The Newly Weds

"No, she does not have any identification...I do not know where she has left it. I, I, I..ughhh." a local Chadian UNHCR employee rambled to me the other morning, in a slur of French and English while we were in Guerada. He was gesturing towards his wife, the woman who had misplaced her ID.

"Look, you guys make the rules, and then expect us to follow them. And those rules, my friend specifically state that one must have either an NGO badge, or an international ID card along with an Order of Mission from the UN. Period. When we do not follow the rules we get in trouble. Ironically you guys who are the ones who yell when we break them, are also the ones who ask us to break them the most often." I fought the urge to make ridiculous noises with my tongue while making faces towards the man.

The man grew ever more frustrated and anxious, pacing and wilding gesticulating to his new wife who stood close by, timidly observing the show. I knew him. I had seen him a few times before, where I could not recall but I knew I recognized his face, and it wasn't negative emotions that came to mind at his sight either. He was extremely thin and frail, with a freckled and sun-wrinkled light black skin covering his bony face. He thrust his arms back into the cargo hold and yanked out another of his raggy bags, unzipping it and nervously fumbling thru its contents.

Lauren, our new pilot, and I stood in the brisk, howling wind, that was gusting up to 35 or 40 mph and creating a dust storm. Our uniforms flapped violently in the wind like flags on poles. As with all employees in training, you want to show them the correct way how to do things at first. No ifs ands or buts, this is it and this is how we do it here. And while flying in Chad having a clear mandate and set of rules can either make or break your day. Some days it makes life simple, some days it pulls on your heart and you know you cannot in good consciousness follow the rules exactly. I, being the trainer, was intent on showing the correct way of doing things still. We stood, flapping in the wind alongside other locals who observed the man with a look of true concern.

Papers and clothing continued to shuffle frantically from wild hands and gale force winds. "Listen, we may fly here tomorrow, and if not, then it'll be on Monday. Why don't you just go back and find her ID and wait an evening or three at most." I suggested. He seemed not to hear. My thoughts, unisonly in tune with the papers, fluttered with annoyance at myself for failing to bring a jacket, and at this man who was causing me to stand in this whipping wind.

A brief moment after I said these few things I heard an 'AHEM:' come from behind. I cocked my head and rolled it slowly around to find a female IMC passenger whom I had already screened and put on board, squatting in the door way and beckoning me discreetly. I slid across the riveted aircraft skin to where she crouched in the doorway and asked what I could do for her.

"Look, I know it's none of my business, and you have your rules that you must follow, but...well...I know these people and they need to get out. We were hoping to get them out yesterday when you were supposed to come "(I had refused to land because no one, in a stroke of sheer geniousness, turned on the radios in their trucks to give me a security report as we circled precariously overhead the airfield for 10 minutes. I think their necks still must have been sore from craning to watch our airshow for that 10 minutes...another story altogether).

"Look," she continued, in a middle eastern accent, "if you can, please get them out. Please. Otherwise...otherwise...ok, look let me put it to you this way: that man, that man who is looking thru the bags, he found his family dead two days ago, with their eyeballs cut out of their head and laying beside them. You see, he is from XXX tribe and they are rumored to be cooperating with YYY rebel movement, which most of them are not. It is about to get even uglier here, which is quite a feat. He and his wife are XXX, and he and his wife are most likely awaiting the same fate as the rest of his family if you cannot get him out of here today.

I have no problem telling a woman who has been sitting in an airport bar for 3 hours and who wanted to finish just one more martini before boarding and because of this failed to hear the final boarding call "tough luck sweetheart, try again next time.". Or anyone who shows up without proper ID anywhere else in the world, or someone who shows up incredibly late, or someone who is just a jack ass: that they can all wait as far as I'm concerned.

I do have a problem telling a newly married husband and wife that I cannot take them because of a one line sentence written in our "RULES" book that will effectively cause them death and/or disembowelment. Yeah, bit of a different ballpark...shit, different galaxy. What else can you say about it?

We found a piece of paper, a newly printed Marriage certificate, with both their names on it, and welcomed them on board. I learn almost everyday that the consequences for following or not following the rules here are a bit more obtuse than those back home. There is no cut and dried. But there can be cut, gouged and dead.

