The Big 30

Here's a perhaps scary thought that just popped into my head: am turning 30, yes that big 3-0 in about 3 months and until then will be stuck in this dry godforsaken place called Sudan. Help definitely needed during this transition period.

I have lived now for almost 30 years, some good, some hilarious and others terribly embarrassing and utterly pointless. No point wondering what I've achieved in the last 29ish years and so my plan for after I hit 30 is as follows (in no certain time frame thus giving me hopefully the next 30 years to accomplish them - or not).

Sleep less so I have more hours to fulfill life's greatest desires. Eat less so I don't pack a paunch by the time I hit 31. Eat more so I am not underweight. Hopefully exercise and this shall include dancing more on weekends. That said, drink more wine - it's good for the soul. Sit down and write more. Leave Africa for greener pastures literally. Remain true and kind always. Live more resourcefully, meaning I don't need THAT many flower hairpins and shoes. Stay in love and get married to the one man I love and love him in the best way I know how. Cherish the idea of possibly opening my womb for procreation. In line with that, be nice to children. Forget about THE pet I never had. Stop wasting time on meaningless work which includes endless report writing. Find a job/profession that I will TRULY love. Read aloud more. Appreciate chocolates. Continue eating rocket salad like a rabbit. Stay in touch with distant love ones. Continue to apply anti-wrinkle cream so I can look 25 when I hit 45.

There you have it - a small but possibly achievable plan as soon as I hit the magic number. It's going to be fan-fucking-tastic when I get there. I'm not worried about being 30 but I want to get there in style. But until December, I just got to get through the 3 months in Sudan. Period.

Ponte Vecchio, Firenze

Strolling along in Firenze, we found this.

Padlocks (or Love Locks) on the Ponte Vecchio in Firenze was (supposedly) considered a customary act by sweethearts to symbolize their everlasting love to each other. We didn't have a lock while there but I hope we still believe in everlasting romantic love (or so I like to think).

Just be careful not to incur a hefty fine while pursuing this.

Love ain't easy. Every so often, even Cupid needs a cigarette break as this one did.

This little one with words

This little one wants to offer you words
Words strung together like a candy necklace
That you can hang and wear and chew
With shaken hands, this little one will present it to you

I like words this little one whispered
Like an ancient secret to be kept close
How do you mean, little one
Words are free, silly
Costs nothing yet it means everything, this little one reminded you

Like I love you, the little one said

Or you're beautiful
You say it and it takes nothing but means everything
Just don’t wait till it’s too late
An earnest smile, this little one winked

Today I fell in love...

Bits and pieces always makes a big whole. That's what I think. Like small pieces of puzzle forming a full picture. Like butter, eggs and flour into a freshly baked cake. All coming together and filling the pockets of your senses.

So tonight, I decide to write a note on how I fell in love with the smallest things in my daily life that I too often take for granted and realising that those little things are the very essence that fits into my life and here's why. 

Today I fell in love with mornings and breakfast. I am no morning person, waking up is almost a chore. But the last two days, I've woken up feeling fine and heading out for breakfast. Ok going to breakfast venue isn't so near, about a10-15 minute taxi ride. Like today, I got there with an old friend and sat there drinking coffee, finishing up my eggs, potatoes and sausages and drinking coffee and mango juice. My friend sat there eating a muffin, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. We talked and we discussed and we laughed and smiled about good days. Nothing, not even the haboob, was going to mess with it. I fell in love with this morning specifically. That was just the start.

Then off to the next stop for brunch. Downtown to a place called Babacosta. Sitting outdoors with a nice friendly crew, all unique and funny. Cold lemon mint juice coupled with pizza slices and chicken pitta and laughter is what a good brunch is all about. Oh yeah plus some Arabic rap and hip hop and two funny things - smearing your hair with Pepsi makes it shiny and gel-like (I did ask if it works with Diet Pepsi too) and counting sugar particles when you're bored will be a new trend. So yes, again I fell in love with the beauty of brunch with friends.

When you have two other ladies to spend time with primping and pruning your nails and toes, then you're in luck. Like me. A happy lady (and gentleman) would find real joy and satisfaction in having your nails and feet done. Particularly in the company of two lovely friends. In anticipation of my upcoming European summer vacation, I picked the brightest pink. The finishing touch was a flower henna on my both palms.The icing on the cake is three girls waiting for their henna to dry and trying to dig in their bags for a cigarette - with much effort and spastic finger movements, we managed and sat in the backyard having a puff. Add a dash of gossip and giggly talk and you're set for a good feeling evening. That said, I fell in love with my nails and the simplicity of pampering oneself in the midst of madness of everyday life (the company of cool folks also added extra flavouring).

