Of Transition, Power poles, Perspective, and the Future...

When a person is confronted with debilitating heat every day for months on end they are forced to learn to cope. Each day is a struggle, never seems easy, is full of comments about how hot it is, remarks at the growing sweat marks on shirts (or rather shrinking dry spots), but work always gets done, attitudes usually stay intact, and progress in heat management is truly realized when the mercury drops below 90 and the body feels a slight chill. I think I'll wear long sleaves today...it is 82 degrees...and I feel slightly cool. At moments like that you come to grips with what you are used to and are amazed at what you've learned to put up with.

Tuesday, August 22, was just like the week preceding it, very comfortable in the 70's, or what you would call a typical day in the Appalachians. Eighteen hours later I step off of a plane and am confronted with an evening temperature at least in the 90's. Manageable, not bad really. Maybe I still had it in me. Pull up at the familiar SP house in Khartoum, soak in the air-conditioning, feel the cool tile floor storing up the chill...very nice. Thursday evening a storm swept through Khartoum, pushing ferocious dust and rain ahead of it, and whipping through the streets on the wheels of a wind that surprised some locals with its fury. A colleague and I were in a small restaurant when it happened and did not realize how strong it was as we watched it through the large glass windows.

Returning to the house we discovered that the concrete power pole in front of our house had been shattered and lay sprawling its wires across the road. The windows were dark, and as we stepped inside realized the design misfortune that relies completely on conditioned air to maintain comfort. There exists no circulation and so immediately it becomes a stifling oven. Even outside was slightly more comfortable, the only advantage to indoors was the shelter from the sun. Last night, Saturday evening, the power was finally restored. Those were some of the most miserable moments of my life. As I have just arrived, and am still only in Khartoum, I have not yet started my job, and as such have nothing constructive to do. I am still dealing with jet lag, and the inability to sleep at night (for fear of drowning in sweat) has not helped with that at all. During the day, rest is very difficult, although I have managed a few hours in spurts.

As such we, my colleague and I, spent many hours in some of the cafe's around town, enjoying the cool air, international company (such as Lebanese business men, Jordanians, well educated Sudanese, etc.), and so on. Some of the friends that we have made have proved to be quite amazing, being some very influential members of Khartoum's upper class.

Still, as we'd walk around town, hopping from one cafe to another, and then back to the house, I was struck with the surreality of it all. We begrudged the fact that we would return again to a house deprived of electricity, but I knew that the men who were working on fixing it could only ever expect such a thing. The lanky teenager who approached us at an outdoor local restaurant late at night, addled because of the glue he got high sniffing (a huge problem in Africa), wandered the streets twenty-four hours a day in scraps for sandles and rags for clothes, and was too messed up in his mind to take the food we offered him. He wanted money instead. In a place like this, there is no hope for him. That is not a statement westerners want to agree with. But he will never experience the life that I have, or that many of his countrymen experience in the city. A boy like that won't even experience the real joy that a peaceful village or region in Darfur has. It does make you ask, 'Why?'. And while I have seen this countless times before, the perspective of our darkened house freshened the point a little. Enough at least to feel again the sadness that, if left unchecked, could eventually drive you into deep emotional trauma. It felt right to feel that again, and to let that experience help shape my attitude as I prepare to return to the troubled region of Darfur. I probably won't feel that again while I am here, not as acutely at least, and it is good that way, otherwise I would become useless in trying to help. As I've experienced in the eight and a half months it has been since I was here last, there are ample moments later to let the grief and shock and anger and anguish escape. If the mind refuses the body eventually finds ways to release the pressure.

On a note of 'business', I am to attend a seminar here in Khartoum on Monday, and then on Tuesday I expect to take off for Darfur.

Regards,

Jonathan