Conversations in Juba (and new explorations)

Hi there,

So much has happened since my last update. President al Bashir of the North has announced today he will be withdrawing his troops from the Abyei region tomorrow. The conflict in the Abyei region at the border between the regime in Khartoum and the GoSS – or better put, the SPLA/M – had been rapidly escalating the past week into large violent clashes that were taking place in South Kordofan and now also in Unity State. In Juba here, the consequences of the situation in Abyei are also being felt more keenly now. Oil is becoming scarce here, with the result that many cars, matatu’s and boda’s are now without fuel. Even we at the compound had to do without fuel for a day, but thankfully a batch of trucks from the north arrived a couple of days ago. The government has adopted a strict policy on the distribution of fuel; the GoSS and resident development organisations get fuel first, gas stations second.

Consequently, every day now people here are waiting with their vehicle at the gas stations hoping to get a refill. Occasionally, situations at the gas stations get out of hand and the military is forced to intervene and suppress the large amount of people trying to obtain fuel by almost any means. Don’t worry, I try to stay far away from these occurrences and the couple of times I did witness such incidents, I was relatively safe in the ICCO car or a matatu.

Despite this, Juba is still rather calm, and very busy with the preparations for the celebrations that will take place during the week of independence. Cleaners are trying to clear away the huge amount of garbage people manage to compile here every day, road construction is now taking place 24/7 and low-level government employees are planting trees and flowers all over town. And while Juba is busy preparing itself for independence, I am currently in the middle of my fieldwork. I’ve just finished with the third payam, and will now be moving towards my own neighbourhood, Munuki.

People here in the South are often quite open with me, during interviews but also during normal conversations. It doesn't seem to matter they do not know me very well, or are not very likely to see me again. As a result, conversations with people here in Juba – daily conversations and interviews alike - are quite interesting, sometimes funny, sometimes plain weird, other times rather tiresome or annoying and sometimes (emotionally) challenging. Therefore, today a blog with some of the more remarkable conversations I’ve had with people thus far (in general, all conversations are posted with permission).


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*General conversation in Munuki, Hai Tarawa:

“Khawaja! Khawaja! Khawaja! How are you?”
“I am fine, how are you?”
“I am fine.”
“That’s good.”
“Khawaja! How are you?”
“I am fine.”
“Khawaja! Khawaja!”
“Yes?”
“How are you?”

And this continues all the way up from Customs to the compound and vice versa, a good walk of twenty minutes.


*Conversation with Christopher on swimming in the Nile:

“Back home, I tried to go to the swimming pool at least twice a week.”
“So you like swimming?”
“Yes, very much. That’s why I want to explore all the swimming pools here in Juba.”
“Oh, let me take you to the Nile then, so we can go swimming there.”
“Christopher, I can’t go swimming in the Nile. I’ll get sick because my immune system is not used to that kind of water and there are crocodiles there.”
“What, what, the water you can get used to. And the crocodiles can’t eat you.”
“Why not?”
“Because they can’t eat muzungu’s.”
“Of course they can.”
“No, no, they can’t. You see, they fear the white colour. And you are a good swimmer, so you are faster than the crocodile should he come.”
“Christopher, muzungu’s are not faster than a crocodile, trust me, and I doubt it really fears my colour.”
“No, no, it is really true. I can’t swim in the Nile, the crocodile would eat me, but you, no, no. We’ll go and see.”

This debate is currently still active and unlikely to be solved anytime soon.


*Conversation with Stephen about marriage:

“So, how do you meet your husband in Europe?”
“Well, sometimes people meet at work, others meet in the pub or when they go out dancing. Some meet at university, like me and my boyfriend did.”
“But what about your parents?”
“What about them?”
“They don’t introduce you to your future husband or are present as chaperone when you meet with him?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Jep.”
“Seriously? Because that is not allowed in my culture. I cannot meet a girl without her parents being present. And I have my sisters vouching for me as well, they also have to convince the girl I will be a good husband to her.”
“Well, we do things differently back in the Netherlands I suppose. My parents met my boyfriend for the first time on the day I left for South Sudan.”
“…”
“What?”
“You are weird.”

Stephen, bless him, is one of the few Sudanese men who does not want to marry me. One, I am Dutch (he wants to marry a Sudanese), and two, I am way too bossy according to him.


*Conversation with Christopher about marriage:

“Anika?”
“Yes?”
“Can you bring me back a gift from the Netherlands when you come back here to South Sudan?”
“Sure, that’s no problem. Just tell me what you would like to have. Something typically Dutch?”
“No, I mean a wife.”
“Christopher, you know it doesn’t work like this back home.”
“I know, but I was wondering if there are maybe some single friends of yours that would like to marry an African.”
“Well, I suppose I could sent an email to all my single friends about you: handsome South Sudanese man from Western Equatoria, not too tall and with a great sense of humour is looking for a Dutch wife.”
“Yes, that would be great.”
“But you have to understand that your potental wife will likely be quite demanding. Like, it is possible she wants you to come and live with her in the Netherlands.”
“No, Anika, what, what. I can’t go and live in the Netherlands. It’s too cold there, I will die.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“No, Anika, really, I will die.”
“Tsk, you will not die. Your wife will dress you up warmly, trousers, woolen socks, jacket, scarf, gloves, hat, so don’t worry. You’ll just get a cold or the flue for a couple of weeks.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Okay, that is alright, then I can live in the Netherlands. But can I demand something as well?”
“I guess.”
“She must be able to cook.”

