Pictures, and Moving which sucks...

Alright folks, A quick update: Later this evening pictures will start appearing here: Pictures from Africa

This is, I hope, a temporary solution, until I can get something dedicated up and running. Check it out once in a while. I'll probably drop some pictures straight in the blog, like this one, from the tank cemetery in Juba :

Aside from this exciting news, I have started packing my apartment into boxes, in prep for my move out of this extremely un-inspiring apartment, and into Africa!!
On that topic: moving sucks! I've done it about a 1000 times in the last 8 years, and it doesn't get more enjoyable the more often you do it. My packing is generally pretty heavily influences by the "well-all-the-boxes-are-going-the-same-place-so-why get-all-organized" school of thinking. I've got boxes that contain a combination of kitchenware, hi-fi equipment, hunting gear (no, I won't be needing that in Africa - sadly), and possibly a kitten - all lovingly wrapped in towels and newspapers. I think there may even be some candlesticks in there. For ambience, you know.

Couple this with the fact that my apartment has panoramic windows (that don't open) that face west, thus allowing for temperatures around 35 degrees centigrade, and you have a place that really doesn't make you want to be here right now. I know, I know, I've been in Juba for the last two months you say. Surely the heat down there is greater, you say? True. An excellent observation indeed. The difference is that in Juba, the heat is just a fact of life. Everybody lives in a perpetual pendular state between sweating their unmentionables off, and cooling off in airconditioned rooms and offices. This, in combination with a dearth of showers, leads to a higher tolerance for general perspiration. In short, everybody just accepts that everybody else walks around looking a little nasty... Not so here in Civilized Land. The general consesus is that walking around sweaty isn't done, making spending time in my apartment, aka The Furnace of Doom, a none too attractive proposition.

Regardless, packing is moving forward, and soon it will be done. Then I'll take two weeks off, in preparation for my departure.

For now, I think I hear a moving box calling. I need to go stuff it with someting so it'll shut up...

Talk to you all soon.

Peter, out.

Intially "posted" on June 18th

Of my imminent departure, ministerial transportation policy in the third world, and facial hair



Dear All,

Now, to the business at hand:

As you may have gathered, I’ll be flying out of here pretty soon. I’ll probably be back sometime in August, but for now I’m going home. I’ll spend another 4 days in Nairobi from Monday next week, and then fly home to Denmark, via Heathrow (which will probably eat my luggage – I have about 50% chance of it ending the same place as me, is my experience with London transfers) on Friday the 30th of June. Why not spend another weekend in Juba, you ask? Well, I’d love to – no, really, I swear… Can I interest you in a pre-owned bridge, priced to move, located in Brooklyn? – but some very dear friends of mine are getting married on the first of July, and I have every intention of being there for that. I briefly considered turning up dressed in the local celebratory garb. It’s hard to describe, given that some of the colors aren’t found anywhere in nature, and the combinations they wrestle these colors into are such that unless you are either born here, or ease yourself into it, they will actually make your eyes bleed. But alas, I haven’t had the opportunity to buy one of these outfits yet, and I expect I shall be quite busy in the coming week, wrapping stuff up and getting ready to hand over to my colleague who’ll be coming in for a couple of weeks after me. It’s probably for the best, though, as I suspect my friend wouldn’t appreciate his blushing bride bleeding all over her wedding dress…

I look forward to returning home for some R&R, though. These past weeks have been exciting, and as I mentioned, I might come back in August for an extended stay, but right now I’m ready to go home to my girlfriend, and my friends, who are all apparently enjoying the Danish summer in all it’s temperate loveliness, while I am here, plagued by 40 degrees Celsius and about 80% humidity, when it is raining cats and dogs (or unexpended munitions….). I surely look forward to having tapwater that isn’t bent on causing me deadly injury. Bugs that are bug-sized, not Buick-sized… My own bathroom – without boot prints on the seat (think about it for a second). Control of the remote. Fresh vegetables available at a moments notice. Milk that has, at no point during its career, been a powder. There’s a lot of stuff I look forward to, but none more than seeing my friends and loved ones, and enjoying a few weeks of the Danish summer with them.

But before I wax too sentimental, I shall hold forth on the subject of Sudanese motorcades.

