I feel able to be a bit more honest about my time in Juba now, as it really is so far away. The month after my last post was really tricky. Things at the clinic were certainly not all sweetness and light. I discovered that managing difficult people was not my forte - sad though it is, I would prefer to be liked than disliked, and prefer not to make unpopular decisions. Strange one that, as having been a Clinical Site Manager for ten years, I was used to making unpopular decisions daily, the difference being, I had the support of my team. In Juba, I had the support of my Deputy, and that was it. As so many people point out, it's not a popularity contest, but I hated it. My senior Doctor and I fell out irrevocably, to the point that we stopped speaking to each other unless it was to do with direct patient care. I admire her immensely - being a South Sudanese female doctor is not easy, in a male dominated culture, and she is a strong and opinionated woman . Sadly, so am I, and that led to stubborn clashes that just could not be resolved. She had strong family ties to the local dignitaries, and the government, which meant she was invaluable to keeping the clinic afloat in a society that relies on such ties. It also meant she was untouchable - when faced with a flat "No" to any request I made of her, I had nowhere to go . The on call rota became a bone of contention, with the local staff complaining that they felt it was unfair the amount of on-calls they were expected to do, despite me painstakingly writing out exactly how many everyone was doing to show that it was equal (except for mine, as I did almost a third more than everyone else) . It didn't matter - they didn't live on the compound and ( I suppose quite reasonably) felt that nights away from their family sleeping in the clinic were harder for them .
The security situation began to deteriorate, with reports of robberies on Kawadja cars out at night - the suggestion was that no-one went out later than 10pm, even then, there were reports of cars being held up not 200 yards from our compound earlier and earlier. This was not surprising really, the police and the army ( those responsible for most of the robberies) had not been paid for 3 months, and had just heard that they would not be paid in the foreseeable future as the government " Needed to pay its debts" first. They were hungry, desperate and had families to care for. We Kawadjas were an easy target, with our mobile phones, and our wallets full of dollars for an evening out, that would feed a family for weeks .
Andrew went on leave for a month, and pretty much everyone else that I could have a laugh and a joke with, went on leave at the same time. I was left at the clinic on my own, virtually in prison due to the security situation, with staff who resented me - it was a very long month. I was bored, and couldn't wait to come home on leave. On average we saw about 20 patients a day in the clinic, which, when we were all there, was about 3 patients a day each. There is only so long you can chat to a patient who has come to clinic because he stubbed his toe on the way home the night before - really. The Malarias and Typhoids livened things up a bit, but at the end of rainy season, they were becoming far and few between. The odd repatriation kept me up all night - I volunteered just to break what was swiftly becoming monotonous .
Reports started coming in of armed gangs breaking into Kawadja compounds and stealing everything - the people were left unharmed, but laptops, cash, personal possessions, all gone. The situation was becoming more desperate as we approached Christmas. One friend of mine who was an old hand in Juba, was lying in his bed one morning when someone crashed through his window and landed on the floor of his room. It turned out that a Boda Boda driver had been run over and killed, and an angry mob was chasing the driver through a compound hell bent on revenge - this unlucky mobee had taken a wrong turn in all the excitement. Luckily my friend was fine, and the mobee went back out the same way he had come in, leaving my friend unharmed, but very shaken. He moved out of the city to a compound on the outskirts the following day.
I greeted Andrew with enormous relief on his return, and gaily fled the compound for my leave in the UK, safe in the knowledge that I would only be returning for 10 days in December, to honour the end of my contract( although I had only been required to give 30 days notice, I had given 60, knowing that the clinic would have no-one to run the place over Christmas if I didn't come back).
After a lovely holiday in the UK, I was driving back from the New Forest from a weekend break, due to fly back the following day, when I received a text from a friend saying " Look at the news - Juba is in trouble". It turned out that all hell had broken loose the day before, with rebel factions of the army fighting forces loyal to the Prime Minister. Our clinic was in Tong Ping, the very epicentre of the fighting. Emails flew back and forth - what should I do? I was very uneasy about returning with the situation so unstable. The management told me to wait on standby to see how things progressed - Andrew gave a very different story and advised me to not come back at all. I was asked to fly to Nairobi, and wait in a hotel there for further instructions - after consultation with a few of my friends it looked like I could be there for a while - the airport in Juba was closed until further notice, and the fighting was now in the streets of Tong Ping, with Andrew reporting heavy artillery fire and tank fire just outside the compound. I declined the offer of Nairobi, and told them I would wait it out here . The clinic staff were turning off the lights and keeping their heads down, praying that the clinic would not be the target of hungry, broke looters. Our neighbours, the Norwegian Army, had offered safe haven (although, like all the peacekeeping forces there, they did not carry weapons). Although they were next door, it was too dangerous to actually go outside the compound, so a cunning plan was developed as an escape exit strategy - and here I do not joke. We share an adjoining wall, and on our side of the wall there was a ladder. On reaching the top of the ladder, there was a fishing pole and line, which was to be used to hook up the matching ladder on the other side, to make good their escape . Cunning indeed. That was, in effect, the exit strategy. With South Sudan being landlocked, all the borders were closed, the airport remaining closed, they really did just have to wait it out.
The company eventually hired a private plane to evacuate the ex-pat staff as soon as the airport was functioning again. A plan was made, and they got ready to leave, being allowed only to take a small bag of possessions each. The day before, I received another email asking me to remain on standby, and would I consider working another month to get the clinic up and running again - there seemed to be a bit of a lack of joined up thinking here....
Off they trotted to the airport, feeling slightly smug about the private plane, when the tiny airless waiting room was full of hundreds of ex-pats, all waiting for seats on scheduled flights, desperate to flee. Can you imagine what it must have been like, to see a plane land, and nose-dive on the one runway, its front wheel completely collapsing. No-one was hurt, luckily, but nothing was landing or taking off until the runway could be cleared - it was by now about 3pm, and there being no landing lights, the airport simply couldn't function after 6pm due to the light. Somehow, a tank was commandeered to clear the runway, and planes began to furiously take off and land every few minutes to stay ahead of the curfew. Thankfully my team got out, and I breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing that they had all arrived at a hotel in Nairobi, and were sleeping without fear for the first time in 10 days .
Andrew has returned safely, having managed to salvage some photos for me that me that were irreplaceable, although that was about all he did manage to salvage - I envisage several South Sudanese running about in my shorts much to the amusement of their friends...
The clinic was locked down, and no-one really knows if it is still in one piece. The local staff have all returned to their families, and we have heard from most of them that they are OK. With so many ex-pat companies pulling out of Juba, it is unlikely that they will have any work in the future, and I feel desperately sorry and worried for them .
So my adventure was cut short by a few weeks, but what a few weeks, and I couldn't have asked for better timing of my leave - although there is a part of me, now that I know everyone is safe, that wishes I had been there, and it would be my story to tell. Still, probably for the best !
Who knows what will happen there next, and whether URG will open the clinic again - I suspect not, although they do not appear to have given up hope yet.
I, on the other hand, am back to ward work, for an agency, and it's killing me - but that's another post, this one has been long enough already.
Goodbye Juba, it certainly was an experience.
No comments:
Post a Comment