Monday 29th July 2013

It's been a strange old week.

 On Tuesday, I was startled out of my reverie, by a sharp rap on my metal door at about 2230. Now that is practically middle of the night round here, so as you can imagine, I leapt out of the chair where I was just about to finish the last chapter of an exhausting, brilliant and quite traumatic book. It was my German boss, telling me to come to the yard as there was something he needed to tell us all. It transpired that the President had just sacked the entire government. An internal coup, if you like. Information was scanty, but we were advised to pack a small bag, our passports, and be ready to be "extracted" if the need arose. Andrew and I dutifully packed bags, plus, being the ever ready nurses, a first aid kit and some strong drugs- you never know.....

We then sat about in the yard 'till midnight, drinking tots of whiskey (for courage, obviously), until it became apparent that the only thing to do was go to bed.

The following day it was eerily quiet. The clinic was open, but it appeared that most organisations had ordered a "lockdown" and very few people were travelling anywhere. The general consensus was - stay inside until further news.

Our local Doctors, however, brightened the atmosphere, by turning up at work in carnival mood, happily telling us that this is just what South Sudan needed, and not to worry, there would be no trouble. We still slept with one eye open that night.....

The next day there were reports of riots in one of the markets a few miles away. The news spread like wildfire, and phones were ringing madly - we found out a few hours later from Martha, our "Head of cleaning everything that you put down for a second ", that actually it was just two stallholders having a scrap - just shows what the rumourmongers can do....

So here we are, a week later, and frankly, (and I know this is bad), I'm a little disappointed. Our extraction plan had us in the back of a truck owned by the burly South African de-miners opposite, heading for the Ugandan border, where a charter plane from Nairobi would pick us up. I'd even packed my travel pillow ! In reality, it's business as usual. The people here appear so tired of conflict, so worn by it, that they are just going about their daily business, trying to survive.

The President has yet to announce the new government, so we remain on standby, but the general feeling amongst the Embassies (and I look after lots of people from the Embassies, so this is straight from the horse's mouth) is that this is a change that is wanted, and needed, and it will be peaceful.  The plan from the President is to reduce the Ministries from 28, to 19, so there are bound to be some disgruntled folk, but it appears to be a change for good. In an apparent typing error, he forgot to appoint a minister for health, but that appears to have been rectified,so we await the announcement with bated breath... The ministry for "Roads and Bridge" still stands though ( bless him - there IS only one bridge...)

I wasn't sure whether to post this or not, as I don't want to scare my family, but it's an important part of the strange life I lead now. I'm safe, well looked after, and surrounded by people who have been in a lot scarier situations than this for many years, so deep breath Family - I'm fine.
In fact I couldn't even manage to get Malaria this week, the headache and achey feeling I had, was, in fact, a cold. In Africa. I'm even recovering from that quickly, and am nearly at 100% again.

There is a national holiday again tomorrow - "Martyr's Day", so the clinic is closed, but with nowhere to go we are planning on eating the best food we can cook again, and lying low.

I am now getting to the point where I am experiencing the first rumblings of cabin fever, and am craving decent cheese, a nice glass of wine, and a nice hot bath. With bubbles.

If only something exciting were to happen.....(only joking Family!!!)

Monday 22nd July 2013

I received an email from a friend today, and amongst other things, he asked me why there are no longer any pictures with my blog. So I thought I'd put one in. There. On the left. That's it. Honestly, that is , actually, just about it. It's not that there aren't things to take pictures of - there are, in abundance. A few days ago I was out for a walk, a real, actual walk (more of that in a minute), and we saw a moped wobbling down the mud, hazardously hole strewn, "road". On the back of this moped was the biggest fish I have ever seen (well, when out of the water, anyway). This is not a fisherman's tale, I really am not exaggerating when I say that nose to tail, this fish was at least 8 feet long, and about 4 feet wide. It had a huge , open, mouth, and was obviously some bottom feeder type thing, which had been dredged up, god knows how, from the bed of the Nile. It was hanging over the back of the moped like a pillion passenger with no body, and a fish for legs. As the driver wobbled away, if only I had had my camera to capture it. The thing is, I DO have my camera, safely tucked away in my cupboard, in my room. The fact is, I'm not allowed to use it. There is no photography allowed, anywhere outside the compound (unless you are at a private function, and even then the local dignitaries are not that keen, in case they end up on Facebook). Officially, it is because you may inadvertently take a photograph of a sensitive building/landmark/army chap/cow. I say cow, as one of the South African de-miners was encarcerated for several hours after taking a picture of a cow, until someone bailed him out. There are stories of cameras being confiscated from diplomats, money exchanging hands to assure the officials that the pictures have been deleted....it is just not possible to photograph anything in Juba town. So I am going to have to content myself, (and my friend) with a picture a week of anything that doesn't get me arrested. And that's it, up there, on the left......