Then what did we do? Off to the Goethe Institute to catch an exposition. Out in the open air, drums beating, funny jokes and me being me in my freshly painted nails topped with my bright pink flower on my top makes a big difference to an otherwise regular evening. My own favourite line was "Sweety, do I look stress to you with this pink nails and flower?" Met familiar faces and new ones and dishing out "I Heart Kadugli" stickers with a proud smile left me with a satisfying evening. I spoke of where I've been with a tinge of sadness but also pride in what it has given me as person and of hopes to return someday soon. It's no more a secret that  I love Kadugli (and I've got the stash, if you know what I mean).

To top the evening, after a simple, funny ride home was the man I am in love with. Every evening or night, we skype ourselves silly. Some days aren't always easy but most days are filled with silly liners and discussing the distances of the sun and the black hole or the milky way or recalling the days when we stumbled home in Istanbul or sharing music. I shared Margaret Whiting last night. It's a good feeling to go to bed with these thoughts in your head and heart. I admit love isn't easy, and so is living apart. But one needs to decide to be in it and do your utmost to make it work - simple. And so I decide today that's what it is and that's what it'll be. Relationships are hard work but I want it today and tomorrow and many more days to come. So tonight as I close this down and finished my drink, I say I once again fell in love with this man just as I did when we drank wine under the stars in the Seychelles. It's super cheesy but hey that's just the way it happened.    

See the beauty of the little bits and pieces. 

Constant Moving

Memories are what warm you up from the inside. But they're also what tear you apart - Haruki Murakami

I've been taken out of Southern Kordofan where I am based and awaiting further decisions. There's too much uncertainty and most days I feel unsettled and out of place in this Khartoum space.

With my house possibly looted and burnt, I no longer have my room in Kadugli - a space I have filled with pockets of comfort such as my animal -designed torches, my new guitar and various pieces of items I picked and collected along the way. There's even little white pebbles on the window sill that I took on one of my first field trip. Yes, I have lost a number of items out there. Now 'internally displaced', I live out of one suitcase. Doing so have taught me the simplicity of what I have or do not have.

Moving around for the last (almost) five years has taught me what to leave behind and what to let go. It is never easy. And it's letting go of not tangible items but people and faces and memories and feelings that comes along with it.

I'm certain I've now developed a certain distaste for moving on. There are days it leaves me teary-eyed and emotionally wrecked. I should learned to be less attached to the environment around me. To move on and not to look back. To leave the days and memories of what was where they belonged.  

Lucky

Jason Mraz and Colbie Vaillat - Lucky

I am a late discoverer of Jason Mraz. I have listened to him before but never quite took notice or cared much. Then I came across this song when a friend back home was shared this song on his wedding day (a homemade video no less) and which I thought was very touching and simply beautiful.

Welcome the newest nation - South Sudan

(This picture is taken by an awesome friend MD, currently based in Juba)

As South Sudan celebrates its long-awaited independence from the North, the conflict continues in Darfur and the Nuba Mountains. Congratulations and Happy Birthday South Sudan - I wish with all sincerity and goodness that you and your people deserved a better future, prosperity and happiness. 

The Nuba Mountains - Faces and Places

I miss being in Kadugli and continue to wonder what it's like right now. I miss the faces, the peoples and the days. Rumi writes,"Don't grieve.Anything you lose comes round in another form."

My thoughts and hearts are with the Nuba Mountains.

Dead Sea, Amman

(Picture courtesy of RD)

Let the beauty of what you love be what you do - Rumi

Joshua Walters: On being just crazy enough | Video on TED.com

Joshua Walters: On being just crazy enough | Video on TED.com

Comedian Joshua Walters, who's bipolar talks about being mentally 'ill' and mentally 'skilled'. I've always been fascinated by societal need to label a person with a mental illness and that desire to pigeonhole and correct that disease. Our obsession with wanting to soothe these so-called sickness back to normal - then again where is that fine line that divides normality, manic and creative genius or is there? He might be right to say there's no such thing as being crazy, just that some others are more sensitive. Or that everyone is just a little bit mad. A little bit mad wouldn't be so bad. Well, this talk isn't particularly a performance (in the regular sense) but I think it sparks some thinking in me, which I wanted to share here today.

LEGO works

Rikke - Fingerspitchengfuhl. I got introduced to this video just about recently, and thought it was pretty neat. Kinda made me think that maybe LEGO might be helpful in depicting the conflict of the Nuba Mountains - it will be all in one colour though, sandy and brown. By the way, does LEGO have folks in brown or black? Enjoy.

I left a piece of my heart here

I am sitting here in Khartoum in a small guesthouse smoking a light Bringi. My thoughts are somewhere else in a place I recently learnt to call a home - Kadugli. It wasn't a place I was born in or grew up with. I have no affiliation to the place and I don't understand it sometimes. Even if I have lived there for almost nine months. This posting is my own reflection and what it simply means to me.

