South Sudan: Round 2

Like a bad penny, I turn up in South Sudan again. I was fortunate enough to be given a job in an monitoring and evaluation department for an NGO in Juba. As I shall be posted around the country on various missions, I can happily say that the Guerilla Researcher has been resurrected!

Things have changed in my new position, and I wonder how I will match up to this task? I manage more people, do more paperwork, and will have to take a step back from most field operations. I will be doing enough grunt work to deserve the title of this blog still, but will have try damn hard to get to the stories worth writing about.

This resurrection is a welcome one for me. Leaving my last job put me in a position of freedom, but after about a month I got really bored. I am very glad to be back here, but my journey was preceded by three reminders that I believe affect any and all expat aid workers. In this work, I have come into contact with many more people in a short space of time than I feel I would have done if I had a job that kept me stationary, and close to the friends of home. Social circles, although not to close, expand very fast. I have mixed with people that like to, or are forced to live in dangerous places. Higher morality rates abound.

And I have lost three people.

I don’t want to claim sympathy, or play on the heart strings. I know that there are others out there that have a much greater right to grief than I do for these souls. But let me tell you a little about them:

I worked with a translator, that I shall call Dom, on one long project in South Sudan. He was a person who was not just a translator, but also an intermediary, guide and fixer while he worked with me. We had to spend a lot of time together, sleeping in the same tukuls for weeks. He was a clever man. A talented translator, able to speak several languages. A man who contributed greatly to the success of the aid programmes in his homeland. There was trouble though, in his life and habits. The trouble came in the form of regular consumption moonshine.  After spending several days in Camp 15, the closest thing you will ever see to a wildwest town, the local brew got to him. No family or friends were around to take him to the far distant clinic when he started being sick from the home-brewed alcohol. I hear it took a few days.

Rafe, another translator, is a really cool guy. He is the only South Sudanese man I have met here with dreds plaited into his hair. We took a long journey to a remote village, a journey which took us through his home town. When we got to his town we were forced to stay for a few days while the local authorities checked us out. People in this part of the world are suspicious. We stayed with his family, and his father became one of my interviews. An elderly man, cane, dusty had, suit jacket. Knowledgeable guy. The town held a small barracks for troops. A couple of months after I stayed in the Rafe’s home some kind of gunfight erupted in the street, and the thin wood and tin walls offered no protection for his father.

You won’t have had a chance to hear about Dom, or Rafe’s father. They are people that were too far away. However, there is a chance you heard about my next loss. Unusually for this column, I can provide her real name. Camille LePage was a young photojournalist. Born in France, educated in England, a fierce and fearless advocate for action and change. She worked in South Sudan, travelling independently to the furthest and most dangerous areas, looking for under reported stories to tell of struggle and conflict. The youths that raided for cattle. The tribesmen and women who hid from artillery shelling in caves. She traveled a lot in the short time that I had known her, going from hotspot to hotspot in search of stories, then flying to New York and Paris to tell them. I have not been able to find out what killed her, but it happened when she had to go off the radar, searching for people in CAR who had been the target of a militia raid. Her body was found by peacekeeping troops, in a car being driven by rival militia members. She was usually laughing at something. Often worried about the success of her pictures. Always overcoming fear of danger. Somehow, the danger caught her.

Others were much more deeply involved with these remarkable people than I, but I feel I am going to have to watch out for loss over the course of this career I am still only just beginning.

Accomplishments this year...

Ok, so the outbreak of the new year is a time where we all break out in resolution and reflection. Not so sure about the former. Resolutions made at new year seem to be no stronger or effective than resolutions made throughout the year. Have any of you really maintained your gym going habits past the end of January? Ever?

Reflection, now that I can do something with. A year is a nice, functional unit of time to look over, digest, and observe changes and triumphs. Of course it may also reveal failures and catastrophes, but we don't really need to share those in a public forum, do we?

I will but you a deal. I will show you mine, if you show me yours. Please comment with any successes you have, and an explanation, and lets see how far we all got...

My accomplishments:

1) Survived -  Not as facetious a comment as you may think.
I am not really talking about the higher level of danger that South Sudan presents to its occupants in comparison to, say, Iceland. No. I am talking about the fact that lots of international workers burn out, freak out, wig out and generally go nuts. I would refer you to the story of a compound manager, responsible for looking after the living and working areas for several NGOs in his compound, attempting to burn it down after getting drunk and only being in the field for a couple of weeks. I have managed to finish my year with sanity still intact.