The Government of Southern Sudan (GOSS for short) is comprised, basically of a number of former bush-fighters that are now trying to run the country into the ground. Obviously, they have known war, strife and conflict for the last 25-30 years. They don’t trust easily – in fact they are really paranoid, as witnessed by my short detention for taking pictures in the middle of the day of things parked in direct view of the road… This paranoia is reflected greatly in the way they move around. I realize the motorcade is a necessary part of government anywhere in the world, given the threats at large in the world today. But these guys take it to a whole different level. Before I describe this, remember that we are in a town that has just the one paved road. Running between the airport and the government enclave, it s really is only paved to a very limited degree. There are potholes that would happily swallow a medium-sized pickup and ask for seconds… So, with that I mind, the motorcade:

First, on point if you will, the local police representative, driving a tiny Japanese sedan (think Corolla) painted police colors, and fitted with the most asthmatic siren you have ever had the misfortune of hearing only splitseconds before the car comes around the corner. I kid you not. I drive with my windows down, and no radio on, but I only rarely register the siren coming before I see them. So this guy is out front, trying to clear traffic in his tiny car, which is taking the kind of beating that warms the cockles of my spare parts-selling heart.

Immediately behind the pointless representative of local law enforcement follows the first technical. A technical, for those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, is a primitive mobile weapons platform. Remember the pickups with heavy machineguns welded to the bed, tear-assing around Mogadishu in the movie “Blackhawk Down”? Those are technicals. In this case the technicals are based on old school Toyota LandCruiser pickups mounted with Russian, crew-manned heavy machineguns. In this case, they carry the driver and 2 passengers in the cabin, the gun-crew on the back, along with what I can only assume are the gun-crew groupies, or perhaps cheerleaders – 4-6 extra troops sittin’ on the bed. So you’re talking about 9-10 guys in/on this vehicle, all carrying or manning automatic weapons, invariably wearing sunglasses (regardless the time of day) and tough-guy expressions – hurtling along a VERY poorly paved road at about 80km an hour. How could it possibly go wrong?

After the technical comes the actual reason for the motorcade. Whichever minister is in town, in his high-end Japanese SUV. Typically imported from Dubai – we’re talking huge V8 engines, chrome everywhere, gold paint everywhere, little flags on the front quarter panels, windows that are tinted so dark that they have to put holes in the tinting so the driver can see the side mirrors…. Perfect vehicles for you corrupt African official in spe – and excellent for the workshop run by my business-partners, because they break down all the time. The price of combining finely tuned fuel injection with fuel that looks like mud. No, really, you get yourself a clear container, and fill it with your preferred measure (metric or imperial, depending on you choice) of pump-diesel or petrol purchased around here, and let it settle. Once it does, you typically have about 3-5cm (1-2 inches) of dirt at the bottom, and the same of water floating on top of the fuel. It’s unbelievable. When was the last time any of you Europeans or Americans actually had your fuel filter changed? Don’t remember, do you. Down here, every 2500km/1500miles. It’s insane.

Anyway, back to the motorcade: After the minister you generally get one or two more technicals and maybe a single chasecar cop with his pointless siren. So anywhere from 5 to 10 vehicles (depending on the number of ministers – they frown on car-pooling) screaming through the center of a city populated by around 300.000 people, who have little or no basis for relating to fast moving hunks of metal, at 75-80 clicks per hour. Regardless the stereotypical and humorously ridiculous display of newly acquired power, and waste of funds it represents, it costs lives. Apparently a technical hit a 4 year old girl recently, and didn’t even stop. Not only is it a tragic and needless death, but it’s a comment also on what little value a life holds down here.

So, now that I’ve managed to depress you all, and given you perhaps something to think on, a lighter topic is in order.

I’ve grown a beard.

