Arrival: Part Two

For part one, click here.

As I cross the blue line into the crowded hall, I eagerly embrace my parents. It’s been months since we last touched and the hug feels so good. Their clothes are warm as if they were just removed from a dusty dryer and faintly laced with the scent of sweat created as they waited for us under the airport’s tin roof. Our joyous exchanges are cut short by the loud shrieking of the baggage conveyor belt coming to life – a reminder that we are not yet fully home.

My bag shuffles around the corner and I reach for it. Before I make contact, a quick arm flashes in front of me and a porter snatches it and loads it on a cart. I protest and explain that I do not need help. Ignoring me, he begins to maneuver my bag toward to the long cement tables on the other end of the room. I shrug and follow; after all, he needs to eat. At our next destination begins the process of showing our passport to one grumpy soldier after another. Each one searches for a reason to detain us, delay us, or otherwise bother or us into offering him a bribe. Disappointed that our paperwork is in order, they pass us along to the next.

Finally before me is the last hurdle before exiting the chaos – the bag checkers. These men and women stand in between me and the light shining through the doorway. They know it and use their power to take advantage of us tired, emotionally drained passengers. My bag check lady rolls up her sleeves and gleefully paws through my luggage looking for contraband. Finding something of interest, she casually asks me if she can keep it. No, I answer, it’s mine. She replaces it with a shrug and asks about the next object. No again. Seeing an obvious tourist behind me with over stuffed bags, the women waves me on with a flick of her wrist. Perhaps she’ll have better luck with him.

I grab my baggage and try to stuff it all back together. I resign myself to sitting on the bag to drag the broken zipper around. The sweat beads start to drip down the back of my neck – it’s 6:00 o’clock in the morning. I tip my porter, sending him dashing back to coerce another unsuspecting traveler. I grab my bags and step through the doorway out into the airport’s grand hall. Harkening to a more majestic time, murals on the wall show hunters chasing gazelles and dancers careening across the mud-brick walls to the sound of silent drums. The strong smell of perfume and garbage wafts up around me as the duty-free shack sits next to a toilet that doesn’t work. I forge ahead and with my family around me, move out into the morning sun.

The brightness momentarily blinds me as I blink away the dark spots dancing in front of my eyes. Once they adjust, I take in the sights and sounds all around me. Taxis. Vendors. Bicycles. Dust. Wind. Shouting. Everything assaults me and I pause to take it all in. One white boy trying to adjust to the heartbeat of Chad. We drag ourselves over to our four-wheel drive vehicle and load it up. I brush the dust off the seat and reach for the seatbelt, only to find none. I settle back and look out the window. My heart leaps inside my chest – I’m back. I’m home in Africa.

Secretary of State: Change Darfur Needs

Today, President-elect Barack Obama chose Hillary Clinton to lead our State Department. Although I have some personal reservations about Sen. Clinton, this nomination bodes well for our efforts to bring an end to the genocide in Darfur. Obama, VP-elect Joe Biden and cabinet members Clinton and potentially Bill Richardson all expressed strong support for helping my friends in Darfur while they were on the campaign trail. [Check out a previous post after one of their debates: click here] Now that they are off the trail and not seeking election, it’s time they stepped up to the plate and put actions behind their rhetoric.

Here, in her own words, is what Sen. Clinton feels should be done in Darfur:

“There are three things we have to do immediately. Move the peacekeepers--that, finally, the United Nations and the African Union have agreed to--into Sudan as soon as possible. In order for them to be effective, there has to be airlift and logistical support, and that can only come either unilaterally from the United States or from NATO. I prefer NATO. And finally, we should have a no-fly zone over Sudan because the Sudanese governments bomb the villages before and after the Janjiwid come. And we should make it very clear to the government in Khartoum we're putting up a no-fly zone; if they fly into it, we will shoot down their planes. Is the only way to get their attention.” ~Clinton at the June 28 2007 Democratic Primary Debate.