So - back to my walk. The Guerilla Researcher took Andrew and me for a stroll around town a few days ago. This may not seem like a big deal, but it actually the first time we've been anywhere not in a car. We pottered around a market selling hundreds of second hand shoes, shirts and dresses, past stalls with one lit light bulb to show that they had a generator and could charge your phone, past goats, children yelling "GOOD MORNING !!!" in unison, and for pretty much the first time since I got here, I felt that I was actually in Africa.  After eating breakfast from a stall on the side of the road - fresh Japati rolled up with a freshly made omelette inside - mmm, we ended up sitting in the shade of a tree drinking spiced coffee made from freshly roasted and crushed coffee beans, out of little glasses, sitting on plastic chairs, goats nibbling at our feet. It was far from idyllic, there are piles of rubbish everywhere, empty plastic water bottles strewn recklessly about, and the children are in rags, but it was Africa. In my little compound it is most definitely an alternate universe, or a worm hole into another dimension. Oh dear, I'm getting carried away, I think I may be getting the beginnings of cabin fever........

Just to end, for anyone who has been reading regularly, the poor Dutch girl I looked after in my first few weeks, came in today. She was a different person. She had been home to Holland, eaten well and slept, and had been looked after by her Mum.So even if I do go crazy here, I know I can rely on my friends and family to put me back together again so I can do it all over again....

Monday 15th July 2013

My lovely, larger than life, funny, practical and very competent boss, Patsy,  left today. After 5 years here, from working with an NGO, living in Tukals, dodging snakes (both the animal and human kind), bullets, malaria, Nairobi fly (they are REALLY evil - go on, Google the pictures), to taking on this clinic when it was a single room with the odd pot of paracetamol, and turning it into what is the safest place to be in Juba if you're sick, she has finally moved on to new adventures. Leaving  Andrew and me  to carry on  - scared? us? OF COURSE WE ARE !!!. Crikey, what a name to live up to. She knew everyone in this town, from the entire cabinet it seems, to every local cleaner/driver/groundsman - and treated everyone with the same respect and consideration. I only hope we do her legacy justice.

We had a great weekend - out with the EU army on Friday, which turned out to be a slightly more, shall we say, lengthy, evening than I had planned, to partying on Saturday night in the infamous "Bedouin's" - the local meat-market/dance hall/shisha bar.

Everywhere you looked there was a character, from the 7 foot Dinkas ( I know, they're getting taller every week - but they are!), to the middle-aged ex-pats, eyeing up the local talent ( I use the word "talent" loosely), to the usual crowd of NGO's letting their ruined hair down and having a laugh. It was hilarious. At one point, some of the local "ladies" decided to have a bit of a scrap ( a nightly affair apparently), and no-one even noticed the wigs flying about and the screeches as the hair extensions were yanked . My boss told us a story of a similar night in there, where one lady's hair extension had come flying over the bar and landed in her friends drink. He calmly pulled it out and continued on with his conversation

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The music ranged from Madonna, to dance-hall, to rave, completely WITH seams, and by the time we left everyone was having a great old dance (especially the local "ladies", who were really showing off their wares by now). Being slightly broken from the festivities the night before, I was off at 1130, only to sit in the yard of the compound 'till 0230, giggling to yet more "you wouldn't believe it if was in a book" stories from Patsy. Hilarious. Poor Andrew was a bit startled by the whole experience, and has sworn never to enter "Bedlam's" ever again. Very apt.

With Andrew safely retrieved from Nairobi, we are really going to crack on with the things that need to be done in the Clinic. The logistics of getting the things you need are mind boggling, and we really have to sort a system out that will work for us, and the clinic. Lots of hours ahead of us, with the realisation that we're on our own now, and we have to learn even more quickly than we have had to so far.

All this positive thinking was a little dampened when I put my request for leave in today, happily thinking to myself that I would be off on a plane to catch up with friends in 5 weeks, only to actually COUNT the weeks, and discover that August seems to have lots more days in it than is strictly polite, ( I know it's only 31, but WEEKS wise...), and recalculate to 7 and a half weeks. I'm not wishing my life away ( my Mother cautioned me against that at every given opportunity), but here, in this funny old place, you have to have a glimpse of another world every now and again. I was going to say the real world, but it's no more real than here. Here is  definitely real.

I'm not sure I've mentioned it enough, but I am very glad indeed that Andrew is back and I can share this experience with someone who gets what is going through my head - I got overly excited at the arrival of some Typhoid reagents from Nairobi today, all cold chained properly, and only a few hours late. 

My world has got a lot smaller,despite living in a vast continent. 

 Funnily enough, it's all OK.