That’s right. I figured “hey, I’m in Southern Sudan, and there’s no one here to give me static for it or any one who really cares if I shave (the wonderful nature of relief areas where nobody gets a shower more than maybe every two days.) – so I’ll give this beard thing a shot”. And I have to say I’m quite enjoying it. I always had the impression that the “thoughtful stroking of the beard” was a move affected by some, to try and look smart. Turns out it’s genetically hardwired into our systems. You grow a beard - you begin stroking it like you’re Gandalf. As much a universal truth as gravity. I’ve tried stopping – can’t be done. So – we’ll see how the beard fares when I get back to DK. I’ve not yet decided whether I’m keeping it for the wedding on the 1st of July. I suspect my girlfriend-cum-fashion advisor will have something to say on the matter, but that’s a discussion for another time. For now, I’m enjoying it immensely.

I think I have taken enough of your day now. I hope you enjoyed this latest installment, and hope to hear back from you. With a little luck, I’ll send you a final installment at the end of next week, before departing for Nairobi and home.

Until next time.

Yours, &c..

Initially "posted" on June 5th

Of Bush mechanics, Civilization and Tiny Elephants



Dear All,

As I started writing this, I was in one of the largest faux leather armchairs I have ever had the dubious pleasure of sitting in, waiting for my flight to Nairobi. In mere hours, I would be enjoying the first really hot shower since May 9th, and shortly after that, the biggest steak I could find! As it turned out, I ended up having fish for dinner on Friday. Nevertheless, my first dinner without the company of 100 SPLA soldiers who have only a passing acquaintance with the concept of fork and knife, was wonderful! And don’t even get me started on taking a shower without having to wear sandals because the floor is to damn nasty to ponder standing on. All in all, coming back to civilization is actually quite nice.

The week up to leaving was busy as ever with business, but there is one incident that stands out: I recently took delivery of 9 vehicles, destined for use by a Chinese construction company. Part of our service is an inspection of the vehicle before handing it over to our client. Basically, we make sure alle the parts are in the right places, that the right pedals to the right things, and that the vehicle won’t spontaneously fling you off a cliff… At the end of the inspection we clean each vehicle, in the process removing the myriad stickers placed throughout the vehicle by everyone from the manufacturer to the shipper to the customs authorities in all the countries through which the vehicle has passed on its way to the end user. Now, generally, when pulling off a sticker, it comes as no surprise when there is a little of the “stick” left on the surface from which you have pulled it. It takes nothing more than a rag, maybe some gasoline, and a little elbow grease to remove it. Common sense, right? Wrong. One of the local “mechanics” (and I use the term very loosely) had removed a sticker, and upon failing to remove the residue decided alternate means were called for. What alternate means, you ask? Kerosene? A rag? Maybe some soapy water? Sandpaper, that’s what. Let’s dwell on that or a moment. He tried to remove something from the inside of a windshield, with sandpaper… He succeeded, I’ll give him that.

It just goes to show the virtue of supervising your mechanic…

Anyway, civilization (well almost civilization, if you can call a city in which moving anywhere outdoors past 6 PM is potentially lethal unless you’re in a car civilized) is really nice. By virtue of my employer doing a lot of business in Nairobi, the company keeps an apartment in Nairobi. A really nice apartment, actually. 24 hour concierge service, gym, pool, business center, housekeeping, laundry. The Works.

I went on Safari with my Boss and his family (who have been vacationing in Mombasa for the past week, and were in Nairobi, waiting to fly home to DK), which was ok, but not amazing, as we went to Nairobi National Park which is surrounded on 3 sides by Nairobi. Not conducive to the whole “natural feel” of things required for the game to develop. Also, the park isn’t quite big enough to sustain the great elephants, or several of the other species found in the larger parks. It did offer one surreal picture: A giraffe looking right at me, with the skyline of Nairobi not 10 miles distant in the background. That alone made the trip worth while.

The very best part came later, however, when we went to the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, an elephant orphanage, were the children of elephants poached or otherwise deceased are raised until the can be released into the wild. There are 12 orphans at the moment, ranging from 8 – 23 months of age. Over the course of an hour we saw them fed and playing in a little mudhole. It was fascinating, and an awesome exercise in marketing. I doubt anyone left without leaving a donation for the trust, to allow them to carry on their work. I know I did. If you ever find yourself in Nairobi, these babies are truly worth a visit.

I think I shall end my weekly correspondence here. Wherever you are, remember this: Sandpaper is not the answer.