Never a place has affected me like this, a place I never knew about until I set foot in October last year. I came to Kadugli on what I called a 'self-imposed exile'. Even that term is borrowed. From a friend back home. I knew nothing of this place or the intricacies of Southern Kordofan state. I swear. 

But I fell in love with it, in ways I don't know how and in spots I still don't comprehend. The landscape is nearly barren and the air sometimes dry, hot and dusty. Right now, I recalled my first steps out of the UN flight and wondering what in the blue world brought me there. Seriously, what the hell man? Broken-hearted and one went off to Kadugli, the middle of where again?

And yet, I grew to love the place. It just sort of glided. Nice and easy. Like a satisfaction when you found that obscure piece in the 1000 piece puzzle. I felt like I found my place.And in that time, my world seems bigger and more possible than I thought I knew. The faces I see in the souk, and the very human souls that made me a lot more human. People who are real and whose spirit speaks in a language that can only come from years of resilience, patience and kindness to others. And friends whose warmth, jokes and laughter I must be thankful for. I will be forever grateful for this place.

This place - Kadugli - is now in crisis. The very people I know or see on the streets, the tea ladies garbed in their brightest colours, the guys at Nadus or Amwaj asking me how everything is, the men in their white jellabiyahs on Fridays walking toward the mosque to pray, TCC's yellow house, Joe's rooftop, the hills saying 'Allahu Akbar' and much much more. So much more. Nothing could possibly describe the scenes on the street or the lives around me. The roads I walked on, people I greet 'Assalamua-alaikum' and whose generosity surpassed anything else. And just sadly this place is now being shredded into pieces. Like a note we tossed aside. 

It's easy to think of a conflict far far away, something that you never think could affect you. It's much much harder when it's so nearby and somewhere you have stepped foot on. It changes your life in ways you never thought it could. I still don't know why and how Kadugli affects me, or why I think about it pretty much all the time. What does the souk looked like now? How does it look like or will be like when it rains soon enough? Where are those people I see around the corner at the garage or that fat boy who would constantly ask me the same question every time I passed by - "where you from?"

I don't profess to know what it takes to make it all right or what humanity can do. I only know what's going on isn't right and that lives, just as important as yours or mine, are at stake. Lives. Hearts that beat, the same fear we all face, the same blood that bleed. Red. No different from yours or mine. It infuriates me thinking that my organisation and others sitting in their comfy offices who just DON'T GET the severity of the situation. I keep asking why oh why?

And yet I am helpless in this cause. It breaks my heart literally thinking about what's going on in Kadugli, the massacre, the lives and families being torn apart because one side of politics didn't fit into the puzzle. I know these lives aren't a puzzle  but to me, Kadugli is made of of these mosaic pieces fitting in together, all genuinely trying to fit into a coherent picture of humanness. Different shapes yes, different colours totally... but all fitting in, synchronized and harmonized. Picture perfection if one may say. 

I have slept many nights in the last few weeks with a heavy heart and tonight is no different. Tomorrow and the day after I go through my life easy. But a small, tiny part part of me has been taken away for reasons I can never understand and it will stay in Southern Kordofan. It will never be the same. Kadugli and me.

Tonight, I am remembering my first ever mission and thinking of the women in Al Dar, sitting in the open land they proudly call theirs and telling small stories about their lives. The multi-coloured scarfs fluttering under the bluest skies and that one boy with sores on his feet sitting right in front me. His eyes white forever etched in my memory. I remember his face so clearly now.

In Mad Times II

In my last post "In Mad Times", I wrote with hope that the Nuba Mountains might find some peace, well at least some sort of stability to keep its sons and daughters safe and sound. In the past three weeks, I have been combing through the daily news and would read anything and everything that mentioned 'Kadugli' and 'Southern Kordofan'. What I read doesn't make me feel any better.

Widespread atrocities are taking place again in Southern Kordofan - a state on the  edge of the North-South borders. This is more than the just the claim on border issues or oil. The Nubas and their rights are at the heart of this conflict. Just Muslims and Christians wanting to live and co-exist peacefully as they did before. Christians, Blacks, Muslims, the different tribes have live together for many years and repeatedly have been denied their basic social and economical rights. But now they are targets of the Khartoum's government. Too many reports and sources have indicated that the military forces are deliberately targeting Nubas or basically suspected of aligning with the opposition forces, the SPLM. And the blatant fact is that this horror has happened before in the 1990s and which was later formally brought to a close with the signing of the CPA in 2005.

I was there in May when state election results was released and while there was some sense of tension, what happened subsequently was perhaps beyond our immediate imagination. Kadugli has always been safe for me, and I've never come across anyone who's been there, passing through or lived there who felt threatened. Without wanting to sound wishy-washy, I've always thought there's an unspoken sense of charm and protection the Nuba Mountains bestow upon it guests.

