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..