OK Clinton - now you have the power. Let's make it happen.

Tents of Hope

Last weekend was the big finale of the Tents of Hope campaign. Across the country, citizens who care about Darfur bought large canvas tents and painted them. Some sold squares as fundraisers; others gave the painting opportunity away for free. Last weekend, the tents from all over came to Washington D.C. where they were all set up on the National Mall. This moving display of such colorful, meaningful tents was quite impressive. Afterwards the tents are being sent to Darfur to serve as meager, yet cheerful, dwellings for refugees.

I liked Tents of Hope because it engaged so many people and offered so many opportunities to touch lives. First, the people painting the tent had fun being creative as they become more aware and more connected to the crisis. Second, the display in Washington must have been a powerful show of unity and passion (although I did not get to be there due to a family wedding, I've seen pictures and heard reports). Third, the tents will touch the lives of refugees living without much hope in Darfur. It will not only be a symbolic gesture (the paintings) but also a practical one (providing a living space). I like awareness events that are more than just holding hands and singing kum-ba-yah.

Kudos to Tents of Hope and their entire team. I hope and pray that the people inspired by this campaign will in turn take up the fight and press on. For more info and photos of amazing tents: www.tentsofhope.org.

In the photo: I am painting my squares on a tent at a Tents of Hope event in Raleigh, N.C.

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Do the Math

There was a glimmer of hope coming from the news about the tragedy in Darfur today. According to UPI, a group of 111 newly-trained Chadian soldiers have begun a deployment to eastern Chad as part of a U.N. mission to improve security in the region. They will join forces with another 320 soldiers who are already trained and in the area. This is good news. Properly-trained security forces are a key element in restoring peace to a region embroiled in war. They can protect the women going into the fields to collect firewood. They can bring order to the chaotic food lines. They can fight off rebel attacks aimed at undermining whatever fragile fragments of society remain intact. This all seems very hopeful, until you do the math.

This group of 431 soldiers (eventually the number is supposed to rise to 850) is expected to bring security and safety to more than 400,000 refugees and others running for their lives in an area the size of Texas. So if you do the math, that means each soldier is roughly responsible for watching out for the welfare of about 950 men, women and children. Wow. How can we possibly expect these security force members to be successful when they have such odds stacked against them, when the ratio is so out of whack?

I understand that even baby steps are good if they are in the right direction. Deploying 431 troops is a baby step - and we must do more. One of the way you can help is by contributing to organizations, like GI-Net, that purchase radios and other "non-lethal" materials for peace keepers. Things like radios help increase the effectiveness of the troops and reduce the incredible odds they face.

Event: Drinks for Darfur

I spend a great deal of time learning about the crisis engulfing my friends in Darfur and sharing my experiences with my friends in America. Now, we finally get to have some action to go along with this talk. The Interfaith Council for Sudanese Peace is hosting a multi-location fundraiser on Saturday, Sept. 27 in the Triangle of North Carolina.

Named "Drinks for Darfur," the Council has partnered with restaurants and bars in Chapel Hill, Raleigh, Durham and Cary to raise awareness and money. This event will allow people to enjoy going out and socializing with friends while supporting a good cause. I personally will be at Tir Na Nog restaurant in Raleigh, NC, where we will have a private screening of "The Devil Came on Horseback" along with other activities.

I know it seems a bit ironic to have an event that involves merriment and food to raise funds for people who are starving and suffering. However, any little bit helps and if this is what it takes to have an impact on the crisis - then so be it. I encourage you to spread the word and come out yourself to support Drinks for Darfur. More information on the events can be found on SaveDarfur.org. Click here for more information.

What: Drinks for Darfur - Raleigh
When: Saturday, Sept. 27 at 7:00 p.m.
Where: Tir Na Nog, 218 S. Blount St, Raleigh
How Much: $10 cover
Who: Anyone and everyone who cares about Darfur and enjoys a good night out.