So really what's really going out there?

There's certainly deliberate targeting of ethnic groups - the darker and blacker, the more at risk they are. Door-to-door round-up of Nubas have been reported and the air strip in Kauda (critical for transporting essential humanitarian aid) completely destructed leaving the region virtually cut off from relief supplies. Aid agencies offices have been looted and humanitarian aid presently limited on the ground. Further to that, the UN peacekeeping forces have been reportedly inefficient, ill-informed and in my honest opinion, is just reacting too slow and a tad too late. Some reports indicated summary executions right smack in front of the UN compound. How the UN can let that happened is beyond me.

I'm no expert on legal terms or how best to describe the violence and what all this means. But logic tells me this is not right and something ought to be done to stop the fighting. I'm not sure how one can help but I certainly think the situation in Southern Kordofan deserves more mention and coverage beyond a 30 second glimpse, somewhere tossed between Libya and Yemen and the rest. This is a conflict one hardly talks about and sometimes I asked with silent desperation for an answer or a solution if we are really letting this happen all under our watch. Are we?

What would it take for the world to sit up and take notice?

In Mad Times

Was watching the film "Blow" about the drug trafficker George Jung or "Boston George" - had a pretty quote by Johnny Depp there and it goes like this, "May the wind will always be on your back and the sun upon your face and may the winds of destiny carry you aloft to dance with the stars."

Interestingly, there's also an Irish quote that says, "May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be always at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face, and the rain fall soft upon your fields, and until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand."

And mine reads like this:
"In mad times today, put down your weapons, stop this drunkenness
Your madness is killing everything. Hush, quieten down. Let your body and soul rest
In hopes and prayers, let the madness stop."

Thats's for the Nuba Mountains today. 

Goodbyes in Kadugli

Yesterday, few friends and myself came around to say goodbye (again) to a friend who's leaving back home for Tehran. He spent about 3 months here. Perhaps a short time but it was still sad to see a friend leaving.

Tonight, we had dinner and said goodbye to another friend, who is returning to Mazar Al-Sharif after more than 4 years out here in Kadugli. It wasn't easy. He was my first friend out here and over the time I've been here, has been nothing less but exceptionally kind and warm. Certainly it made the goodbye a sad occasion not just for me but the many others around us as well.

Anyone working in the development world can attest to the fact that we all say goodbye to people we care about far too many times. No matter where and when, it's always hard. Especially when you live out in a small community with a handful of souls you count as dear friends. You can say it's part and parcel of the nature of what we do and where we are. Perhaps. But as I've written before, I have definitely developed a strong distaste for goodbyes. I don't know if one needs to make a ceremony of it. What I know is that goodbyes are never simple and never happy no matter what the future presumes to hold.

We say goodbye, wish each other luck and promised to stay in touch and many of us know that in the development industry, somehow, we may end up finding each other again. It's still a small world after all. But my point is, if we reflect on every goodbye we say, we know a part of our heart goes to the other. Those friends that you spent days at meetings with and nights laughing and merry making - they take a part of you away.

This time around, while it is sad, I feel a tinge of my heart hardening. I know I ought not to make a human tragedy about my friends leaving. They are all either leaving to be with their families or found something better. And in the next few weeks, more people will go, leaving me to wonder what my life will look like in the next few months or even weeks. I dread the quietness, the change and above all, the ominous loneliness that comes along with living in a small community as this. Each one of us here feels like a part of a family, a dysfunctional one no matter but a part of something close and we bonded in the time we are here. I always say it's a bunch of misfits put together. I learnt to care and look after my friends and they do the same for me. I would be rotten if I say I didn't. They've made my life here ever more pleasant and comfortable when I first stepped off the UN flight, all new and bright-eyed.

Which brings me to the fact that no matter how fulfilling this industry or job is, it'll never be the same without the very souls around it. The ones who helped you, who listened to your whining and complaints, and your heartbreaking stories. So many things we've shared - family photos, cooking dinner, hiking out in the mountains, roaming about town looking for what-nots and so on. Professionally and socially.

I envy people whose lives are normal in many parts of the world - finish work, meet friend, go to the cinemas and so forth. Lives I sometimes now think is foreign to me but secretly yearn. People like to say that our lives as development workers are exciting, seeing different things and doing our small part for humanity. Many people get into this for very different reasons. For me, after almost 4.5 years away from normality of what I used to have is perhaps taking its toll. Of course others in my industry might feel otherwise. I'm only speaking of my own experiences.