Somehow, I was not surprised to hear that. But ladies, be careful though, here at the compound we suspect Christopher does have at least three illegal children running around in Yei and here in Munuki :).


*Conversation about law, Kator payam civil court:

“You Westerners, your systems are now the international standard. But we here, we have traditional law. We don’t just send people to jail. No, here we solve problems and when a problem is solved people can go in peace. That is how we do things here. And it works. But now, we also have a court that works according to your standards. But that one is not good. That one only sends people to jail and people don’t learn from that court. From our traditional court, people do.”


*Conversation about the civil war, Kator payam:

“During the war. I lost five of my brothers. We were with seven, my sister, me and five brothers, but we lost them all. Three of them got shot by the Arabic army here in Juba. They were taken from our home and were made an example of. The other two joined the SPLA and died in battle. I was already working by then, here in local government. They came and almost got me as well, when they shot my brothers, but let me go, because I was known, also amongst the Arab leaders here. It would not have been good if they had shot me also. After that, I managed to get my sister out, I sent her to the North. She is still there. She came back after the war, but the memories were too painful. So now she is there, in Khartoum with her husband and children. With those Arabs. It pains me she would now rather live there.”


*Conversation with Stephen about his time in the SPLA:

“They came, the SPLA, to my village in Western Equatoria when I was ten. That was in 1998. They came, and demanded all the boys of the village. I was one of them. For five years I fought. They learned us not to be afraid, they learned me to love my gun more than anything else. They beat us when we stayed back during the fighting. I got out in 2003, people from the UN managed to get me out. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to fight, because that’s what they in the SPLA had taught me. I had to fight, or my family would die.


*Conversation about the civil war, rural payam:

“I come from this area. During the war, this area was burned by the Arabs. I lost my father back then. I was only two. My mother, she ran with me and my sisters to the North, to Khartoum. We had relatives there. There, it was difficult. We were put in this camp. There was only little water and food. So, when my mother found work, we moved out to our relatives. When me and my sisters were older, we had to work as well. It was difficult, but we had to. Otherwise I could have not gone to school.”


*Conversation during an interview, rural payam:

“My Commissioner now has a piece of land, and he is demanding of the payam that the payam pays for the lodgment he is building there. I am the administration officer here that deals with the area he has this piece of land, so I am the one dealing with this demand. I am a young administrator, I know this is corruption. But I am afraid. That I am going to be taken out from my work. {I don’t go to any other government institution, like the Ministry, for this}. Because the people there will then talk about it to the Commissioner. Because I am so young I don’t have a real influence or power over this, and then they will take me out of my work. Without an explanation. Even if I talk to my Director. So I keep quiet. I am not going to talk.”

Later, the person in question told me he or she (I will leave it at that) decided to tell me this because I am not a journalist, and while my thesis will be sent to different NGOs and even government institutions here in the South, the information this person has given me will be used for improvement of the system. I was completely speechless at the time. By now, I have heard more stories similar to this one, but it still remains difficult to listen to people telling me these kind of things, or when I listen back to the recordings when I am transcribing my interviews.


*Conversation with a three-year-old in Munuki, Hai Tarawa:

“Khawaja, khawaja!” Small, three year old girl comes running up to me and starts talking gibberish in Juba Arabic.
“Hey, how are you?”
The small bugger grabs my hand in response and continues talking gibberish, with an amazing speed.
“Sigh. Well kiddo, you and I, we don’t understand each other at all do we? And it’s not like you care, judging by that look on your face. You don’t care what I am saying to you, as long as I keep talking to you and I allow you to hold my hand.”
The little monster is silent for one second, and then again enters a fast paced monologue only she can understand.
“See, that’s what I was afraid off.”

It actually looked sad when I managed to pry my hand from hers and leave.


*Conversation in Munuki, Hai Tarawa:

(Setting: me, Rosemary and Christopher inside the car. We’re passing the water hole, where a group of children have gathered. It is five o clock in the afternoon.)

“Khawaja, good morning!”
“Good morning.”
Car is silent.
“Bugger, these kids, they are starting to get to me. I am starting to greet them back with ‘good morning’, even when it is five o’clock in the afternoon.”
The rest inside the car bursts out laughing.


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I hope these conversations give another insight on life and fieldwork here in Juba. Between fieldwork, transcribing interviews, writing down observations and starting to think about a possible chapters on results, I still manage to make time to continue exploring Juba. The pictures that I have uploaded with this blog are from most of the explorations done during the past one-and-a-half week; another swimming trip, but now to Asante swimming pool (the only other pool currently open for non-residents), the photo shoot of me, Christopher and his brother Gift in one of the bomas of Rajaf payam, and eating ice cream and exploring another set of hotels and sites for relaxation at the river bank with my friend Stephen. We footed from the south end of the river bank all up north to downtown Juba ^^. Oh, and another fotoshoot, this time of me and Ochan Christopher, one of the guards here and a great pal (Sudanese I have discovered, love taking fotoshoots with proper poses et al. Should I fail as a practitioner of conflict resolution, I can always become a model here in South Sudan). Next time I’ll be posting about new friends (and family) I’ve made here, and of course, my birthday :).

With love,

Anika