2) Three months spent researching farmers and their ways in South Sudan - Three babies named after me.
Now, I don't want you to think that those babies were biological relations in anyway. But it appears to be true, they were named so as a result of my visit. I might go back and check one day. The research itself was the first time I had a chance to spend significant amounts of time in one area, and get a deeper understanding of a people rather than a project I have been sent to assess.

3) WaSH evaluations - Where people were proud to tell me their village was open defecation free.
WaSH stands for Water, Sanitation and Hygiene. It is the name given to an area of specialisation within the development field. These three subjects are linked by the common factor of giving people good quality water they can drink and wash themselves in, and then educating them on the importance of doing just that. Good hygiene practices are not universal. Brilliantly, although changing people's habits take a long time, the effects of these programmes are observable and can be quite dramatic. Especially when villages proclaim to the world that they no longer crap in the open by advertising it on their village signs.

4) Evaluation of three Leper colonies - Seriously, they still exist...
...and they come in different forms. Two of the communities I assessed were large, and those that were affected by leprosy had been treated. Their families were expanding, and there was little issue with treatment and care. However, the last one was more along the lines of the leper colony that you might have in mind. Small. Lots of people disabilities. Neglect. No treatment. You name it, they had it. The only thing missing was the bandages, because there were no doctors to put the bandages on them.

5) Month long travel through conflict areas - asking people whether they listened to the Radio or not.
This needs some qualifying. The areas I traveled through were not in a state of conflict at the time, but they are now. The trip through the state of Jonglei was the most challenging road trip I had taken up to that point. It involved training and working with two different teams of people from the Nuer and Dinka tribes, and travelling to the most out of the way places possible. The answer that we got back from the questionnaire? Simple. Mostly, people do not listen to the radio, in the areas I visited anyway.

6) Got stuck in the car, in the mud, countless times - It ended up becoming fun after a while.
This one is self explanatory.
 
7) Lived through the front wheel falling off said car - Three times
This is never going to happen in the west. Ever. It happens a lot otherwise, particularly in the make of vehicle I was in. Pray that you are driving slowly when it does.
 
8) Got detained by military for three days -  An important tick box in an international worker's life
After posting this on facebook, I now see the point of explaining this event at greater length, as my parents are reading this and their reaction just ain't funny. The military in South Sudan are very suspicious, and like to know everything. As I passed through a town with my team on one research assignment, we were stopped by one observant soldier who decided that the documents we had with us did not prove that we were, in fact, working for an NGO on an agricultural assignment. He and his superiors became certain of the fact that we were, in fact, trying to steal the gold that permeated the hills nearby. 

Seriously. They did. 

Still, being detained for three days was not too bad. They seized the car keys and satellite phone, and made us stay in town while they checked out our story with their superiors. After the state government threatened the soldiers with arrest for delaying us, we were released. But not before we spent a few nights drinking in a bar showing Korean martial arts movies, while the off duty soldiers stared at us balefully.

9) Left South Sudan before it descended into civil war - This is one of points I don't really like. 
Alright, so this is one failure or regret I am going to put in here. Family and friends would happily point out that I was lucky to leave a couple of weeks before the South Sudanese army started fighting itself, sparking a struggle that has killed thousands and divided the country along tribal lines. Intellectually, I agree. However, emotionally I cannot. Friends are still there. Nya Gwa put it better than I can right now. I think my colleague Cleopatra would agree.

The state that fell apart in a week.

I am in the wrong country right now. I have had this feeling for the last week. I am currently posted in Cairo, writing a report on some field work I carried out over the last few months in South Sudan. My work is not finished. But still. I should not be here.

My family and friends will disagree vehemently. Things are not good in South Sudan. Not good at all. The reasons for it are complicated, but the result is an impending civil war. Ethic divisions have opened into gaping fissures which are claiming an un-guessed number of lives as two of the largest tribes (Dinka and Nuer) begin to eliminate each other under the cover of night. Ethnic cleansing has begun, and no-one can yet see a way to stop it.

Since the 15th December, when a brief skirmish between soldiers of the presidential guard fought one another in the capital, violence has spread across the country. Two of the ten states are now nominally under the control of rebel forces what were previously part of the government's army. Embassy staff from the US and UK have been evacuated. NGOs have fled the country. One UN base closed after being attacked. The UN bases in the capital are sheltering more than 20,000 people, mainly from the Nuer tribe, who found themselves trapped in a suddenly hostile city.