Merry Christmas + pics

Merry Christmas from Tchad!





High Frequency radio squelch is my lovely Christmas music this morning as I sit inside our little Ops room in our compound. When one cannot have Bing Crosby singing holiday classics, the next most logical choice is alien/robotic C-3PO sounding noises belching from a small desk mounted unit. I wish I could tell everyone that I'm feeling the holiday spirit and that I'm presently making paper snowflakes to assuage my pent up festive creativity, but...ummm....well its a bit hard when it is 100 degrees everyday, lizards scamper about, automatic weapon fire resounds every few nights, there is a war going on outside your cement walls, and your monkey refuses to brush your leg hair anymore because she's moody. So, no. No paper snow flakes. Je suis desole.

I decided, at some point last evening (I believe after my 4th drink at the French base) I'd get into the Christmas spirit if, and only if, I woke up this morning to a white, fluffy blanket of fresh snow. What? Stranger things have happened. George Bush was elected to a second term, wasn't he? So I went to bed and prayed for snow. And guess, what? Morning came too quickly, especially because .J'ai beaucoup bu la nuit dernière , et Je me sens malade. But suddenly out on the (sand) lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang (slowly) from bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a bunch of angry Muslim men, a tiny dog and a cat that's queer! Yep, there was no snow. What there was though besides the items listed above, was the smell of human feces wafting in from our overflowing cesspool directly below my window. It didn't exactly inspire me to shout a la tiny Timmy, ''God bless us, every one!" All well, there's always next year.

Christmas Dinner with the $70 turkey Darcy donated...


That all being said, with the help of the great team we have here in Chad, especially Darcy, I am going to be coming home...December 30th, and words can't describe how excited I am. There are many reasons for my returning, but one, family reasons aside, that I hope will be resolved at least slightly, is my increasing level of cynicism. While I do believe that to grow, learn and open your eyes to the world around inevitably leads to a certain amount of cynicism, and emotional fatigue, I feel that its quantity should, and can be mitigated. I think if not curbed, it spreads with such speed and scope, in exponential terms, into all realms of your life. So go home I must, and try and to put my head back on straight again, hopefully recharging me for another six months of African mayhem, ridiculous UN political games, barking cats, blazing heat, and wafting sewerage. Its amazing what a little of Grandma's cooking will do for you.

The part of Africa I love...

The past few weeks have been quite interesting though. We received our new pilot, Lauren, from Alaska and both Myriam and I have been busy showing her the ropes of Abeche existence. "Don't drive here. Don't take pictures of this, this, this, this and that. Don't slow down when you pass here. Don't make eye contact with these guys. Don't rear end the truck packed with explosives. Don't kick the live bullets on the tarmac. And don't stand behind a donkey." have been some of the finer points. She seems very down to earth, has a great sense of humor and will make a great addition to the team. BUT....now I'm part of Team Femme Chad. Yeah. I am now, besides our engineer (who is leaving in a week) and some animals, the only male expat here. (Strange, I was saying that like the animals are ex-patriots.) Count down to soap opera...5, 4, 3... Naw, I can't say that, and I hope it will never materialize into any drama. I am just drawing unfair parallels with other situations when I lived amongst an all female population that I was not in any way romantically involved with.

We are running out of people to fly now, as we have evacuated most everybody out of the field. Therefore UNHCR is finding creative ways to utilize our time and Jet fuel. "Can you go check out this airstrip, that airstrip and the other one? Can you run these loaves of bread to Bahai? Would you please take this can of Coke to Billy in Goz Beida...he says he really needs it. Could you go fly around aimlessly in circles for our viewing entertainment? Yipee."

A Recent Runway Incursion in Koukou. Patience is key...

So nothing too much to report from here, just the usual chaos of conflict. I hope to be able to fill many of you in on the happenings, politics, and melodrama of Chad, in person, in Rhode Island soon. Merry Christmas!

A sophisticated refueling procedure in Goz Beida...something we didn't do to often on the CRJ in Chicago O'hare...