See you there.

Big Oil Money = Big Problems

In 2000, one of the poorest countries in the world struck gold - black gold. Exxon and a consortium of oil companies discovered vast reserves of oil under the hot, dusty terrain of southern Chad. Millions of barrels to fuel global demand lay just within reach - but there was one major problem: Chad is a land-locked country. It has no ports, no railroads and no water transportation routes; carting barrels of oil on the backs of camels wasn't exactly what Big Oil had in mind. So, in one of the most ambitious projects of its kind, the oil companies built a 665-mile pipeline from Chad to the coast of Cameroon.

This deal would bring billions of dollars to Chad, providing riches in a place where the previous two largest industries were cigarettes and beer. However, Africa has a shoddy track record of getting the money to help anyone but the elite. The World Bank tried something groundbreaking to prevent the new-found riches from being whisked away to a private swiss bank account. It entered into an agreement with Chad that would only give Chad the money in return for investing it in anti-poverty measures. This was hailed as a landmark achievement and the future looked bright. Then, the pipeline was built.

I have heard so many first-hand accounts of the damage to society that occurred thanks to the pipelines. Yes, the oil companies built roads and infrastructure - but home prices rose 500 percent, food prices sky-rocketed and the oil companies imported hundreds of workers from Indonesia and the Philippines. Locals could not afford to stay in their own houses or villages and were forced out. White workers received special passes to allow them to cut in front of any line they wanted and lived in single units with AC. Imported workers were stuffed into barracks eight at a time. Native Chadians were forced to sleep under the stars on the ground. Despite these challenges, many people felt the suffering was worth it because of how the money would change the country for the good overall.

Well, the money started pouring in and the government became more and more corrupt, less and less transparent, and eventually did everything it could to avoid using the money to fund real anti-poverty measures. They have used the crisis in Darfur as an excuse to purchase weapons. They have said "the government is too corrupt to follow the anti-corruption agreement" with the World Bank.

Finally, after eight years of trying to set up a different model - the World Bank quietly ended its "landmark" agreement with Chad. It is now completely up to the will of the government to invest this incredible new flow of money in real, meaningful development activities to benefit the average Chadian citizen.

To read more, check out the New York Times article on this latest setback for my friends and family in Chad. http://tinyurl.com/6kgmu3

Spiraling downward

The steady diet of bad news and impotent peace efforts have continued to flow from the land that I love even while I’ve taken a brief absence from writing. Just because my words have been few and far between doesn’t mean my mind has left Darfur or the men, women and children who are struggling to avoid dying in the dust.

I wish I was being melodramatic – but I’m not. And the situation for millions of families just got grimer with this news:

“Humanitarian organizations Oxfam and Médecins sans Frontières (MSF) have suspended their operations in Kerfi, Eastern Chad, following rising insecurity in the area. The two NGOs say gunmen have increasingly attacked their staff and compounds, the latest incident being a night attack on July 9, when six gunmen shot at and tried to burn a house where Oxfam staffers were hiding. And MSF reported that dozens of local young men beat up their staff members and patients on July 8. The two organizations undertake humanitarian work that supports over 10,000 displaced people living around the town of Kerfi.”

I sit up and take notice when the brutal actions of angry thugs are causing MSF (one of the most fearless humanitarian groups in the world) to leave their mission. 10,000 lives in danger due to the actions of six gunmen. This is the reality on the ground.

The politics are getting heated up more than usual with the impending indictment of Sudan’s president by the International Criminal Court for charges of crimes against humanity. While the government-forced rallies in the Sudanese capital have slowed down, the calls from other governments to avoid the indictment have increased. The African Union has weighed in, asking the ICC to drop the indictments.

The question I have for you is this: What message does it send Sudan’s president if the African Union (his peers) are standing by his side and urging the ICC to drop the case? Is this a good thing because it means they are united and focused on diplomacy and peace, or a bad thing because it gives credibility to a genocidal leader?

