Goronga!

Goronga!

Hey all!

As I write this, I am sitting in a hotel restaurant which looks out on a small city harbour filled with dao's (african style boats with the quaint triangle sails) eating a pancake (cuz I am not that hungry after an onslaught of fish and chicken in the past days), suffering from minor sunburns all over my back because i spent too much time diving around in a coral reef where i saw more fish than I can list. Life can be sooooo hard here in Africa. It is pure suffering to sail around and having an army of captains follow you around offering you trips (though that does get old at some point...). Life suddenly has a whole different rythm from Juba. There work lasts until the late hours. Instead of an ocean of water, there is a mud-puddle everytime it rains. Instead of Dao's, you have toyota patrols (which granted, are pretty cool themselves) and despite the same amount of sun, the humidity is much worse in Juba. 

The past 7 weeks of work gave me quite some appreciation of the six weeks cycle we are in. There is so much work to do and so many mindsets to switch through, after five weeks you crave a little breathing-space. Of course every job has the same aspects to it and workload-wise I am not excessively more burdened than I was in previous jobs. So the fact that I am more tired is either because I am getting older (pretty sure not a factor, I have never felt so young due to the fact that I am the youngest(!!!) in the camp and I get regularly reminded of the fact), it is ridiciously hot and moist at times and for some reason AC's are not capable of making you forget that, OR it is something else...maybe curfew... I don't really know why to be honest but as long as I get to go out every 6 weeks-ish I am pretty sure I'll last a while longer. 

Because this is my third month in Africa (Yes ladies and gentlemen, yours truly managed to be in Africa and NOT get sick with Malaria, ONLY get burned once (which was yesterday during swimming despite using protection), barely getting dehydrated, and not having to call in sick even once). We are talking about a milestone here in bad-assery. I survived despite the odds... It isn't because we have pretty okay toilets, the camp has the quality of a two star camping, there are several (small) supermarkets that offer various goods with an 80% satisfaction-ratio, I have fijians who actually know their stuff cook for me and the fact that there is a medical facility open 24-7 sponsored by the UN. Those things tooootally don't factor into the fact that I am okay and still going strong. I am just bad-ass like that... totes...

And the adaptation-process is going better and better. Slowly on I am starting to get to know many of my fellow UN'ers, not just the fijians and my direct colleagues. There are a bunch of really nice people out there with whom I run rounds around the camp, talk politics, joke around and spent weekends in the car driving from supermarket to supermarket. Slowly on the name "J-J" is starting to be quite known around the camp. And I am not saying this to nurture my oversized and glutonous ego, it just kinda happens to everyone in the camp. The world we live in is quite small. You meet the same people on a regular basis. Some you talk to, others ignore you and you show them the same courtesy. It is just inevitable when you live on such a small patch of land. Thanks to my position as UNV Project officer I also get to meet many of the new UNV arrivals and slowly on meet the ones that have been here for quite some time. The UN Volunteer contingent within UNMISS constitutes for a substantive amount of the civilian personel. In some departments we outnumber the regular staff so that is quite a big social group to meet. 

What also seems to help is the fact that I have started Dj-ing again. Yes, yes, I know. That went sooo well last time that it would have seemed highly likely that a second time would assure my name to be primarely recognized by its infamy. And before my gamble on my second stint I would probably have concurred that it would be a likely outcome. So that kinda shows what a magical time halloween actually is. Because for the 30th of October (i know, one day to early) i took a chance and decided to apply for the dj-gig one more time. I figured that halloween was the kind of party where different types of music were allowed. Not that I didnt prepare. In the weeks before I started asking some of my newly found friends for help in the music-gathering department. One in particular was very helpfull and she managed to collect a bunch of hindi and popular african songs for me to play. So I was armed and ready to entice the populace (and to quote my special dj-friend from last time;)"let them dance". And dancing they did. I hit them with every song I could think off, to the point that around 0.00 I started running out of ideas. I had started around 20.00 and there is one golden rule in dj-ing; "the real ones play every song only once". So it is a good thing I am not a proper dj and I got to cheat here and there. Still it took me quite some efford to work the music up till 2.00am. During the evening I had the occassional critic coming by and requesting their type of music. Though this time I was prepared for them. I had my own fierce bouncer in the form of a lovely brazilian lady who interogated every person who dared to come close. She made sure that the ones getting through had friendly intentions or otherwise she would make sure they were sent on their way. 