If this was anywhere else in a developed place, I might be less saddened tonight but I'm in Kadugli, almost in the middle of nowhere and every other day and week, someone is going out for good and I'll probably never see their faces again or for a very long time. That makes all the difference of why being out here is sometimes heart wrenching. Here, these friends of mine gave me a life and showed me what it means to truly care about the other. If I've learnt nothing else out here, that much I have.

Kopernik and Igniting Creativity

I couldn' seem to upload this video but here is the link - Toshi Nakamura, Founder of Kopernik at TEDx Tokyo talk. Having worked directly with Toshi and volunteering with Kopernik, am proud to say this talk was inspiring.

http://tedxtokyo.com/tedxtokyo-2011-enter-the-unknown/program/toshi-nakamura/

Murakami's Spaghetti

My current read on a Saturday afternoon as this is Murakami's Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. I have been jumping books in the last few weeks, from Jack Kerouc's Dharma Bums to Dambisa Moyo's Dead Aid. Different days, different needs I say. 

In one of the 24 short stories, The Year of Spaghetti, the character makes spaghetti every day, every week and for a long time. Cooks and eats alone, convinced that it's best enjoy alone. It's a simple story really, revolves around the character and spaghetti cooking and one telephone call. 

But I thought the best part of the story is when it ends with this:

Durum semolina, golden wheat wafting in Italian fields.

Can you imagine how astonished the Italians would be if they knew what they were exporting in 1971 was really loneliness?

TED: Ideas worth sharing

Let the taxi drivers talk! Who else but them can spread an idea faster and make you to listen? Visit www.ted.com

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There is a girl no different from any other. She stands on a land of dust and sand around her, where breeze is an occasional visitor. She took off her shoes and dug her feet into the hot sand; it burns and tingles at the same time. She likes the feeling but everyday she longs for the ocean and ravenous wind blowing in every direction. When she was a little girl, she used to play at the edge of the waters. Half-afraid yet half-excited if she went any further, the waters might sweep her away into the unknown. If she shuts her eyes tightly and prayed to the gods above, the universe might transport her there again. She was young, free and oblivious to the realities of the world around her.

These days, she dreams a lot. When she wakes up in the morning, she pens these dreams down detailing everything she could remember, desperate to hold on its recognition and its relevance. Last night, she thinks she dreams of driving a truck and running over a small child. But a man came out of thin air and made the child disappear. It frightens her. Not about running the child over but the man. He’s been in so many of her dreams. The same man dressed always in a black suit, a white open collared shirt and a boutonnière of white gardenia. She can’t see his face but it is always the same man. Who is he?

She reads too much into every sign, working out every possibility. Words comfort her, it gives meaning to hold on to. She made herself a cup of chamomile tea and sits at her desk, thinking. She eyed her notebook that she’s been filling out the past two weeks. Thick and dripping with every dream she’s had about the elusive character in her dreams.

Flipping the pages of her notebook, she searches for the first recollection of memory she had of him. She reread her entry, hoping to find a clue. But it’s hopeless. They live in different worlds and her memory is failing her. Maybe he was just a memory invented or an illusion crafted. He doesn’t exist. He only visits her in her dream, when she is sleeping because he knows that way, she can’t chase him and he can still linger about, taunting her. On the first dream, she was in her room, lying on her bed reading when he appeared with an old, blue wooden cupboard. It juxtaposed with the other furniture in her room. He placed it down, opened it and went inside. She walked to the cupboard, unsure what to think and tried opening it but couldn’t. Knock knock, is anyone in there? No answer. A while later, she heard a whisper, don’t worry, I am here. I just miss you. She knocked on it again but no more words came out.

In the morning, she got up, opened a fresh page and jot what she could remember from her sleep. She wrote a string of sentences which doesn’t make sense but then again, her dream didn’t make sense either. Inspecting her room, she focused on where the cupboard was placed. She thought she smelled something, a whiff of him perhaps.

I just miss you. But who are you?

The next few dreams were all different but he was always there. He continues to visit her at night and in the morning; she jots down every detail she could possibly remember. Some days, when she is confused, she writes him a letter. She concocts her words like a potion, in the magical belief that the wind might carry them off to him somewhere in the globe where he actually existed. She sprinkled it with her words and sounds, occasionally peppering it with little stories of her day. It is certainly a desperate act she realizes but she feels a strong compulsion to know him. Maybe when he reads this, he will want to find her too. Sometimes, she thinks she can see him from a distance, if she tries hard enough. Perhaps if she concentrates really hard, she can bring him to life.

It frustrates her badly and she felt foolish.  Today especially. She lit up a cigarette, let it fills her lung. She drank her cold tea and stared into the empty space.  Dreams can manipulate but they can also cast some meaning, don't they, she queried. Holding the notebook in her small hands, she whispered, you must be somewhere and you must mean something, why else would you come to see me every night?

