politics
As you may have noticed this blog qualifies for the title “possibly the most boring 2008″. Because of the many complicated moves that make up this dance I’ve decided to write about nothing in particular in my previous posts. I wanted to make myself familiar with the politics, both of MSF and the setting in which I’m working, before sticking my head out in any way. In the months ahead I’ll try to give you a better view of what’s going on and how I relate to the situation in Darfur, but it will not be by means of this web page. Instead look to www.emmanuelforsen.wordpress.com, a blog, conveniently enough also on the wordpress domain, which is managed by my colleagues in Stockholm. It will be slightly more pretentious than otherwise, but alas, it’s public relations. No further postings will be made on this page till I’m once again in Sweden and working solely on my own accord.
Tomorrow I leave for El-Fasher, the provincial capital of North Darfur. I will sit around for a day or two and then be airlifted to Serif Umra, which will be home for the months to come. Then, inshallah, I will start reporting on the blog above.
first impressions
Dust is a peculiar thing. It’s a rather illusive substance, sneaky and invisible unless brought forward by direct sunlight, intangible but yet evident. You don’t see it coming before you are covered in it together with all your belongings, or you inhaled it. Sudan is a dusty land, and yet I’m about to see much more as I leave Khartoum in a week and head out to the field. For the time being I’m taking the opportunity to accustom to this new environment. I’m tasting, smelling and listening in on the character of the setting. Sounds are essential to this experience. Last night I lay in the hammock on the guest house terrace and tried to do nothing but listen. A thousand sparrows were settling in the tree flanking our house while the distorted voice of the muezzi was calling the neighbourhood to the five o’clock prayer. Men and boys in quiet conversation dropped into the mosque across from our house and for a little while, the commotion of the street was set to a minimum. The sparrows, oblivious of the rituals of men but praising in their own way, continued their cacophony and roaring engines took airliners to the sky in the nearby airport. Tonight it will all repeat itself. I love every second of it. The combined feeling of alienation, joy for a hearty welcome and excitement for what’s to come is deeply satisfying. It’s a premunition for the months ahead.
I shake many hands these days. Having an international NGO like MSF on the ground here requires a considerale amount of administration and manpower. Every administative position held by an expat at headquarters is doubled by a local employee who will guarantee things won’t have to be re-invented when a position is replaced, or that procedure don’t get bogged down in red tape. The local staff is the backbone of the organization, and without their skills and understanding of the context we’d have little future here. Their dedication, welcoming attitude and willingness to explain things to the pale newbee is heart warming. Two nights ago we visited the wedding of Adil, one of our radio operators. I never met the man, but was cordially invited as one of the expatriates. A wedding is likely the best way to be introduced to a new culture and, like in this case, usually quite an event. So, I accepted to go together with Dorian, our medical coordinator and Marjolein, the country pharmacist. I struck me it was a stiff 30 minutes drive to get there, meaning no less than an hour and a half for someone using public transport. Objecting is futile when you are directed to the front row and instant spotlight, it’s what’s to be expected. A table and soft drinks appear, the khawaja must be made comfortable. What to do? You smile and wave, and join with the jubilant atmosphere. The picture of the father-in-law, a distinguished elderly man, dancing in his white robe, walking stick lifted high, will remain with me. We too are invited to dance and celebrate in the warm evening, and I’m thinking my introduction here could hardly have been better.
off we go
It’s Sunday night, and moms and pops just went to bed. The last few days have been filled with quality time with the folks, the abundance of great brothers and my fab sister. Now the bag is packed with all but the Swedish candy, which will be bought in mega-packs on tax free tomorrow night. Some may be oblivious to Ahlgrens Bilar and Gott & Blandat, but a Swede deprived of such essentials for too long a time will soon turn into a helpless wreck, useless to his workmates. There will probably be some Djungelvrål in there as well.
I’m off to get some working experience in Africa. For some six months I will join a humanitarian NGO to help build primary health care where it was previously non-existing. Since the context is somewhat sensitive I will give no specific information as to where I’m at or who I’m involved with. Though I’m looking at weeks and weeks of hard work, sun stroke and most likely constant diarrhoea, I’m stoked. Finally this is happening. Distant dreams and vague ambitions are becoming actions, materializing. The sun will blaze, the communications fail, sand will get into every available space in my equipment, kids will scream and mothers look fearfully at the white guy, and an effort on the very limit of my capacity will be asked of me.
Gosh, I can’t wait.
Always keep a monkey in your pocket
Dear friends
There are many kinds of trinities around. Some of you go by the name “the unholy trinity” after an infamous outreach to Egypt. The reasons are clear. Then there’s obviously the Godhead, describing the essential character of God as a relation of three. I like this thought of interdependence as one of the cornerstones of existence, a necessity even. Compared to the magnitude of this I guess my little gang of monkeys appear puny. Then again, people tend to take themselves too seriously and I’d like to balance that by carrying a pair of toy monkeys with me when I travel or am down to serious business. Sometimes you bump into more monkey friends, like David and Humphrey, now posing with me in the header above in this blog. It’s hard too maintain the illusion of your own significance in a situation when you know you’re carrying a finger-puppet-monkey named Bo in your pocket. Highly effective against pride, I strongly recommend it. This is how I’d like to live my life. Hence it is Emmanuel the Father, Hank and the Holy Bo. Blasphemy? Most probably.
Godspeed