Most of my colleagues have left the country. The international staff were flown out on a cargo plane chartered by a Danish agency, or they took buses to Uganda and Kenya. The South Sudanese staff are not so lucky. The Dinka staff are likely to be safer than most, but those from the Nuer tribe are in terrible danger. My colleague Gunfire (not his real name) is now living in a tent in the largest UN compound in Juba. He cannot leave the country as his wife and children do not have passports.

All this happened in a week. One week! All this, and yet I want to go back. Would you like to ask me if I am crazy? Would you like to ask me what hell I am thinking? I cannot deny that you would be right to ask these questions. It is a crazy notion. There is no moratorium on killing internationals. Agency staff have been attacked and UN soldiers killed. There is a real threat to my safety, so self preservation should be making me feel relieved to be far, far away from it. All of my close friends are safe, so there is no need to go and help them.

The work I am doing now is to be the last project I work on in my current incarnation as a researcher in South Sudan. My contract is finishing soon, and I should be looking ahead for new challenges. As I left Juba airport a few weeks ago, I was comfortable with this thought and the possibility that I would not return. It took this catastrophe wake a dormant feeling of empathy and worry. I lived in this country for a damned year, and I care. I turn on the computer every day and get overloaded with the stories of hell that are surfacing. I have become very well acquainted with an underlying feeling of constant dread that bubbles away underneath every thought and deed throughout my day. Concentration on other tasks is difficult as new bits of information spring to life on the screen, as my fingers type out the address of the news sites without my willing them too.

Is this coming from a sense of duty? Am I feeling a need to return to help those people I know that are still there? I don't know. I can tell you desire to return is strong, illogical and very, very tiring. It is not my home, nor is it my country. But it is my South Sudan. The hills in the south are beautiful. The people are striking, and proud. I have travelled across a large part of South Sudan, and been affected by its problems and trials. Even in my detached state as a Kawadja, I have come to care about it. 

South Sudan, what have you done to me? Much more importantly, what the hell are you doing to yourself?

Making a Mark

There are two sides to being a Kawadja in the middle of nowhere. One is that everyone notices you. The other is that everyone notices you. 

Let me explain. I just returned from a field project that was longer than normal. I was studying the way male and female farmers in a part of South Sudan learn their farming skills. This kept me in the field for two months. Aside from the occasional missionary, I was the only white person for hundreds of miles. My field work required me to visit several communities, and live with them for around a week each time. For a lot of people in those communities, I was the first white person they had met.

I was living with people from two tribes, the Buya and the Didinga. The Buya are principally pastoralists. Their entire life revolves around cattle. They live in barricaded villages (because of cattle raids) and the men drive their cattle from the corrals every morning on eight hour treks so they can graze. The herders are armed with AK47s to defend themselves from raiders. I went walking with them. This one little event confused the hell out of the Buya. A white person? Walking? With the cattle? Can they walk?

These were not the only questions I was asked, through my interpreter. Here is an example of one conversation:

“Can you eat our food?”

“I am a human being like you. I can do the same things.”

“Can you eat porcho and sukumawiki?” (bread and kale)

“Yes I can.”

“Can you eat cheese?”

“Yes.”

“What about raw milk?”

“Ye… ummmm. No. Not the raw milk.”

“That is ok. We curdle it before we drink it.”

“Oh. Is that better?”

Being the object of such curiosity has some real drawbacks. People don’t leave you alone. Kids will follow you and giggle at everything you do. Adults will simply walk up to you and stare without saying a word or even doing anything. I was once surprised by a young man who walked up behind me in the dark, stood staring at the back of my head for a while and then started playing the home made flute he had. It was very loud and directly behind me. It was not a pleasant surprise. When the tent I was using was flooded, a dozen people came and stood around staring at it. They were doing this to express concern at the hardship and misfortune I was facing, but I think most westerners would not feel comfortable with a bunch of strangers hanging around you uselessly when you are dealing with a small disaster. Every time I sat down to do some writing, I would have people looking over my shoulder at what I was doing, even though they cannot read. 

Being the object of curiosity was not the only issue. As I was staying in the chief’s house, there were occasions when he wanted to introduce me to other members of his family in the surrounding areas. This was annoying, because it would mean a detour from our schedule for me. But it was double annoying for another reason. I was on show. The chief was showing me off to his neighbours. It is an indication of his standing that a visitor had come to his village, and he was making social credit out of it.

I felt a little like a trophy wife.

The fact that everyone notices a Kawadja means that every move I made was the subject of curiosity and intrusive study. There is, however, another more amusing side to this coin.