Thursday July 11 2013

Bureaucracy. You’ve got to love it, just for its sheer pointlessness. Yesterday I had to go to the Immigration department, to renew my monthly visa (It can take anything up to a year to get a work visa processed). So we trotted off round the corner, my trusty Filipina receptionist/finance officer and I, armed with a sheaf of papers and $80. The Immigration building is housed in a compound not 100 metres from us – a selection of darkened rooms, in a dusty square, with lots of people in important uniforms, standing about, being important. So important, that it was tricky to work out exactly which important job they were doing, but it may have been top secret. I certainly couldn’t quite work it out.

We queued for about an hour to get into one dark, heavily curtained room, behind other assorted ex-pats and NGO’s from all over the world, grasping similar sheaves of paper, and all looking a bit hot, but resigned. Most of them did this every month, so were quite used to it. I am mustering up that  look of resignation for next month.

A man of imposing stature, seated behind a wooden desk, studiously read my papers, closely examined my passport, studiously examined me, and laboriously signed my papers and handed them back to me, gesturing me out of the room with a flick of his large, gold ringed, fingers.

We then headed to the army green container, which housed the finance chap. My trusty Filipina friend had already got in line for me (she’s done this before), so I slipped in halfway down the line. To find all my fellow queuers ( who had been behind me in the previous queue) had had the same plan and were actually in front of me. I paid my $80 dollars, received my handwritten receipt, and moved on.

We then travelled to the next room, on the other side of the compound, to wait in another queue, behind the same people as before. By now we were all on first name terms – I met a very nice boy from Dublin who I chatted to for a while. This room had 3 desks in it, behind which  were sitting  3 people to a desk. It appeared to be training day. Oh good. The lady on my left seemed to be picking it up very quickly, and beneath her rather fetching hat, was very beautiful. I was not so lucky. In the time it took her to process 3 of my fellow visa-hunters, my chap was still typing my name into the computer, letter by painful letter. He really did have his tongue poking out in concentration. To be fair to him, his “helpers” were making it worse by knocking his hands out of the way and typing over him, then deleting what they had just typed so he could do it himself. On my right one of the “obviously top secret” (or presence without a purpose) workers, scraped a table back and forth across a dusty floor for no apparent reason. Teeth on edge, I consoled myself with the obvious top secret-ness of the operation. Honestly – he spent at least 15 minutes repositioning that wretched table , only to put it back exactly where he found it. As you can probably tell, my bonhomie was beginning to wear a little thin. And I had forgotten to bring water. Schoolgirl error.

After what seemed like an hour (but was probably only 20 minutes) I received the same sheaf of papers back, after being fingerprinted, and still trying to smile

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It wasn’t over yet. THEN, we got in another line, this time being ordered into  line with an imperious “STAMP!” command. Finally I was admitted into the same room as the first one, this time to a desk on the opposite side, where, after careful consideration, my visa was pasted into my passport, and we were allowed to leave. We had actually, geographically and metaphorically, gone full circle.

The whole thing took about 2 hours, which is nothing in the great scheme of visa appropriation, but it felt like half my life had passed by...Possibly the most wearing thing was trying not to look fed up, smile nicely at the officials, and just resign myself to it. Next time I will definitely bring water.

Not that the visa is foolproof. Oh no. My poor friend and colleague, the deputy head, was coming back from leave today, but wasn’t allowed on the plane to Juba. He is currently residing in a hotel in Nairobi until we can get him back. Although the visa is single entry, so, on paper, if you are given it in the country, you are allowed back in once, the rules appeared to have changed since yesterday and we have to start all over again with him. Still, he’s having a nice stay in a hotel, and off to see some Elephants tomorrow.

South Sudan had its 3^rd Independence Day celebration on Tuesday. Now for all our local staff, that meant a day off,but, with Andrew on leave, left me as the only person to run the clinic. Although we were closed, there is always the possibility of an emergency. That said – no cars were allowed in Juba, and the phone lines were cut for several hours, so mercifully it was all peaceful. For security reasons, we did not leave the compound – I had been out the day before with Okello, and every few yards there were roadblocks being set up, by huge groups of soldiers with very big guns indeed.

It’s very tricky politically here at the moment, as someone said the other day “a toddler country, bashing into things and getting hurt”, so security was high. It all passed without a hitch however, and we could hear the sounds of celebration drifting over our barbed wire, late into the night. We consoled ourselves with eating all day – a fantastic brunch cooked by our German manager, and roast chicken, roast potatoes and gravy, cooked by my N Irish boss, and me.

So it’s my birthday tomorrow. I’ve spent many a birthday abroad, but definitely nowhere as odd as this. I am planning on spending this one, my 44^th, working and going to yoga, then on Saturday, after work we are all going out for a meal, then onto a restaurant by the Nile called “Bedouin’s” for a few drinks. This is also my boss’ last hurrah, as she leaves on Monday. Thank goodness I am not on call on Sunday – it promises to be a late one.