Much love,

Initially "posted" on May 29th

Of Electric Doors, Detention, and the Chaos that is Commerce in Juba
Dear All,

This week has, as the ones before it, been hectic. Lots of things going on, vehicles coming in, orders being confirmed, etc… Thankfully very few explosions this week, and only scheduled and “controlled” ones (to as great a degree as the term can be applied to several thousand pounds of military grade high explosives. The SAF (northern troops) are in the process of withdrawing from Juba, and as part of that process, are destroying their ammunition.

Anyway, my three stories this week, are on very divergent topics.

Firstly, I now have intimate knowledge of what the life of an electrical ground-connection is like, as I have auditioned for the part about 4 times since last week. Picture this: You’ve had a long day at the office and out driving around in the 45 degree heat. You just want to go to your room, lie down for a minute, read your. So you go to your room, but fate conspires against your desired and deserved rest – by zapping you with 230 volts through the lock, doorhandle and metal frame, of your little room… Not the best way of getting your rest, I am sure you agree. In fact, it wakes you the hell up. Real quick like. I know because it happened to me. 4 times. Each time I was promised it was fixed. This statement rang particularly hollow when I had the experience upon coming back from my evening shower, in my towel, and wasn’t able to get into my room. Finally, after 3 failed attempts at finding the reason for these unneeded jumpstarts of my cardiac system, the camp manager sent in 4 guys, who tore my room apart and redid the entire wiring in the unit.

The most scary (and at the same time indicative of Africa) statement there was when one of them yelled across the camp “what color are you using for the ground?” – this is not, I later learned, a good question for two electricians to be asking each other. However, I now have a fully grounded and, so far, de-electrified room. In other news, my hair is no longer standing on end…

Secondly, I have had my first run-in with the local authorities. On Sunday, I had agreed to meet up with the local representative of a large North American govt. specializing in the study of diseases and how they spread), an American doctor named Friend (that's not is name, but this stuff is now online, so I shall refrain from putting anyone's name here for the public to view) and go have a look at the local market. So I arrived at our rendezvous a little early, and decided to take a couple of pictures of an ancient Russian tank, parked under a tree and covered with laundry. I thought it a good illustration of how they run their armed forces down here. Well, no sooner had I taken the pictures than two civilian dresses members of SPLA military intelligence came along, and got quite excited. Apparently 25-year old tanks parked right out in the open are military secrets of vital importance to Sudanese national security… Thankfully my friend Tom showed up at the same time.

After much discussion, and back-pedaling on my part, we were made to ride with these two gentlemen into the local MI-offices. A truly run-down old building that hadn’t seen a maintenance crew, or even a paintbrush in probably 25 years. Not exactly confidence inspiring, when you’ve been hauled away by two men dressed in civilian garb, who haven’t shown you any ID. Thankfully we got to sit outside and wait, while someone was sent to fetch an officer. It being Sunday, there was no officer to be found. So, we were just about to be sent off with a stern talking to about the necessity of getting permission to take pictures, and how I should come by their office and get an escort next time I wanted to take pictures (no fee was mentioned, but I’m pretty sure it was a given. And not something that would show up on any receipts or ledgers anywhere), when a kid who can’t have been more than 19 came out, and started going off with the two officers whom we had now become fast friends with, thanks to Friend’s US Diplomatic Passport.

So, literally as I had my hand on the door of my car, we had to go into the dreaded building. So in we went, and witnessed a truly hilarious display of bureaucracy. The young guy was a clerk, and he had procedures he felt were incredibly important to follow. He seemed very set on having our information put into a big black book. The two officers, whom it now became apparent weren’t actually sure they had anything to hold us on, didn’t see the need for this registration as there had been no arrest made. This deteriorated, rapidly, into a fast paced argument in the local dialect, and ended in compromise: We were to write down our names, nationalities, professions, and residences in Juba. On a scrap of paper about 7cm by 15cm… Not the awe-inspiring display of systemized government one might have feared. I almost laughed, but realized this would be ill-advised, the situation taken into consideration.

The young clerk, obviously ecclesiastically inclined, explained to me that I had done something wrong, and did I understand this?

Yes, I answered.

Next question: Do you realize God will punish you?

Me:…I shall have to discuss that with the Lord himself when we get to that point.