At some point I started to learn how to deal with the requests a little better and get a better understanding why most DJ's don't do requests. Some of the requests are the equivelant of asking the classical orchestra to play "destroy everything" by hatebreed after the bach sonata. They don't realize that it doesn't always fit in the ensemble, or that their favourite piece is scheduled for later. I guess being the new DJ makes people look for openings to see how many request they can make before the DJ just blatantly starts ignoring them (trust me... it gets really tempting to do so). 

Despite my new arsenal of more native music, there was a minor problem. Playing the african songs was a bit like playing russian roulettes. Because I received the songs only two hours prior to my dj-gig, I had NO Fr*ggin idea what the hell I was putting on. Some gambles worked, but a little bit too often I switched from full on trance to reggae. So I let the African music mostly be. Which didn't get me much popularity with one particular social group. Yet it turns out the other 79 groups were just fine. The indians were after 5 songs in a row sold and didn't even care that I played other stuff "inbetween". The dance-floor was packed. 

At 2.00am I went home, despite some people asking me to continue. Then, the next day, the impossible happened... I got asked to play again. In fact, people have been commenting that they loved it so much, they want me to play as often as possible. So I did... one week after... nobody was there... I played all my favourite songs... cuz I technically was the only one who came to listen... so enough about that... (still gonna do the christmas-day party, so I don't mind). 

I also visited the orphanage again. This time we managed to convince one of the Fijians to come along. As I anticipated, he was an instant hit. The kids loved him. He is broadly build, likes to sing and has arms that some of the kids can't even wrap theirs around. So of course we ended up going to the weights so the kids could see the master at work, whilst brandishing their own muscles for him to judge. It was quite hilarious to see a train of kids run after the fijian to see how strong he was. Even more so, because it turned out we accidentally had interrupted the preparations of a church sermon that was to be held in the orphanage. A local church apparently comes by once in a while and has church with the kids. It is mandatory for them to sit there and listen. 

Though, before that happened, when we arrived we were first witness to a rather sad and painful element of the South Sudanese life. One of the kids in the orphanage is handicapped. He is a miserable little thing, skinny to the bone and always with little wounds here and there. Seeing how the other kids mostly avoid him, I am inclined to believe that most of those are self-inflicted. That day we found him on the ground, covered in flies. At first I thought I was looking at a corpse. Then he moved one of his arms and with a sigh of relief I approached with the Fijian and my boss in my wake. There were flies everywhere. It seemed like we were looking at him in the last pathetic moments of his life, lying on the ground, oblivious from the world. I noticed that he had new wounds on his elbows. One of them was up to the bone and the flies were festering around it. The boy was so skinny, he looked extremely mall-nourished. Me and the fijian grapped a steel platter and started to wave the flies of him. We were hesitant to touch the kid and unsure what to do. After a while, somebody of the orphanage picked the boy up and put him closer inside. In the meantime a cloud of flies was harrassing everyone in the premise. It felt wrong. Me and the fijian were slightly shocked. I realized that not a single local hospital would take him in. He needed a bed and some care, but putting him in the car and driving him to the UN-hospital wasn't an option either. The saddest part to this story is that relatively, this boy had a good life. Most handicapped kids get chained and thrown into a dungeon until they waste away. This boy enjoyed the freedom to walk around amongst the other kids and getting fed on a semi-regular interval. Yet, it was also apparent that his well-being had a low priority. They were essentially letting him die. According to the staff, the kid himself refused to eat or wear clothes (I forgot to mention he was naked). Seeing his wounds on the elbows and some even on the back, that didnt surprise me. Regarding the food, if you are as weak as he is, every meal is a struggle. Yet, as my boss helped me understand, this is their way of caring. This is how south sudan tends to treat their handicapped. There is very little we can do about it at this point. There was nothing we could do for the kid other than ask the staff to give him a bed which they promised they would. That was the weekend before I left for Kenia. I am not sure how he is doing now. 