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As I get older, a lot of things changed. I no longer have patience for time when in fact I should. I don't understand why people get so excited about new movies, fashion or latest gossip. It's different when I was younger. I was braver, riskier and sometime relish the desire to be in some sort of trouble.

Now it's different. I used to think travelling solo was enjoyable, not so the case now. I get annoyed at the hawkers trying to sell my their wares, I hate queues, I dislike other tourists, I secretly think they are nothing but one bunch of ignorant fools and above all I get irritated at not being able to share and swap stories and grievances.

As I get older, loneliness suddenly seem scary. I yearn for company, even with the strangest of soul. I yearn for easy chatter in the early hours of morning and yet when they go off tangent, I get irritable under my skin.

And yet the more I seek company, the more obstinate I become in isolating myself from the troubles of the everyday, preferring my own solitude and its quietness. The paradox of all these continues to baffle me. Sometimes perhaps I over thought these things.

The more I live, the more I ought to have learnt, which means I should be wiser and yet I am not. It's strange sometimes. I used to presume getting older means I understand the world better but I haven't and I'm still lost. I have no clue how to solve poverty or cure AIDS. There are days when my heart is empty of empathy.

Perhaps this is what it is - this is what it means to get older and be alive. There will be lost possibilities and things and events I cannot changed no matter how hard I tried. No way of changing the world or people. Just a way of accepting it. It's not resignation or accepting defeat but perhaps a means of coping and understanding why life turns out this way - bad or good.

This is what I think. We gained and we lose some along the way. We fall and we get hurt and then we get up again. The things we treasure so tightly sometimes are snatched under our noses and it hurts. We fall in love and it's not enough, we patched our hearts back and we move along, hoping. We trust and it's broken. We hurt other people unknowingly and we damaged them. We cry and there's no one to wipe our tears. We carry on our lives in silence and solitude.

4.5 years

I have been away from Singapore/home for almost 4.5 years now. Since January 2006. Fuck that is a damn long time.

18 months was spent studying and living in Canberra, lasted close to 2 years in Sierra Leone, 10 months freezing and sweating it out in Beijing and now almost 7 months in Kadugli. In between I have spent time in Europe, roaming about.

Actually today I celebrate my 7 months in the ‘doog. Deserve more than a pat on my back for being out here that long.

People occasionally ask me when I am returning home. Many Sudanese asked me this question and it puzzles them whenever I mentioned not yet or that every R&R, I just travelled somewhere else but home. I never really got the question: why did you leave home?

Obviously by now, I have accepted that the concept of ‘their’ home and ‘my’ home differs widely. Agreeably, there can be many explanations for this, practiced answers and deep philosophical ramblings on what we mean by home. But let’s not go there, least not today. I have a secret perfect answer that I’ve always wanted to use but never. It’s a quote by Maya Angelou, “The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”

I left because I wanted something different, like there was devilish inner voice whispering, “Get out, life is more than a paycheck in the civil service or shopping down Orchard Road..” so I stepped out of the rut and now utterly grateful that I made that first move. And I have gotten a lot from all the years even if I keep walking in circles, committing the same mistakes all over again. I have lived in places others only wonder about, slept under the stars, sometimes living on the charity of my friends and family and experience an almost full life. It’s never always rosy and there weren’t always happy moments and smiley faces all the times. The more you go, the harder it becomes to maintain human relationships with the ones you care about. There were many days when I was surrounded by people I didn’t like very much and happenings I rather banished from memory. I am not always proud of some things I’ve done but there’s no other way other than to move along. Right. 

I’ve got good things this year. The strengthening of friendship with some of the most heartwarming people I’ve ever met in my life, which deserves more than just my mere note of thanks. And meeting a man I love and continue to grow in love with. I pray that I’ll be lucky this time but it’s funny how I know luck has nothing to do with this. Some things are just meant to happen.

I haven’t come full circle yet; think I will keep walking on the circle I’ve drawn over and over again. And as I do this time, I will think of warm sunshine, clear blue water and pistachio ice-cream.

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Theirs was to be a difficult journey. One that would take them into strange lands, long distances, unspoken sacrifices and many days filled with tears and desperation. Equally this was a journey that only they two could understand. Coming from worlds apart, they were both hardened by what they have seen in life. Determined to make life work, they hold on to a profound conviction that life is hard but love is kind.

One cold morning, she opened her eyes and breathed in the moment as she watched him sleep. She well understood that time is a factor. Time is always tearing them apart. Time is their greatest enemy. He turned and looked at her, stoked by her beauty and strength. She is the other half of my soul that I have always been praying for. He is my muse, my best friend and my love, she smiled.


There were many times when they fought and sparred over unimportant things but they were many more moments when they quietly basked in their respect and admiration for each other. That kept them strong and anchored their love.