Him: … (not quite sure how to handle anything but a yes or no answer) Go away now.

And, finally, we left. Not a pleasant experience for one such as myself, New in Juba, but nevertheless one that I will remember.

Thirdly: After this unpleasant little interlude, Friend and I decided to go to the local market, also called the Customs Market, to see what there was to see. The market is a collection of ramshackle stalls and huts, made mostly of branches, baling wire and corrugated tin. Not somewhere to store perishables when the sun is coming in at about 40 degrees… There are probably about 250-300 of these stalls, in varying sizes, arranged so that a network of little paths runs among them. Keep your head on straight, or you might get lost. All these stands sell something. From the stall that sells maize flour by the fly-infested cup, to the guy who sells cheap Chinese clothing fit to make any designer weep, to the ones selling VHS cassettes, Audio Cassettes and tv’s/boomboxes to play them on. They’re all there, and it’s great. You won’t find me doing much shopping there (mainly because I'm not in dire need of anything they're selling), but it’s great to see that goods are moving into Juba. For so long it has been impossible to get anything at all, let alone “luxury goods” which the radios/candy/clothes/shoes/cosmetics are to these people. Now it’s here. I wonder how long before McDonalds comes in?

Less than 30 days to go in Juba.

Much love, and read you soon.

Originally "posted" May 21

Of Explosions, Frustrations, and Midnight Driving in Juba

Dear All,

Since last you heard, things have been going well in Juba. Exciting it certainly has been. This past Friday, an ammunition dump about 4-5km from “my” camp exploded. Apparently the Northerners, to whom the munitions originally belonged, don’t exactly observe UN or NATO standards for safe storage of explosives and propellants. Basically there were just piles of aging 105 and 155mm artillery shells, mortar rounds, small arms ammo, etc. just lying around on a field… In the middle of this field some truly enlightened individual decided to build his mud hut….and throw a house warming(Ok, I admit I can’t confirm or deny the housewarming bit), complete with roast goat. And where did he light his cooking fire? That’s right, in the dry grass between the piles of unexploded ordinance.
End result: the town was shaken by about 5 large blasts (windows rattled at my compound), and a number of secondary explosions. Some of the rounds cooked of and fell in the nile and around the accommodation compounds there. Thankfully, my compound is located in the opposite direction and was completely safe. Naturally, the SPLA(former southern rebels, now army of New Sudan) boys went into war mode immediately, automatic weapons appearing as if from nowhere. Within minutes, every military position in Juba was manned. Thankfully nothing happened. For the first hour or so, the feeling was pretty tense as there are a lot of the SPLA troops and officers who are just itching for a reason to wipe out the remaining northerners and, while they’re at it, probably replace a few ministers. Thankfully, casualties were light. One truly unfortunate Russian helicopterpilot lost hos foot, when a stray artillery round came down at the airfield north of town (the river is south of town, the airfield north, the ammo dump just on the western edge of town). A couple of unfortunate SAF(Sudanese Armed Forces – northern troops, there are still some around for various reasons) were beaten to death by all accounts, by SPLA troops, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And there are probably several hundred new UXO’s (UneXploded Ordinance) spread around the greater Juba area, so there may be casualties yet to come. I am crossing my fingers and preying the UN Mine Action boys to do their job before some kids decided to make a toy out of a live mortar round. Friday was an illustration and reminder to us foreign nationals on the ground that all is not well in Juba The tension is very much there, just under the surface. One journalist I spoke to, used the word tinderbox. Thankfully, if it all goes to hell, there are several things going for my safe return to the world:

1: If it goes pearshaped, they won’t be coming for the expats, they be busy killing each other. So with a little staying on your toes, the 5 minute drive to the airport shouldn’t be a problem.

2: One of the people I have befriended at the camp I live in, is the norwegian Air Operations Manager at the UN airfield. So I pretty much set for a seat on the first plane the hell out of dodge.

3: Another one of the Scandinavians here runs the local security company, so he’s got a city wide radio net, that’ll keep me well informed, should it be necessary.

So there was some excitement, I am fine, everything is copacetic. If you were contemplating being to think about considering allowing worry to enter into your current frame of mind, don’t. Should anything happen I’ll be out of here so fast it’ll make your collective heads spin. Until then, I’m fine.