Once I saw the kid getting washed by this somewhat hard-handed but obviously experienced older lady I went back in. That was the moment the kids ran after the fijian. Still slightly shocked by the whole episode with the slowly fading away kid, I sat down on a chair to look at the sermon. Of course I participated, if only minimally, partially because of the language barrier, primarely because these kind of gatherings are definetly not my cup of tea. However, it was an interesting occassion from a observational perspective. They started the sermon with the annoucer-guy (he sorta looked the part) to tell us what was on the menu for today. We were in for a 2 hour (!!!) rollercoaster of praising and singing. Then the girl in the prettiest dress, the lure-girl I nicknamed her, stepped forward. She looked pretty and innocent, the type that convinces young boys to become more religious, if only to be able to ask her on a date. She was also the head-singer of the group, which made sense in a certain way. After a couple of songs and smiles for the kids, it was the announcer-guys turn to introduce a lady from the orphanage. She thanked the group for coming and started off a short prayer. After that it was the turn of the “comedian”-lady. She was quirky and made jokes about the kids (seemingly, cuz I had no idea what she was saying and people started to laugh). She made the kids yell hallelujah several times. Trying to get everyone to do so. If one of the kids was too silent, she would ask it directly to shout. It seemed a bit uncomfortable for the kids. Then it was the turn for the “fanatic”. This lady was wild. Young, less pretty than the lure-girl, more pretty than the comedian. She went on a yelling spree about what I could only guess. It didn’t help that I also could barely hear her. Outside the rain had started to pour down. Within minutes the whole courtyard was flooded. It was intense. Over the wind and rain it was impossible to even talk to the person next to you. Yet from seeing her clasping the bible or her head it seemed she was quite into her story and wasn’t bothered by the weather at all. After her, it was time for someone to read from the bible… it was literally one sentence… “If you praise god, he will provide” or something along that line. I had at least expected a chapter or something. In the meantime my boss arrived with a jeep full of food (she insist the jeep is an patrol and I am “so European” for not recognizing at as anything else. It has four oversized wheels and you drive it around in the wild… it is a jeep). The food had been sponsored by the Fijians. The orphanage had been struggeling for a long time. Due to the plummeting south Sudanese pounds they were less and less able to buy food. So we bought them 3 weeks worth of rice, flour, sugar, soap. Anything to help them get through the day.

I helped unload the car in the downpour. I was soaked in record time, much to the entertainment of the kids. Shortly after the sermon we left for home.

After the visit, I took a shower and went to my next appointment; the dutch embassy. This time I got in without any trouble as my contact-person was in. We had a nice drink and talked about work and backgrounds. We talked about the status of South Sudan and the different projects we were involved in. My only project is the visit of the Executive Coordinator from UNV, but apparently the Dutch embassy is involved in a lot of different community based initiatives to help the local population forward. It was quite interesting to hear about some of the agricultural projects and irrigation projects they do. Most of it is in liaison with either local or international organizations providing the know-how and elbowgrease to make the projects work. The embassy either helps finding funds, connecting complementary organizations together or provides additional knowledgeable contacts. It shows that embassies are much more than just representative departments and passport-points. I was also informed that my box was due to arrive any moment. In the box (it turned out last Thursday) my family had packed all kinds of sweets, shirts, one set of running shoes and postcards for my birthday. In addition I received a great card-game that requires quick reflexes and a lot of fast thinking and a comedic book. This was given by Henk and Lien whom I can’t thank enough for that (I know you read this blog, so be sure that I am extremely grateful!). It was enough to make a grown man cry… or make him just very manly sniff a bit and hug his box a little…

Then, at the end of the week, I flew off to Kenia, to spent the week in Lamu, a small island infront of the coast. I first had to spend one night in Nairobi, which despite the 14 mosquitos I ended up slayerizing, was quite comfortable. Then I took the national plane to Lamu, almost got out at the wrong stop and landed on the fishermans’ island. It is quite an interesting place. Technically there are two places worth mentioning. There is Lamu-city, the oldest Swahili village in the area. I just spent the day walking through it with Captain “Jay” (more about him later) and it is a mix of old stone buildings and renovated places owned by locals and foreigners (you can guess who owns which). The village is a maze of narrow streets. You are occasionally accompanied by the local street cats or a seemingly lost donkey. It is definitely beautiful. The hotel I am staying at, as I mentioned, is at the harbor. You can see all the different boats they have here. They aren’t particulary big. Most of the boats can support up to ten men, but that will make the thing feel quite crowded. On my first day I walked to Shela, the second village on the island. Shela is somewhat newer, but equally beautiful. It has a certain Mediterranean and Arabic feel to it. Everywhere there are white houses decorated with wood. I learned that there are many different types of doors from different regions. They are all quite gorgeous. Shela is directly next to the beach. Although you could technically swim in front of Lamu-city, I wouldn’t recommend it. The water isn’t the cleanest and the boats are many. Yet at Shela, the water is lovely and comes directly from the ocean. In addition it is warmer than some of the showers I have had in the past few months.