Peace for all animals, big and small...

Ummm...what?

And now to John at the WABC weather desk:

"Well Tom I'm sure you noticed those dark clouds moving in last night, but truth be told we won't be seeing any moisture out of them. Yep, sure enough folks, they'll just keep rolling thru ahead of this frontal system that's been slowly creeping up on us for quite sometime. Associated with that frontal system you can expect light to moderate unorganized rebel activity. Sporadic, ya know Tom? Ha, ha ha. Yes folks I'll even go so far as to say we have a 30 to 40 % chance of moderate rebel activity by midmorning tomorrow, followed by a 60% chance of looters and bloodthirsty armed bandits. Afterwards pack up the towels and the sunscreen, cause it's gonna be a great day for the beach! Ha, if only we had water to go with all this beach, eh Tom? Back to you..."

And so it goes.

"Ok folks, quiet, quiet please....thanks for coming tonight to the UNHCR's non-emergency mandatory if you want to come meeting. Rebels may be coming tonight or tomorrow. We are not sure. Limit all unnecessary traveling today, tomorrow and the rest of your time in Chad unless you can think of a necessary reason why you must be unnecessarily traveling. We don't want to say who but if we should have a slip of the tongue we might say it could be the UFDD that's approaching. Then again it could be FUC. That being said, it could surely prove to be SCUD, SLA or JEM if they should be in the mood for a rustle. Can anyone think of any other acronyms that sound goofy that we could throw in the mix here? Hmmm...anyone? Or it could be any one of Abeche's neighboring villages that wish to see Abeche fall as regional trade hub. Or it could just be some angry Muslim guys on horseback, the aahhhhh, Janjaweed...oooh, but we really don't like using that word in Chad. Matter of fact it might not even be the rebels or the ethnically charged and angry villagers or angry Muslim guys, it could just be the Chadian military who we all should really be watching out for. I mean seriously, have you seen those guys lately? Cmon gentlemen, a comb and some deodorant please!!!"

"So we will be issuing a quasi-lets not call it an evacuation-evacuation. Lets just call it, a 'Umm, we think all NGO workers should simultaneously leave for R&R right now thingy' We wouldn't want anyone to get excited here. So everyone out of the field now, unless you want to stay longer, which we neither condemn nor encourage. But seriously, everyone needs to be getting away from the battle zones and the carnage, unless you have a note from your Mom, Dad, or, ahhh, hell anyone. If you want to go back up there we neither condemn nor encourage, we condage...no wait, we ahhh, we encodemn, yes, that's it. It is the UN's unofficial stance to encodemn what is happening here. That sounds pretty good, huh guys....jeez, I came up with that one all by myself...aahhhhemm. Sorry. So you see, everyone out! Everyone but AirServ. Ok, everyone but AirServ and WFP, even though WFP will refuse to fly because they are afraid of flying when the UN issues a state of Encodemn-age. But in any case, it'll be nice to have the WFP plane here on the tarmac for symbolic purposes. It shall symbolize that...that..ummm..if we really wanted to fly somewhere in that Caravan we could damnit!...we just choose not too. Ok so nice job with the symbology WFP, aaaaannnnd... well that leaves everything else as far as the not really evacuations but actually they are evacuations-evacuations to you, AirServ. Ha! Yep. good luck. We will be sure to make our further dealings with you as incredibly confusing and convoluted, and political and encodemning and grammatically incorrect as this speech has been. Oh, and just to let you know, this policy may change any day now because we are changing all of our head staff over in 3 days with new super-incredibly-in charge-talented-phenomenally eduacated-decisionally oscillating-unfireable international staff. "

"So, any questions?...........Umm, yes, you...Jesse...go ahead?"

ME: 'WHAT?'

"Ha! Idiot. You see, you should leave governance and decision making to those who have the brains, competence and talent in the world. Go back home and watch TV or something, maybe play with that monkey of yours...we'll call if we need you."

POP

The relative peace and organization that is the fluid inside the shell or the bubble that surrounds the beautiful country of Thailand cataclysmically exploded into a million tiny pieces and was strewn everywhere as soon as we stepped inside the Ethiopian Airlines departure lounge a few evenings ago.