So on to something equally indicative to Africa, but far more boring: pointless delays. I have nine pick-ups coming into Juba from Uganda, for a Chinese construction company who is going to be doing a great deal of roadworks in the coming months/years. They were supposed to be here 2 weeks ago. First there were delays in Uganda. That’s fine. I’ll live. Ugandans are busy people I’m sure, and my vehicles have to wait in line like everybody else. Whatever. Then the vehicles got to the Sudanese customs office in Yei. Now, in order for us to bring in vehicles for our customers, those customers must have a letter exempting them of taxes and duties, from the Ministry of Finance and Economic Planing (Yes, that’s how the letterhead spells it. Don’t even get me started…). The letter has to be signed, stamped etc. Now, the guys in Yei are southern customs officers, while the boys in Juba are northern customs. We know this, and use Yei, because the southerners are more interested in goods coming into help the development of southern sudan than the northerners are. What we hadn’t counted on, was the level of pettiness they all have in common. So this Chinese company has the right letter, with the right stamps, signatures, etc… But at the top of letter, it’s addressed to Customs Juba, not Customs Yei. That’s why my nine pickups have been stuck for week!!! I was sorely tempted to just cross out Juba and write Yei by hand, but was advised not to, as they apparently don’t have a lot of nuance in their criminal punishment system yet.

Anyway, we have our guys working on the situation, and hope to have it resolved by the beginning of this week.

Now for something more fun. Last night, after the Hash run, we had dinner at the local USAID compound. Those of you reading this in the states will be happy to know your tax dollars are being put to really good use down here. The dinner was amazing, and the compound, which is still under construction, makes me want to work abroad for the State Department or USAID. So anyway, after having drunk all the redwine on offer there we were persuaded to go barhopping in Juba. Barhopping indeed you might think. But consider for a minute exactly what else there is to do in a place like Juba, and if you an entrepreneurial bone in your body you quickly realize that there is a solid business case to be found in getting aid and development workers hammered on a Saturday night at the end of the world. So off we went. First to a party at the UN compound. Apparently a bunch of the camp managers were leaving, so there was a party. I’m not entirely certain how I would take that if I were one of those managers, but hey, that’s their problem. From there we went on a ride through the back streets of Juba to our next destination, some dive of a camp down by the river. The destination was far less memorable than the journey, though. Except, maybe, for the moon coming up behind the Mango trees and over the Nile. That was pretty memorable. Anyway, we return to our hero as he tries to keep up with two UN vehicles, bit Toyota Landcruiser SUV’s, as they howl through Juba. You may recall I mentioned The Paved Road in my first e-mail. There’s just the one and it is rapidly becoming more pothole than road. And we’re talking potholes that’ll swallow a Buick, here. I’ve gotten used to traveling at about 35-45 km/h here. And those of you who know me best, know that to be departure from my typical driving demeanor.

The guys I was following were doing between 65 and 80. Those of you of a more rural bent, may be familiar with pickup trucks. The main difference in dynamics between a pickup and an SUV is the weight distribution. An SUV typically has about 60 percent of the weight up front, 40 at the rear, forcing the backend to be kept on the road through bumps. A pickup with nothing on the bed has a distribution of maybe 78 to 22. So plainly put, the rear end gets really bouncy at speed. Like, leave the ground bouncy. Not ideal when the rears are also the driven wheels, and you’re trying to keep up with a lunatic doing 60 down a dirt track. Let’s say we arrived how Bond likes his Martini; shaken…

These were the three stories of the week, and with them I shall leave you. Attached is a picture taken by an acquaintance who was down by the Nile then the ammodump went up. Quite spectacular, I am sure you agree.

That’s all for now. Until next time, take care.

Reporting live from Juba, in the Southern Sudan, I’m JubaJoe

Initially "posted" on May 16th

About Goats, Tanks, and Running around for no really good reason…

Dear All,

It’s been about a week since last I wrote, and much has happened. I’ve begun getting everything organized and gaining some sort of an overview of the situation down here. The guy who ran the office before I arrived, returned home before I came down. So the handover consisted of 3 hours of talking, in Svendborg. Thankfully he’s now ensconced at the other end of a Skype connection, ready to help at a moments notice.