Arrival: Part One

Africa hits me like a wave on the beach the moment I step out of the airplane.  The oppressive heat washes over me despite the midnight hour. My first breath of African air leaves my teeth feeling gritty and my throat dry.  I make my way down the shaky steps that lead not to an air-conditioned terminal with a smiling airline employee, but rather to the broken black asphalt of the airport tarmac with a rigid solder staring at me with his machine gun casually draped across his shoulder.  Ahh, I'm home.

As the other passengers pause to adjust their luggage and strip layers of clothing, my sisters and I begin sprinting.  We run because we know.  We know that on the other side of this dark expanse of pavement lies the cattle stable known as the international arrival room.  Shuffling lines of tired, hungry and dazed passengers await the slow; the speedy might get out before the mosquitoes start biting.  It's a mad dash I've performed each time arriving back to this desolate country and no strange look from an already-exhausted aid worker will change my mind. 

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the fluorescent light flooding the brown cement "welcome" building. It's almost as if the Chadian government set it up to give people one last chance to change their minds. The cracks in the wall whisper doubts: are you sure you want to come to Chad? This is your last chance to turn back, murmurs the rusted ceiling fan swirling weakly overhead.  Moving into a line, the room quickly fills up behind me.   Peering past the kiosks where grumpy men look for every excuse to stall our progress with pointless passport inquiries, I see my parents.  Thin, dusty and radiant – excited that their children are back safe from a semester at boarding school. 

The soldier looks up and motions me forward across the yellow line.  I step forward and hand him my passport, but I pause right before it lands in his hands.  "Asalam Alek," I say in the local Arabic dialect, greeting him in is native tongue.  A smile breaks the rough surface of the face and he responds, intrigued by the white teenager who knows the language.  I eagerly chat with him to let him know that I am different, that I care and that I know his country well.  Hope that this will give me the upper hand becomes true as the words work their magic. After a cursory glance at my paperwork he waves me through, past another rigid guard and into the chaos that waits me on the other side of the blue boundary line.  Victory; I am back in the land I love.

Interfaith action

I have been fortunate to participate in two interfaith events recently in Raleigh, N.C. The first was a wonderful "Tents of Hope" event held at Meredith College and the second was a meaningful "Peace Vigil" held at NC State University. The "Tents" event brought together a local muslim school, jewish senagogue and area christians to paint three tents, which will be sent to join hundreds of others in a major awareness campaign in Washington, D.C. The vigil included members of the Presbyterian, Episcopal, Methodist and Muslim student groups singing and reading well-written prayers. It also included a poignant candlelight circle. Both events were well organized and I deeply appreciate everyone who participated.

There are two main reasons I enjoy interfaith events:

1. I lived an interfaith life. Although I am, and my family is, evangelical christian, growing up in Chad we lived in a predominantly muslim area that had pockets of tribal religions dotting the landscape like swiss cheese. Every day I would come into contact with someone of a different faith, as I played with muslims, sang with christians and went mango-hunting with animists. This world taught me the value of respecting others and broadened my worldview. Unfortunately, interfaith mingling is not very common in the U.S., as we tend to surround ourselves with those like us and shun those who aren't. I miss living in that interfaith community where we could disagree, but still enjoy life together.

2. The violence in Darfur is not based on religion. Although most of the tribes involved in the current crisis are muslim, the fighting is not based in religious bigotry. The catastrophe in Darfur is fueled by decades of oppression, poverty, lack of natural resources and just plain evil. Men, women and children of all religions are suffering and enduring this evil. Any person of faith should be rocked to their core at the destruction in Darfur and be urged to action by their beliefs. We are stronger together when fighting evil and are ineffective if we get sidetracked by inter-faith bickering.

For more ways you can help out and raise awareness and action for Darfur, check out my 20 WAYS I CAN HELP link on the right.

