot to be honest. East of town and a trip that requires passage over a bridge that has a checkpoint on it and at the end of a horrible stretch of road.

With the weather the way it was the little crew was trying to wait it out a bit, but no let up was in sight. Being the good Samaritan that I am, I piled them all into the Land Rover to take them home. Two lived a hell of a lot closer than I thought they did. Just down the road. No wonder they can get here early. The other 3 live in Juba proper, two live on the total opposite side of town.

As I may or may not have mentioned before, Juba resembles a Mad Max film at night. Lots of fires burning crumbling shacks, piles of trash, twisted metal and people and motorcyles darting every which way. Driving through it at night is a tad spooky and more than slightly exhausting given how you must be singularly concentrated on the task at hand because anyone could come from anywhere on anything at any moment. And lets not forget about the dogs, goats and donkeys that also call the streets of Juba their own. It's the kind of intensity of concentration that mirror driving interstate 90 in a blizzard.

Add rain on top of the the average Juba conditions and, well, you can use your imaginations to conjure up the appropriate visions. Something akin to what happens when it snows too far south.

Zero visibility and slippery mud and rock doesn't slow anyone down, well, except for me of course.

As a result of the conditions and the paralyzing fear of having people bounce off of me and or me bounce them off somewhere, I crept toward the point where I was going to drop off the workforce, much to their chagrin.

I know one guy was testy because he had been at work an extra hour already before we took off, then we had to turn around to fetch the house key one guy left behind. Poor bastard. The others wanted his head. He's the shining light here, good guy, he was working hard with me up to 6pm, no griping.

I dropped the 3 off at the tarmac road where they could fetch a ride home on the back of motor bikes or in a minivan.

I charted a course for a restaurant called Bedouin, which I am trying super hard to like a lot, but am not bowled over by. It is pleasant enough, particularly in the day time.

The road to get to Bedouin is probably among the more challenging in Juba, smart choice on a fine evening like tonight. There is a little spit of tarmac off of which you turn left into a monster truck course replete with huge, huge puddles. I am well used to these first two obstacles and this point and rather enjoy fording them. Land Rovers can swim! The water tonight was right up to mid door height. Deep.

I navigated my way through and on towards Bedoiun. I got to the Y intersectino where I need to turn left and was face with a herd of goats and their Dinka owners driving them across the one spit of visible land.

Having negotiated this corner before, I just turned into the puddle, slowly, slowly creeping as per my M.O.

Suddenly the left side falls away and I am precariously tilting to the left, with the water nearly lapping at the window and a cackling emanating from the loiterers on the corner. I am their evenings entertainment and fine entertainment at that.

After briefly contemplating crawling out the passenger side window and abandoning the Land Rover, I tried to move forward, but to no avail, I was now spinning. Oooopsies. Big roar from the crowd, some beeps too. Noisy crowd of 20 if I do say so myself!

Being the thoroughly experienced off road driver that I am (not--yes I just used not, which hasn't been used in 15 years), I had the notion to throw it into reverse and turn to the left.

This brought some beeps from behind, someone was back there, oh well, they better not get closer. I only had to back up a little to improve my situation and improve it did.

I was off of the easily 45 plus degree angle and back down and level with water up to just below the headlights. I plowed on through and proceeded to Bedouin shaking more than a tad.

Wow, wouldn't that have been embarassing, tipped the Land Rover over into a river of Cholera. Tough to bust people's chops for poor driving after that.

While I waited for my repas all I did was sweat having to go back through that tributary of the Nile.

All turned out well on the way back through, no shepherds to get in my way so I was easily able to take the track I needed to to avoid having to splash through the deep oceanic canyons.

It was a 3 hour tour with a much better end result than for the Skipper and Marianne.

Too much irony here. A) worrying about how others are driving and B) instituting a sign in and sign out system at the gate so we know who visited when and who left when. Wouldn't the guards have been impressed if the book told them I didn't come back and they found me perched on top of my Land Rover in the middle of an enormous puddle with goats floating by.

That would have been something.

Thanks to Globalization I am Finally Sated

Or so I thought until I looked up from my Pringle munching to notice the "Meet Jimmie at the 2007 Ford 400."

I bought the Pringles in question this afternoon at JIT, the establishment that passes as a grocery store here. All things considered, its bizarre mix of products from all sorts of odd countries of origin gets the non-perishable items job done, al beit at an outrageous price.

There is pasta. There is sauce. There are black olives. There are cookies and there is juice. Weirdly couldn't resist picking up a jar. I like black olives on salad and pizza, but haven't been known to eat them under any other circumstances. These are desperate times.

Meat, milk, eggs, butter, cheese, ice cream are items reserved for the rareified air of the UNMIS compound, which I have no access too and a few as yet to be discovered, though rumored to exist establishments around town.

The Pringles situation nearly ruined my buzz from my culinary discovery of the day; there is a Thai restaurant in this hole!

I couldn't believe my palate or eyes. Honest to god Thais, cooking Thai food that tasted like thai food! And it wasn't that outrageous. There is food to eat. I will survive.

If it weren't for globalization, I don't know what I would do. Thais in Juba. Thai food in Juba being served to me by a Rwandan? Yes, this town is a destination for so many fro the world over, so interesting!

It's all relative I suppose. When you're used to certain conditions that might not differ terribly from what Juba is, it probably seems like heading here is worth a shot. Good money to be had in the hospitality industry judging by the menu prices and what I've heard a waiter fetches on a monthly basis. Guess our mother was right, we should have been waiters and waitresses.