Pop.

From single file lines, scrumptious seafood pad thai and glistening coral filled waters we were catapulted headfirst back into the mass mayhem-fried goat, boiled goat, goat on a stick-brown, cholera infested waters of the African experience(which I still enjoy in a strange way) with that one crucial step. I stepped thru the metal detector back into disorganization, energetic chaos, loud animated Arabic orations, flatulence, and body odor half expecting to hear Axl Rose's screeching voice resonate in my ears, screaming 'Welcome to the jungle-Watch it bring you to your knees, knees - I wanna watch you bleed!!!'. I cautiously stopped and waited a moment, readying for a hasty retreat and eliciting a strange look from Elizabeth, until I felt assured there was no 80's sleaze rock coming my way. I proceeded, though carefully.

As the departure hour nears a Thai worker lifts the microphone to announce that boarding will commence shortly and I watch the comedy happen again, in slow motion, as I had the previous two Ethiopian Airlines flights. His right hand grasps the microphone which lays on the podium beside. He glances down and contemplates what could potentially be the last thought he contemplates until he recovers from the upcoming trauma. His muscles tense as the microphone is slowly raised just inches off the aluminum podium. Suddenly it happens. His eyes raise and lips crack, he is evidently intent on announcing the boarding of certain rows of seats aboard the outgoing aircraft, but his eyes grow wide and his mouth forms the shape of a gasp. My mouth forms a tainted smile, slightly crooked from pity and sadism.

An explosion of bodies violently slams against and over the poor, frail Thai gate attendant and a gurgling "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! only.....Rows 25 thru.....WAIT!!........noooo.....aaaaahhhhhhh" can be heard emminating from the drowning man as he feebly attempts to fight the tsunami of brown skin which now engulfs him and is flowing down the jet way with their tickets still in hand. The body grows limp and chaos reigns. Someone will have to come onto the airplane and collect the tickets. The boarding process which should take 25 minutes will take 2 hours and I sit back and reflect on the past weeks' peace, as Axl Rose screeches away.

I flew last week from Abeche to N'djamena to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to Bangkok, Thailand. On the flight from Addis to Bangkok I was blessed with being assigned a seat next to a broken seat which was unserviceable. HA! Problem was it was also coveted, being near the front of the airplane. It seems in most African societies that there is a strong, strong desire to remain in the front 10 rows of an aircraft, to the point where men will leave 20 plus rearward rows empty and practically sit on each others laps, cuddling in a very unmanly way, in order to have those holy first seats. The 'inoperative' placard was quickly ripped off and in hopped a Nigerian businessman on his way to Guangzhou, China. Greetings were made, my head phone jack was stolen, Bill Clinton's amazing political attributes were reflected upon, and I subtlety tried hinting I'd like to watch the movie.

Fourty minutes after takeoff he went for the bathroom, providing me the opportunity to reclaim my head phone jack and commence viewing Pirates of the Caribbean 2. I got about 15 minutes of movie watching before my headphones were plucked from my left ear. "Do ya dink Meesta Clinton will wrun agan?" I wondered if he noticed my face turning crimson in anger. I took a deep breath and answered curtly 'NO', removed his hand from my ear and finished watching Johnny Depp play a pirate ship captain.

When the movie was over I fielded his political questions for a while before we both had nothing to add. I started reading my book but my eyelids grew heavy and my book fell to my knees where it stayed for only a moment. My seatmate gently removed my hand from the book's binding and picked the paperback from my lap, commencing to read and chuckle at the pages of Getting Stoned with Savages as I giggled silently to myself about the different cultures sitting side by side here. I drifted off. Later I awoke to find myself in a very awkward pose, spooning my Nigerian seatmate as he had invaded my seat by thrusting his ass backwards and was practically curled up in my loving embrace. I shifted and slid toward the window hoping Bangkok was nearby.