The second day I went for a swim by myself. After walking to the farthest end of the beach I sat down and enjoyed the water. After a while I went back and was greeted by some locals. It turned out that the boat-owner who greeted me also lived in the Netherlands at some point in the year. I was immediately invited to come over and sail along (for no charge). It was quite amazing. They fed me fresh fish and took me for a short trip into the sea. It was the first (and only) time I wasn’t asked to contribute. The day after I sailed with another crew (and captain Jay) to one of the coral reefs. It was great. We used the motor to get to open water and after that it was only by sail. We arrived after two hours. One of the crew-members dove with me to make sure I would find as many fish as possible. I saw all sorts of types of fish. The only ones I didn’t encounter were the dolphin and the turtle. At some point I ended up in a stream that was actually hot (and no, the quantity was so high, it couldn’t have been human produce… unless a whale had swum by, in which case, yugh). After that we had fish on the boat, expertly bbq-ed by the captain. I was fed fresh fruits and curry. Then we made our way back. The guys started singing all kinds of songs. It was pretty okay. After I went upstairs to get some money for a tip (the boat-trip was a bit pricey, but it is sort of expected in this environment to tip on top).

I still have to get the hang of getting the right attitude in this area. Captain Jay has been quite helpful with showing me around town today and organizing a sailing trip tomorrow. But I am as a tourist his business. Yet their way of dealing, being friendly whilst motivating you to spent money is somewhat uncomfortable for me. I feel inclined to say no a lot and although I am making sure I don’t pay much more than I intended to, I am often unsure if I am supposed to haggle or not. It is not always clear to me whether they are actually doing you a favour, or whether what they offer is actually expensive. In relative terms it is not. Going to the coral reef was about 200 dollars, tips excluded. For that I had a boat and a four men crew for a full day and equipment to snorkel. It was actually a good deal considering the things I did. Most things here aren’t very expensive. Also the local population requires tourism to maintain themselves. The political tension in the area has hurt their income significantly. It might also explain why I have the same talk with almost 3 captains every time I end up on the shore. So in short; I feel like my lack of knowledge is the problem here at times. I checked, there aren’t any forums (at least which I found) who can indicate to you what is a fair price for something. But I don’t mind too much, because relatively it is still not as expensive as back home and the people here need the money often more than I do.

Besides that issue, Lamu is just gorgeous. Think picturesque beach photos, it is all here, palmtrees included. I would recommend  going here anytime. The amount of stuff the captains (here everyone with a boat is a captain, which is like… everyone) are willing to do for tourists and provide is staggering. You can go watch the sundown, sail all day, go swim, look for dolphins, sail to Mombasa, spent the night on an island. As long as the money is good, the captains will do their best to entertain you. I would primarily recommend it to the guys though. It is quite an testosterone overloaded place and unless you don’t mind having the captains trying to charm you into their boats, as ladies it might be a tad less comfortable. Still, there is a sense of culture here that I haven’t encountered anywhere else yet. The place seems partially frozen in time. Next week there are races planned. Unfortunately I won’t be there to witness them. They call it very simple the “Culture-festival”. It is the festival where the dao-boats race against each other as well as the donkey-races are being held. In fact they even have hat-making competitions. It is quite an elaborate festival (26th of November for the curious-ones amongst you).

Tomorrow I will be sailing with Captain Jay. He promised me to teach me how to steer. Let us see what that will be like.

For now I wish you all the best in the slowly freezing Europe. I am gonna enjoy my sun overloaded south hemisphere environment a little while longer. In the beginning of March I intend to return home for 3-4 weeks. In the meantime enjoy my blogs J Thanks for reading them!

All the best,

JJ