So, anyway, Juba. Wow, talk about your city in development! When I was here last august, there were almost no vehicles on the roads except those of the UN and a few peacekeeping organizations. Now, 9 months later, the first traffic jams are setting in. Traffic jams! In a city with one paved road… It boggles the mind. Well, it boggles the mind until you consider how they drive, what they drive, and what else they are sharing the road with. Does it count as a traffic jam, if it happens because a bunch of cows have decided not to listen to the herder, and cross the road? Or what if a goat decides it needs to investigate a tuft of grass in the middle of the road FYI, if you run over a goat in a place like this, don’t stop. Run, find a local you trust, tell a bunch of people where you are going, and then bring your friendly local to the police station. If you stop, the owner of the goat, is liable to either beat you or worse. Not fun at all. But enough about goats. Lets talk tanks.

While taking part in the local hash run (more on that later), we came upon a cemetery for the remainders of Northern Sudanese armor. You have to remember, Juba was a northern Sudanese garrison town, until the war ended. When the war ended, there were about 90000 northern Sudanese troops stationed here, that all had to move north. So a lot of stuff was left behind. Apparently my boss and I had stumbled upon some military secret of great importance, because as we were snapping away, some guy at the top of the hill started screaming his little heart out about us not taking pictures. So, while I would like to have taken some more, I suspect that is not going to happen. The boss and I made for our vehicle, and absconded before we got involved in potentially very unpleasant exchange.

Now I mentioned the local hash run earlier, and I’m guessing very few of you have any idea what I am talking about, well, the Hash House Harriers are, in the words of some very senior members I once met, a drinking club with a running problem that meet once a week around the world (there are about 1500-1700 registered hash runs around the world) for a "hounds after the hare" run, followed by a bunch of beers. Basically, it’s a really good chance to meet new people in a social setting, rather than a business one. So I can meet my potential clients over a beer, after a good run, and get to know them socially instead of just across a desk. Its excellent stuff really. The route is laid out in advance, by the hare, and then everyone has to try and follow. It gives you a whole new perspective on the local environment, when you jog through instead of driving. We ran through the “suburbs” (read, collections of mud huts…) of Juba, and were on the way met with many wonderous looks (why the hell are all these white people running?), fear and shock (holy crap, there’s 20 white people running at me!), and glee (for a good deal of the way we had about 40-100 kids aged 8-14 following us, making it difficult to follow the trail. Good stuff, I have to say.

Now, I must away. Juba is beginning to grow on me, and the next 6 weeks will be very exciting, I think.

Now, as one of you astutely concluded upon receiving my last\ne-mail, I have no TV in my room. We have one in the dininghall, so I managed to\ncatch the Grand Prix on Saturday. But rarely do they show anything good. So\nplease, feel free to shoot me an e-mail and let me know what’s going on.

Much love to you all.

Originally "posted" May 10th

Dear All,

You will probably see this email as sent sometime in the afternoon of the 11th. However, as I write it, it is around 10PM on the 10 ^th – the wireless internet in the camp I am at, is apparently down. And as you may imagine, parts for satellitebased broadband are not easy to come by when you are as out of the way as I am here, in the former Northern Sudanese garrison town, now de facto Southern Sudanese capital, of Juba.

Some of you haven't heard from me in too long. Some of you I said goodbye to less than 48 hours ago, when I left Denmark for my 7 week stint as office manager here. For those whom I haven't been in touch with for a while: I now work at supplying transport solutions to the Aid & Development market. Lots of 4x4's and off-road bikes. I've been with the company for nigh on 17 months now, and this is my 5 ^th and longest trip to Africa so far. Until the 30^th of June I will be based in the Sudan, flying back and forth to Nairobi. My job is to carry on the work my colleague who arrived 6 months ago and left last week began: sell our products to the clients we have in the area, and to assist them with the logistics when, as inevitably happens, it all goes African…

I left Denmark at an hour of the morning on Tuesday so early that it surely violates some basic human right, after a mad dash to get everything in order upon being informed of my departure 8 days before the plane went "wheels up" from Copenhagen.