Twice now, mothers with newborn babies have offered to name their children after me. People here do not keep track of the years and dates according to the calendar. They time things according to events. For the people of the Buya village, October 2013 will now be the time the Kawadja drove their cattle. The funniest thing I heard came from a colleague who is working in a place hundreds of miles away from where I am based at the moment, which is called Chukudum:

“Today at breakfast my neighbor, who is from Chukudum, told me his relatives are saying there is a Kawadja in Chukudum who is eating the same food as them, drinking the same drinks, becoming like one of them. Wonder who that could be?”

WASHing

How many people do you know that wash their hands before dinner? I mean really? I know we get told to do it as kids, but did our parents really do it themselves? All the time? You sure?

I bet YOU don’t . I also bet you don’t know many people that do it at all. I hope you realize that you are breaking international WASH standards. And you should feel guilty about it. 

Want to know what WASH is? Water and Sanitation and Hygiene. It is a general sector within the sphere of humanitarian aid, and there are minimum international standards that most organisations and people working within this sector adhere to. Washing your hands before eating is one of the things that people working in this sector will teach. I just came back from assessing a project where this is an important topic. If fact, it is one of the major parts of a programme that will cost millions over its three year lifespan. One of the largest impediments to any kind of development in a country is the health and wellbeing of its people. Quite simply, if one is too sick to work or go to school, change cannot happen.  Keeping clean is part of this. People’s health is often underserved by their limited access to basic health provision and knowledge. You know why we wash our hands of course. We do it to clean off the most harmful bacteria. Why would you wash your hands if you don’t even know about bacteria?

I have caught a little glimpse of what happens when you don’t look after your own hygiene, and it ain’t pretty. Diarrhea, lots of it. Skin diseases. Eye infections. You will see a lot of photos of kids in poor countries. Look closely at the photos. You might see flies around their eyes. Eye infection, right there.

Now here is what I find interesting. The stuff I have seen underlines a basic habit that we take for granted in the UK, without quite realizing why. We wash in the UK in order to avoid smelling. We often wash because we feel it is socially unacceptable to go out without doing it. Having a shower makes us feel “more human.” But the experience here reminds me of the real reason for good hygiene which we do not often remember or even know. If you don’t wash your face regularly, your eyes will die. If you drink dirty water, you may well waste away from any number of parasites and sicknesses.

Now consider this: If someone does not know about bacteria, how do you convince them that drinking from and using clean water for washing is a good idea? How can you tell them that they need toilets and that they should not, in fact, go and shit in the woods? Want to convince them that human feces in the open can infect drinking water?  You could try and explain to them about small animals they cannot see. You could try and explain how they breed several times an hour. Perhaps you could try and tell them that these small, invisible animals cause diarrhea and eye infections. They won’t believe you though.  They will think you are making it up. Let’s be honest here, it does sound a little fantastic.

There is at least one answer the question of how to convince people though. It comes in the form of shame. Give up on the idea of visiting a village and showing them a few things in a workshop. They won’t buy it. Far better to ask them to drink their own feces. 

This is an approach that a few people I have met recently have been taking. Let me tell you how you how it goes. One should go to a village and meet with the people there. Convince them that you are not there to give anything away, but to assist them with their problems. Keep talking. Eventually you will get around to sickness and then you can say “Wait, I can help you with that. You need to dig latrines, and to make sure you use them rather than going into the bush near your village.” They will say that you are crazy. “No, really. You should because if you don’t then your waste will get into the water and infect you.” They will insist that they know that poo is disgusting, but would not drink it. It does not go into the water, as they would see it. “Oh really?” you say. 

This is the clever bit. While you have been talking, you have all been walking around the village and you are in a place where you can see human waste lying in the bush. You have a bottle of water in your hand and you have been allowing people to drink from it. Now it is half full, so you take a stick and transfer a small bit of feces into the water. Put the lid on. Shake it up so the water is clear again. Offer them a drink…

Clueless....

I am continually being reminded of something in this work. That thing is quite simple, and yet irritating. I constantly get reminded of what it is like to be a clueless student. There are very few worse feelings in this world.