I am deeply fascinated by the idea that people come here seeking opportunity. Not that I didn't do that myself, but I obviously look at what I have done in a different light. This is because I come from and return to a civilized place. I am not leaving dubious conditions for even more dubious ones in pursuit of a future. Maybe my approach is the one that is really odd?

Hmmm....

After closer examination, inspite of the musty smell of the can, the Pringles are a good 8 weeks from their expiration date of 01/2009. Nothing to worry about afterall, but you can imagine my surprise after seeing good ol' Jimmie and 2007 Ford 400 on the can.

I think Pringles are the new astronaut food, the sure seem to have a nice shelf life!

Let's "Slash"

Is it cold in space Bowie? I didn't put on my red shoes a la Ziggy Stardust, though I did put on my lead by example shoes today in picking up ye olde (literally in this instance rather than figuratively) "slasher" and got to some grass cutting today.

There are a lot of people employed around this place and the work load is not tremendously heavy, yet, mysteriously, the assignments that are given seem to take ages to get done. How long should it take to cut some grass around the explosives bunker? To fill sand bags? To sweep a workshop? To paint a few rooms?

As an old painting hand--a sloppy, but efficient one when needed--I know how long it takes to paint 4 walls in a room. I am also quite proficient at dragging things out if need be.

Where I worked in the summer time while in college 'safety' always came first. If the chief of the maintenance department mentioned 'safety first' when filling us in at the task briefing, that was the code for, "milk this puppy because there isn't a thing else for you guys to do for a week and if you don't keep busy, well, the money man isn't going to like that."

Well around here, there is work to be done, but it seems that there is a code similar to 'safety first' being employed. Just who has established this and who puts it into play is beyond me, but painting 14 straight forward walls (three small rooms and 2 exterior walls) took about a month.

The painting still isn't done either. There is the always fun bathroom painting task still to tackle! This hasn't prevented anyone from taking lots of time for tea, lots of time for cigarettes, lots of time for plugging in and charging cell phones for anyone and everyone who passes by (that's another topic in and of itself) and lots of time sitting under the one shade tree.

I tried to impress upon my little charges that we have to get ship shape because soon our new tenants will be arriving and almost synchronized with their arrival will be a visit from the head office in Geneva.

If we expect our tenants to keep things tidy, then we must set a strong, positive example. There are many, many people who are doubled over laughing at the idea of Brian preaching about tidiness and organzation right now I am sure. I can hear you, really I can. I am like the auto mechanic who drives the jalopy, when I am off the clock, I am off the clock.

Anyway, I drew up a chart detailing everyone's responsibilities and huddled everyone where I urged them to unwaveringly work for the greater good of humanity and the compound.

Everyone loved the chart and my motivational speaking and I gave myself a good pat on the back as a reward for a job well done as everyone scattered to begin their assignments. .

After about 30 minutes I poked my head outside to survey the landscape, take in the scent of freshly trimmed grass and sparkle of the polished workshop floors, only neither had happened and worse still, there was now no one to be found, folks had just vanished.

Amazing how in an essentially barren, open compound, with nowhere really to go nearby worth bothering with, people can just disappear. Maybe Osama built a tunnel network here like the one in Tora Bora and they disappear down in it to shoot dice and play dominos or something (Speaking of Osama, he lived in Juba for 6 years or so, I will get a picture of his crib one of these days).

Things being as they were, I left it alone for the rest of the day as two of the more diligent workers were going on leave for a week and we needed to take care of some things before they did.

This morning I awoke to the sound of the "slasher" hitting gravel, "holy sh*t", I said a loud as I marveled at the self-starters that were the two targets of the majority of my discontent; the two 'security' guards.

It was over before I could even close my mouth. They were done, just a little flurry of activity, back to sitting on their duffs. Oh well, maybe they'll get bored and start up again.

When they didn't and I noticed the groundskeeper Moris sitting under the tree with them smoking, I thought, ok, there is grass to be cut and sand bags to be filled and no one is doing anything.

I went and grabbed a slasher and set out to embarrass them into working. Per regulations there needs to be an explosives bunker and that bunker has to meet certain standards, including, get this one; no smoking signs. Wow, there's a real weird one, right?

In addition to the no smoking sign, the grass needs to be trimmed down 5 meters from the bunker in each direction. I got my slasher, took a little spin around so everyone could see me merrily skipping off toward the bunker and went to work.

It's sort of fun, but boy are you dripping after about 3 minutes. It's not even that hot right now. 10 more minutes of slashing later and I look up and around a bit, still no company. 10 more minutes later and I thinking to myself, "Too bad the helicopter people aren't around they could just flatten a 5m swath with the rotors." 5 more, "the bunker is far aware, wonder where the nearest Home Depot is, I need a weedwacker." Then it hear a noise coming from just to the right of me, Moris has popped up without making hardly any noise and begun to work with me.

"For three, yes!" Marv could never have said it better himself.

Moris and I slashed together for 20 minutes, then I decided I needed to get back to lambasting the little Filipino accountant girls who screwed up my wire transfer by email.

No sooner do I take off does Moris pack it in. Has everything been cut? No. Unbelievable. Micro managing is not in my job description, nor is slashing for that matter.

I am told the Sudanese are hard to motivate, I guess when you live the, 'nothing matters much since there may be no tomorrow' type of lifestyle that comes with living in a war torn nation for so long, your motivation to work is bound to suffer.

Ahhh, but there is a tomorrow.

Who but the Beastie Boys could have said it any better? To the people of Sudan...

People How You Doing There's A New Day Dawning For The Earth Mother It's A Brand New Morning For Such A Long While There's Been Such A Longing But Now The Sun Is Shining Let's Roll Back The Awning

Maybe that's the secret, music.

Gorgoroth anyone?