Their lives were unconventional but their love for each other simple and pure. The kind of love that asks for nothing, expects nothing and desires nothing. It is patient and kind. But it’s a love they both are willing to fight for. And they fought for it every single day and every day they will strive towards the day when they two will come whole.

When time comes for them to part, he kissed her gently and said, “I am nothing special of this is true but my heart beats with yours and is yours alone and I await the day when our lives will start.”

She took his hand and placed it to her cheek and quietly said, “When that day comes, I will not ask of you more than you can give. I know you have dreams, hopes and ambitions and I will not hold you back.”

That was the last time they spoke.

Elections in Southern Kordofan

Southern Kordofan, where I am based, is awaiting the results of its recently concluded elections Both sides has claimed victory. The ruling party of the north, the NCP is represented by the state's incumbent governor, Ahmed Haroun, who is infamously wanted by the ICC for crimes allegedly committed in Darfur. His opponent is the present deputy Governor, Abdul Aziz Al-Hilu, of the SPLM/SPLA (dominant party of the south).

Situated along the north-south undefined border, Southern Kordofan is a strategic spot. It sits on oilfields, have been the battle ground of years of conflict, its neighbours Darfur and Abyei (another volatile region sitting on oil and one of the Three Transitional Areas awaiting its referendum). The Three Transitional Areas (Blue Nile state, Southern Kordofan and Abyei) were tricky negotiating points of the CPA.

For many years, the people of the Nuba Mountains/SK fought alongside the southerners in the war with the north. War in the Nuba Mountains has killed tens of thousands although much of it unrecorded due to Khartoum blockade of the region (sealed off between 1991 and 1995). The Nuba were cut off from the SPLA in the south in 1991, leaving them to fight on their own and in that time suffered a three-year famine.

The CPA, which will conclude on July 9 has failed to bring satisfactory improvements and for most parts, implementation is slow or worse neglected. The aspirations of the Nuba for self-determination to protect their way of lives, religion and culture may never be realised. For a long time, the Nuba has been left to starve by the Khartoum government, sidelined by their southern counterpart and essentially forgotten by the international community.

As I sit here, waiting to hear what's going on with the elections results, I am left to wonder what fate awaits these people who has been fighting for their lands for decades. The mood has been quietly tense. It's not the same Kadugli I know when I first arrived 7 months ago. A number of my friends have left or will be leaving, some for different reasons, others unsure about what will happen next. The truth is no one knows. But this is not my fight. To predict what would happen would essentially ignore all the intricacies of the politics around here. One can only have a little faith that everything will turn out fine. A little faith.

Voting in Singapore's General Elections

Come this weekend, Singaporeans will go to the polls and vote in the General Elections. I have never voted in my life before and will be unable to do so this time. My living situation doesn't quite permit me to do so.

I wish I could vote. This year's elections promises more excitement that I can recall. Singapore has been run and manned by the men in white i.e. the Peoples' Action Party since independence in 1965. Without wanting to sound like a PAP mouthpiece, I acknowledge that the PAP has done very well and many Singaporeans including myself have benefited tremendously. From a village of nothing, Singapore has become one of the shining example of economic success in the world today. A leap from 3rd world status to 1st in a generation (my ex-boss at the World Bank often reminds me of this).

Having said that, the PAP has over the years turned itself (knowingly or not) into a self-preserving, elitist and selfish group of men/women that presumingly view Singaporeans as just another digit, a working machine only capable of producing more (never less), another wheel in the economic grind - seriously. Our worth as Singaporeans is seen primarily in terms of value and productivity. Nothing less. Your opinion and thoughts matter less than what you are capable of producing.

Precisely in this elections, the PAP has failed to convince Singaporeans why it should remain in power and repeating the same mistakes. Someone in PAP should have thought about hiring a PR guru from the beginning - the blunders were too many. For example, my favourite (on why choose PAP), "If your wife is unable to cook, there's no point. You must choose a wife who is able to do things for you". No score for you there, Desmond Choo. What a chauvinist pig!   


To add to that, the smear tactics against opposition, questioning their credibility etc were seriously desperate moves to distract one's attention away from the real core issues. Someone should have reminded the PAP that humility is still a prized quality. I am tired of being dumbed down by a government who somewhat perceives me as maybe never being good enough to understand the complexities of politics and policy issues. 


There can never be real democracy without an opposition. Singaporeans are not keen to overthrow the PAP but what we want to see is more vibrancy and participation in the debate that define our lives. That there are more voices looking out for those who are not able to be part of that discourse, more diversity in perspectives on what's important to ALL Singaporeans, that we don't just grow and grow without understanding and that heart to look out for those that might get left behind. 