We are all, us researchers, in a constant state of “I don’t know jack.” I came out of undergraduate degree and launched into this job. It felt a little odd at first, as I came to grips the simple idea that preparing for an assignment is like cramming for an exam or an essay deadline. However, it began to sink in that each time I am put on a new project I may have a mere week to get familiar with a subject about which I know nothing. Disaster Risk Reduction project evaluation coming up? You got a week to learn about it and come up with a survey. Water, Sanitation and Hygiene baseline? Go through forty documents in two days to figure out what the hell they thought they are about to do. Peacebuilding exercise to evaluate? Oh boy, good luck with that one. Not much of that is measurable in any easy way. Good luck in that one.

A new colleague of mine, Cleopatra, pointed out a very simple truth. While speed reading a dozen DDR documents, she blurted out “I feel like I am studying again!” She just completed her MA and doubtless thought she may have left those worrisome days of cramming behind.

I had realised before graduating, that life would not be gravy in this regard. Final year undergrads can happily hold court over younger years who constantly ask for advice, seek guidance and reassurance, and who generally hope to be in your position very soon. However, conversations with other graduates had already shown me that upon finishing your degree you immediately find yourself at the bottom of the knowledge pile again. Everyone in the field you want to get into has studied more, worked longer, and experienced more than you. Welcome back to feeling like an idiot once more. Facing the slow scramble back up the face of ‘knowing what you are talking about’ is daunting enough when starting a career.

Now imagine doing this with every project you are given, once or twice a month. 

Welcome to the life of the contracted researcher.

With any luck one will end up getting contracts that require you to do research on an area you have covered before. Perhaps one might get a couple of Shelter projects in a row. Now things may not feel so desperate, as your knowledge from one feeds over to another. The more you do, the more project like this you may be given. I imagine this is how experts get made. By accident. With any luck, however, the stress of learning decreases over time as one finds oneself on a burgeoning (and completely unexpected) career path.

Now, I have to ask you, have you ever encountered someone who says “I enjoy learning”? I bet we all have. I would like to share an observation with you on this common assertion: The fuckers are lying to you. They are probably lying to themselves. Nobody likes learning. Never. What people enjoy is being learnED. They like the feeling you get when you have finally figured something out, or when you realise you know more than the other people in the room. Sounds big-headed, but it is true nonetheless. It is the relief of moving from the feeling of being clueless to the state of being clued up that is the real kick.

The problem is, I suspect that feeling of being constantly clueless is going to be with me for life. I suspect that what YOU don’t realise is that it might be with you for life too. I think that being complacent in learning is going to cripple modern and future workers. The modern worker is going to have to learn how to become an expert on new topics very quickly as jobs become less about being work for life, and more about who knows what. More and more people will be part of the knowledge based economy. Being at the cutting edge of your field is going to be crucial, and maintaining that advantage will require constant study as information and knowledge becomes easier to share. Knowing something about a lot of subjects won’t get you very far. Wikipedia knows a lot about a broader range than you. One will need to become an expert really fast to be competitive.

Welcome to a life of feeling clueless…

Making Friends

I would like to introduce you all, formally, to Nya Gwa. She is a very good friend, and has been in South Sudan for around two years now, working in a couple of different roles. Right now she is working in a refugee camp in the north of the country, close to border with Sudan. I am going to let you in on a conversation we have been having about friendships. Imagine us both relaxing on a couple of garden chairs, in the garden of a bar, facing the Nile. Nya Gwa has come to Juba for some R and R and has meet me in a place with some cool beats, a slight breeze, and twinkling fairy lights. We have a couple of beers on the table, and are quietly talking about the people we have met…

This is total rubbish of course. I am, indeed, sitting in the garden of that bar, but Nya Gwa has been working in a small office with no furniture for the last few months, sweating heavily and cursing the lack of wine… But still, just picture it anyway, it adds to the ambiance of the piece…

Me:

“…Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining about the usual social life here. Meeting new people here is pretty easy. The Kawadja hangouts are full of people in a casual conversation kind of mood. Talking to new people in the bars here is much easier than in the UK. It is ok to start conversations with people you have not met. The conversation usually starts with you saying “Hi. My name is Bob. I work for [insert NGO]. How long have you been here for?” The reply is just a repetition, you get the same information back. It is like people are giving out their C.V. in verbal form. However, if you see an overlap or area of common interest, it is possible to start up a conversation which can go on all night, developing into an acquaintanceship and then into friendship. If not, then you can just go and talk to the next person. “

Nya Gwa:

“Oh, that ubiquitous conversation, it drives me insane. It’s like the first week of university when the conversation is always “my name is ….. I come from…… I am studying ……”. But yes, it is easier to strike up a conversation here, the main difficulty is in trying to strike up a conversation that isn’t about work, which can be a struggle.”