After a surprisingly relaxing flight from London to Nairobi ( the combination of not sleeping for 24 hours before departure, and a half-empty plane due to the rainy season going on in East Africa at the moment, helped things I think.) we – I am traveling with my boss for the first few weeks) arrived at around 9 pm. After spending less then 18 hours in Nairobi, just barely having time to get to our company flat and grab some sleep, we flew out to Juba in what must have been one of the oldest 737's still operating. I swear, wires dangling everywhere… But, as one of my co-passengers said to me: "At least I don't have to hitch rides with the World Food Programme flights any more" – indeed…

Upon arrival in Juba, we soon came to realize that since our last visit here, in August of 2005, much has happened. In 2005 Juba was only just beginning to feel the fact that some 4 billion Dollars had been donated to re-build North and South Sudan after 20-odd years of civil war. Today, the city is overrun by NGO's and UN organizations, vying to spend all that money, and develop what is currently a pretty desolate place.

Having checked into our lavish 3m x 3m pre-fab housing, we discovered the internet to be down. Furthermore, there having been a complete breakdown of company servers in Denmark on Monday, the office laptop which I had brought from there, was completely devoid of all information. After spending some time pondering this challenge (how to get in touch with your customers, when you don't have either names nor numbers?), and spending inordinate amounts of money calling Denmark, we finally worked out a solution. Hopping in our company vehicle, a crewcab pickup,white so as to blend in with the 600 UN vehicles in the region, we drove to another compound, narrowly avoiding several goats and locals, where we managed to secure an internet connection. I suspect that is where I will be sending this message from. We were able to receive the most vital information, and begin planning for the rest of the week. All of this is inconsequential to what I really wanted to tell you: what Juba is really like. Let me describe the city to you by means of my drive from one camp to another, across town.

Heading out of the compound run by our assosciates RA International, we turn on to a red clay…well road would be a gross exaggeration… track, which is all mud at this point because of the aforementioned rainy season, we roll along among mango trees sweating off the recent rain in the 28 degree heat (the humidity is around 75% at a guess), and buildings that haven't seen maintenance since before the civil war two decades ago. Further along this truly urban jungle, we pass the logistics center of UNMIS, a fenced in area filled with white pre-fab housing, white vehicles, and very serious looking people in light blue hats… past that we hit the airport road ( again, road is inaccurate..) and make a left. Keeping the speed down, in order to avoid both breaking the car, and minimizing the possibility of hitting the seemingly thousands of Africans walking around with absolute nothing to do. Up this road for a bit and something extraordinary happens. We arrive at The Paved Road – in capitals because there is just the one – and make a left past the Mosque with its now silent tower. Silent because the Muslim Northerners have been driven out by the Christian southerners. As we continue out The Paved Road, the buildings become fewer and more ramshackle, until they and the road end. We move down a wide mud strip through the African village of the movies. Clay huts with thatched roofs, goats and tiny black babies running around forcing me to drive at an even more glacial pace, young girls dancing and flirting with local militia. Through this and past the local soccer-stadium (for some reason painted an eye-watering shade of pastel pistachio) and down towards the mighty nile, where our destination camp lies.

With this image, and a fond farewell, I leave you until next time and wish you good night wherever you are.

Yours,

Try this on for size...

Some of you are already aware of the fact that I will be travelling back to Sudan in a few weeks, to work for another 4-and-something months. This, in combination with a sudden explosive increase in the number of bloggers in my immediate circle of friends, has inspired me to start this blog.

The posts here may or may not be as regular as the emails I sent during my previous posting, but I certainly hope they will be received with the same enthusiasm and positive response. It will be possible to post comments in lieu of emails, and I hope you will do so. The initial posts will be re-issues of my initial letters, so feel free to skip them, read them for the first time, or re-read them, should the fancy strike you.

For now, I'll be enjoying my summer in Denmark for the next few weeks, with running water that doesn't try to kill me at every corner, preparing to return to Juba on August 9th. There may be posts before then, there may not. I'll try and send out an email whenever I post a new "letter from Juba", but there may be other items of interest posted with no notice so, please, put me on your favorites list and drop by once in a while.

Look forward to hearing from you,

Peter , Aka JubaJoe.