I used to be ashamed that Singaporeans has no compassion and empathy but this elections has proved otherwise. That all we cared about is making money and buying the next condo. It's refreshing to hear people talked and openly discussed politics, the real issues at hand, what matters and so on. While it's unfortunate that I can't vote this time (again), let it be known that I am proud of my fellow Singaporeans and my friends there. Good luck!


  

Found while job hunting

Was browsing for jobs and found this posting: On Jobs and Delusions Entertaining read. 

Thought Catalog is really avant-now. 

Dub FX - Love Me Or Not

This is my absolute favourite song from this talented street performer/recording artist hailing from Melbourne. Dub FX and Flower Fairy doing their USA tour starting July 2011. Check them out here
I couldn't find a live version of this. This might have to do. Think his best live performance must be this one
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UiInBOVHpO8 "Love Someone"

Kadugli Hipsters

This shot was taken from a friend, HP. Love my hipster shades, sitting up on the roof and the metal bowl to the left has the best mixture of lime, sugar, mint and water (I think). Delicious evening. Kadugli, Sudan 2011

Cool cats of Kadugli

Please meet my cool cat friend and sanity pill - Nell.

                                      

Seychelles

My khawaja "wife" Nell and I recently packed ourselves off for a "honeymoon" trip to the Seychelles. We were married by a Mujahideen friend and witnessed by an America, and I did give Nell a ring (technically). We topped our "wedding" with a toast of whiskey. Sweet. We spent about a week in the Seychelles and it was absolutely gorgeous - minus the serious lack of seafood and service. But the warm waters, great weather and people we've met made up for all of it. Lovely and as we said, life couldn't get any better. Now back in the 'doog all tanned, well fed and happy as humanly can be. I think.

4 months now

I have now been in Kadugli for over 4 months. It seems a lot longer although there are days when time passes oh-so-slowly and days when you just asked what happened to time. But time is time and I don't want to sit complaining about it. 

In the 4 months that I have been here, I have learned a lot, made some very cool friends, developed a crush and definitely learned to live with myself. Learning to live with yourself part is influenced partly by a book I have been reading - 'On Solitude' by Michel de Montaigne. Perhaps one of his famous line is, 'We must reserve a back shop all our own, entirely free, in which to establish our real liberty and our principal retreat and solitude.' 

On the other aspects of life in the 'doog, I have certainly become accustomed to a routine life. I go to work, eat at the same place everyday, the same chicken leg with rice and ful, the same faces I see and beginning to enjoy and love, the same conversations and stories over and over again. Sometimes it tires me hearing folks complain about how mundane life is here (obviously it is - then again what were you expecting?) and how people love talking about work so much, which leaves me to often question how much is one's life defined by work. It's like if I take work away from you, would your personality simply ceased to exist? Hmm. Quite funny I think. 

Hiking on the Nuba Mountains, Feb 2011

Welcome 2011 - oh what year it will be...

I noted my last post was dated 10 December, almost just under 2 months ago. I am not doing too bad I think with all these writings. I am back in Kadugli now - back from holidays almost 2 weeks ago. In the times that just passed, the following occurred:

1. When I was very young (really young), I had a cousin, or a sister, more like a pseudo-sister/sibling. We'll call her H. My memories of us being together and playing are perhaps limited. I remembered she lived not too far away (in Holland Village), she was fair, I was darker, we were both quite loud as kids, and I used to sleep over a lot. There was something fun being with someone (your age) you can play with. And then we lost touch and I haven't seen her like in over 6-7 years and maybe more, who knows. Then recently she popped up! Right smack on Facebook. I was stoked (in fact over the moon!) to hear from her that it took me a while to register in my head that it was her. It's good to be back and if you are reading this, I look forward to seeing you sometime soon and catching up for real. It's a shame you live in Adelaide and I live err... in Sudan. Darn distances.

2. The worst kind of tonsilitis happened during my vacation in London, right after returning from Lisbon. Sweet Jesus, that was nasty. It didn't help that London was cold and colder still. The nasty bugger lasted a while, in fact I was pretty drugged up with painkillers during the entire vacation. After tonsilitis, there was the flu, then a sinus inflammation, followed by a toothache. I was still sick when I returned to Kadugli and was falling apart at the seams.

3. I got inked. Yes indeed. I have always wanted to do it and it took me a while to actually summon up the courage to do so. RR can attest to my wimpy projections of unimaginable pain as we walked down the streets of Brighton passing "Blue Dragon Tattoo" shop a gazillion times. I think the name did not bode well with me. Then JM - the lovely cookie from Sydney (I suspect she is a closet bogan) - whipped me up into shape and sent me to the shop in Camden (mind you, I was also heavy on painkillers from being sick). So there, I got inked. Three stars on my right forearm. I like it a lot, my mum might kill me but oh well - we'll cross the bridge when we get there.

Why 3 stars? I have no good reason yet.