“Yeah, that is a problem. I still have trouble cracking that one. But what about the non-kawadja population? It is possible, depending on where you work and play, to go most of the day without seeing one of these rare people. How do we start friendships with them? This one is much more of a conundrum to me. You see, most initial conversations with people we meet in the street and talk to go along these lines-

Me: “Good morning, how are you?”

Response: “Give me money.” Or “Have you got a job for me?”

“As a woman, there’s the whole other aspect of it, which is ‘hello, how are you?’ leading to declarations of love/saying they want to be ‘your good friend’/in one case, a man literally saying ‘Hello. Will you have sex with me?’ on the streets of Juba. In fact, because of this, I don’t start up conversations with men in South Sudan unless it’s necessary. Which is sad, but it’s true. I mean, within in a lot of the cultures here just a woman striking up a conversation with a man is pretty slutty – for example in Nuer and Dinka cultures, women don’t eat in front of men, they don’t drink in front of men. One of my national staff proudly says that when he returns home from a day of work his wife does not speak to him but just brings him some tea and then goes away. Also, I have to realize that even men who I do not perceive as in my category of potential dates, ie married men in their 50s, are perceiving me as in their range. So, there’s a whole other level going on.

The problem is, few South Sudanese women speak good English, or indeed, any English at all, especially once you leave Juba. I often provoke lots of laughter with women when I play with their children here, but it’s not really an opportunity to make a ‘proper’ friendship.”

“Alright, you trump me there. I don’t get marriage proposals. That must be a bit of a bugger. But you mention one of your staff. What about those people we meet during the course of our work? I can tell you. Most ask for more wages, which is a fair question as I am usually employing temporary teams of people to collect survey data. But let me give you an example of what happens outside of that employer-employee relationship. One of my data collectors, who I had employed on a couple of occasions now and got on well with, called me during one project and asked to meet me. She said there was a particular problem that I could help them with. When I met her, she explained that she was trying to go back to school and needed some help as it was expensive and the jobs in South Sudan do not pay very much. I suggested that I could help with finding details of scholarships in other countries, like Uganda or Kenya. But that answer was not completely satisfying to her. She did not complain further, but I could see that she was looking for financial help.

She was an employee, but how about colleagues from other organisations? Not being an employer means I should be treated with a little more equality, right? Nope. On a project with a partner organization, one of my partner colleagues asked if I would like to go for a walk through the town we had just arrived in. I figured this for a friendly gesture, so I willingly accepted. Over coffee in a little tea shop, my ‘friend’ starts talking about education being a challenge in South Sudan. In particular, the lack of good universities for him to finish his schooling, and the cost of going to elsewhere.

Do you see where this conversation was heading? I did, before the words 'I need a little help, but only within your capacity to help' were even uttered.“

“That story is very familiar. Asking for money for school, or for a plane ticket to the UK, has happened a lot of times. Also for clothes, for a watch, for a computer, whenever you go back to the UK. There doesn’t seem to be the conception that things are expensive in the UK, actually more expensive than if they bought these things from Kenya.

But yes, I’ve lived here for two years. Do I have any South Sudanese friends? I would say I only made friends with one South Sudanese person who wasn’t part of the diaspora. I am friendly with my current staff, for sure, and they don’t ask me for money anymore. But, the reality is, whenever I leave this job I won’t have any way of keeping contact with them. And, I am their boss, so, there has to be some level of distance socially.

It makes me sad that there is this gap. Sometimes I feel guilty about it, and feel I should make more of an effort. But, at the end of the day, I spend most of my time at work interacting with people of a massively different culture from me, in a very stressful environment. When I’m finished I am tired and just want something familiar to hold on to. Someone who I can talk freely with rather than worrying about what words I use or whether they will understand what I say.”

“I just met a new colleague today. Comes from my hometown. Nothing beats talking to someone from home. I’m English, I miss sarcasm. But I do wonder about that effort. I feel like I failed a little bit. My efforts to even try and find non-kawadjas is failing. I wonder if the anthropologists have it right? Perhaps we should immerse ourselves?

Of course, the trouble with that is we have no bloody time to do that. We have too much work to do, and cannot sit around just talking to and studying people all day. I think you hit on something when you said your staff no longer ask you for money. Perhaps it just takes time and patience on our part. Perhaps we just need to keep explaining that we cannot give money, and eventually we might break through that barrier that all people have here. The barrier that says all kawadjas are rich, and can save us by giving us things.”