After a small sense of humour failure on Saturday, and a tiny burst of homesickness – entirely due to burning the midnight oil and working hard, I have pulled myself back together, and will face my 45^th year (good grief!) with a song in my heart !...well, a little ditty, anyway.

Happy Birthday me !

Monday 1st July 2013

I’m gradually settling into life here. Daily I meet the widest range of people I would ever hope to meet – the slightly mad Australian  psychiatrist professor with the self confessed anxiety, who insists on calling me “Alexander”, the 7 foot tall South Sudanese minister for something important, with the most beautiful voice, the hard working and hard playing South African miners who are our neighbours, and are to a man, polite, funny, and ever so slightly crazy. There is a theme here....

Last week I went to a leaving party for the miners, who are all going home as it’s coming into rainy season, and they can’t work. They’ll all be back in 2 months, but for now they were singing, cooking the most wonderful BBQ’d meat, and inviting me into their free bar. They live on the compound next door, and welcomed me with open arms, kindness and gin. (There is also a theme here don’t you think???)

So much so that one of their number, who has only one leg due to a landmine incident, professed undying love for me (bearing in mind that there were only 2 women there, my boss, and me ), then promptly fell over. Few too many whiskeys....we “nursed” him into a low chair that he couldn’t get out of, and left them all singing along to Culture Club and Bronski Beat .....really....

Work-wise, it’s certainly a steep learning curve. Being Head of Clinic, and managing staff is not such a jump from my previous job, but I’m currently buried under purchasing/ordering/stocking..... There were several “fillers in “ before I got here, each with their different systems, some with none, and I spent Sunday’s on-call (mercifully no patients) unceremoniously “filing “ 2 years worth of stuff into a plastic bag and starting again. I’m consoling myself with the thought that at least I will know what I’m doing. The poor deputy head, on his return from leave in the UK, will, however, not have a clue where anything is – I fear I’m making a rod for my own back...

One of my jobs is the “Pharmacy Run”. This involves getting my patient Kenyan driver, Okello, to drive me round all the pharmacies in town to try and find drugs that we have run out of. Now this is a perilous endeavour, not for personal safety reasons (I’m getting to know them all, so It’s actually quite good fun), but simply because you have to check every drug to see where it’s made (China – don’t buy, Arabic – be deeply suspicious, Kenya – probably OK ). This is to do with the vast amount of counterfeit drugs for sale. Pretty pointless to get a drug cheaply, and then find out it’s chalk. Occasionally you have to ask them to show you a pill, then crush it, to see how easily it disintegrates. A lot of the drugs are near to expiry, hence being sold on in bulk, so you have to check every expiry date – if you’re not going to use it quickly, no point in buying. All of this is new to me, along with exactly how much we use of everything and the fact that I only find out that something has run out when it’s gone (bit like putting an empty carton of milk back in the fridge). Why don’t we have a system ?  We do, but again, it’s not perfect and I’m still wrapping my brain round it.  The nice thing about these “runs” is you get to talk to local people, have a bit of a laugh, and in one pharmacy, watch the most awful Nigerian soap opera (in English) on the ubiquitous TV that sits in the corner of every shop that has walls. It’s over the top, over-acted, and very funny. I’m sure it’s not meant to be....

You do get to see some odd sights on these runs though – today I saw a “Boda Boda” driver (motorbike taxis, who are constantly being run over) driving down the road with his motorbike encased in bubble wrap. He, of course, was not even wearing a helmet. A sign for “Big Boyz” (that one for Brighton folk) and an old lady, her face shrunken like a little old prune, wearing a baby’s cap on her head to ward off the sun – made of wool.

Tonight I went to Yoga. I’m not a stranger to yoga, having practised a few times on and off over the years, but this is YOGA. 2 hours of contortions, standing on one leg, twisting yourself inside out , and it’s really tricky. Last week we were in the very posh EU compound, in a little air conditioned hall, but tonight we were on a rooftop. A flat one, obviously – heaven knows it doesn’t need to be any more difficult that it is . On the rooftop was what appeared to be the whole staff of Marie Stopes International, The International Red Cross, and several assorted other NGO’s, all stretching the fatigue and the stress away under a clear night sky.  As we lay down for a particularly tricky pose, (it was dark by now), I saw a shooting star – honestly the first one I have ever seen. Down below the streets had become alive with music, tooting horns, laughter. I could see the fledgling city stretching out to the foothills of the Jebel Kujur ( the hills in the distance), half built buildings silhouetted against the clear, starry sky, and for the first time since I arrived, I appreciated that I was part of a  living, breathing,entity. Hidden behind rolls of barbed wire and travelling by car everywhere you miss it.

 But there it was, and I liked it.