In Bangkok I found Elizabeth who had been attending a conference there for the previous week. We were given a room at a luxurious resort hotel where amenities abound and were found everywhere and I basked in the loveliness of the frivolous pampering doing things I never do, like taking a bubble bath, knowing in a weeks time I'd be back in the desert where things like bubble baths do not present themselves on a regular basis. The following day we hopped aboard another airliner for Krabi and then caught a ferry to the heavenly isle of Koh Phi Phi, which my eternally immature mind found hilarious because of the pronunciation (Pee Pee), making me crack a smile every time we were asked if 'you want ticket for Pee Pee?'. I struggled to stifle the ridiculous giggles. It amazes me at times the things I find amusing now, at age 27 are not so different from those I found amusing at age 7.

In Koh Phi Phi we spent 4 days lounging on the beautiful beaches, sampling as many different restaurant’s Pad Thai's, Tom Yum spicy soups, and assorted curries, and exploring the surrounding islands beautiful above and underwater terrain. On more than one occasion I received strange looks from waiters when Elizabeth ordered food for the two of us and being that we both enjoy really spicy food, added "I want you to make me cry." She felt if this tidbit was not added the food would be boringly benign. The waiters would immediately turn to me, as if asking permission to hit her so that she might cry, or maybe looking to me to show they thought it my job to make her cry. I'd shrug my shoulders and sometimes whisper "She's been drinking..." which would bring a smile to their face before sauntering off. Aah, but I digress.




One evening we rented a tandem sea kayak and paddled out in search of our own secluded and clandestine strip of sand untrampled by the hooves of other dirty western tourists like ourselves. We found a beautiful stretch with an incredible coral reef just 100 feet offshore. The icing on the cake for me was that the beach actually had a population of sunbathers already...MONKEYS. "C’mon! We gotta go play with the monkeys, don't worry, I speak Monkeyic" were my choice/intelligent words of encouragement. We paddled the kayak ashore, tossed the paddles on the snowy white sand and I anxiously started down the beach towards the plump little monkeys who looked as though they were patiently waiting to catch an admirable sunset. I tried Monkeyic, the language our monkey in Abeche, Maryann, and I use to communicate, and it was no use. Finally Elizabeth shouted "Hey MONKEY!" and they turned slowly towards us, but seemed to look thru us. "Nice honey, smooth. Real smooth.”

Still the monkeys continued to pay us no attention, looking between our legs at something down the beach before they arose and ambled that way. “Jesse, I think they’ve out smarted us.” came from Betsey’s lips as we both turned in unison and saw a troupe of 12 monkeys or so rummaging thru and pillaging our kayak.

“Damn, I’d be screwed on Planet of the Apes”.

We ran down the beach shouting and waving our arms as all of our things were being chewed, thrown or taken up into the trees by the brown little bandits. As we neared and our paced increased, 3 or 4 monkeys decided the timing was perfect for a counterattack, screeching and chasing right back our direction. We, being the incredibly brave souls we are, chose to screech and run into the ocean for protection, which seemed to work. The avenger monkeys returned to the boat and resumed the pillage, bearing their teeth and running towards us hissing only whenever I emerged into water shin deep or less vehemently cursing them.

So we sat helplessly in the tropical water watching monkeys make off with our water bottles, beer bottles and an item of clothing or two. Whenever I’d shout something at them they’d all pause for a moment or two, staring off into oblivion, then slowly turn towards me and stare uncaringly with cold pirate monkey eyes which seemed to say “keep yelling and this could take all night you ass. We’re in no hurry, are you?” We were late returning the kayak, well after dark.




After Koh Phi Phi we headed north to Phuket, where I was slightly disappointed as anyone would be going from paradise to sub-paradise. Just something about that whole sub thing. The last two days were spent lounging, eating and drinking again, enjoying the simple pleasures that are unavailable in the NLZ (no logic zone, a.k.a. CHAD). On the way home we enjoyed a day in Ethiopia sampling the various toxic, local brews and taking harrowing taxi rides thru crowds. We landed in N'djamena at 4am and were quite suprised to find out that we should have been checking our email all along. No one was there to pick her up. Seems her organization evacuated everyone from the country and if she had read the messages in her Inbox, she'd have found instructions to stay on the beach. Instead she graciously accompanied me back to the war zone for a few days before being whisked away again to return who knows when.