How to Eat a Mango

You always know the whereabouts of the riverbeds. You can see them coming, still far off in the distance as you make your way forward on your bone-jarring journey across Eastern Chad. The rivers – dry, of course – are highlighted on the horizon by the long line of lush green mango trees that seem to rise out of nowhere. Sucking sustenance from some deep water table lying dormant under the earth’s sandy floor, they grow together in mighty groves stretching as far as the eye can see. Once among them, the air changes and you can sense it. It gets cooler, fresher and is laced with a sweet fragrance that lingers above the carpet of dried leaves. You can raise your eyes without squinting and listen to the foreign sounds of monkeys rustling in treetops. Up above, you hear the creaking of a limb straining under the weight of its treasure – mangos!

These plump, juicy and fibrous fruits have been called many things throughout the ages, including such portentous titles as “fruit of the gods.” I don’t doubt that ancient mythological creatures would treasure the sweetness and sense of fulfillment one gets from devouring a ripe mango, but I am skeptical that they would actually eat one for fear of getting their hands sticky and staining their white robes.

After personally enjoying mangos on four different continents, I have come to the conclusion that the world lacks some serious mango know-how. I have seen people try to peel it, chop it, rip into it and all have managed to get themselves incredibly messy. Please, allow me to explain the best way to eat a mango, learned from the experts themselves in the dry riverbeds of Eastern Chad.

Step 1: Get a mango. Big, juicy and ripe (otherwise they are kind of sour). Look for the ones that are starting to turn reddish or yellow and not just solid green. Avoid the ones with maggots.

Step 2: Get a knife. Doesn’t have to be big, just effective.

Step 3: Stand the mango upright on a hard surface. Each mango has a broad side and a narrow side – point the narrow side towards you.

Step 4: Carefully cut off one entire broad side of the fruit. Position the knife just off-center (to avoid the hard inner core) and in one clean stroke, go from top to bottom.

Step 5: Cut the half of mango by making deep cuts in a criss-cross pattern (like tic-tac-toe). Don’t cut the skin, but go deep enough to separate the “meat” into little squares.

Step 6: Grab the cut half and flip it inside-out. Push the outer edges back and the center toward you. This will make the squares “pop out” and stand ready to be eaten. Enjoy.

Step 7: Repeat steps 3 through 6 with the other side of the mango. Enjoy again.

Step 8: With the knife, carefully peel off the skin from the remaining core.

Step 9: Hold the core in the middle with your hand and eat the fruit around the edge, similar to biting the crust off a piece of bread. Now, you have eaten an entire mango with very little mess.

Step 10: Get out the dental floss and remove the hundreds of fibers stuck between your teeth, rinse your hands and wipe your smiling face.

These 10 steps have provided many hours of succulent bliss in my life and I am glad to share them here. Unfortunately, with the current chaos and violence wreaking havoc on the areas of Eastern Chad and Darfur, there is little time to enjoy the simply pleasures provided by the mango. These lands are embroiled in what the UN calls the “world’s worst humanitarian crisis" and all food is now scarily scarce. More than 200,000 people have already died and millions more are on the verge.

We can help. We can restore peace, justice and hope to this land and its beautiful people. We can assist my friends and their families return to enjoying the simple fruits of life. For a list of things you can do, check out the 20 WAYS I CAN HELP link on the right side of this page.

Our great big world...

One of my most memorable New Year’s Eve celebrations in my young life was the one at the turn of the millennium. While the rest of the world was trying to outdo their neighbors in either Y2K panic or frenzied jubilation, my family was packing our bags for a special, one-night vacation.

We quickly loaded our clothes and toiletries, eager to get on the road and experience one of the biggest events of our lifetime - the change of the millennium. Our excitement would have you think we were headed to New York City, or Paris or Sydney to ring in the year 2000 with millions of other revelers. But this was not the case – we were going someplace better. We were headed all the way across town to the unoccupied house of an aid worker friend.

Why was this house special? For starters, the aid compound had electricity. With this privileged existence came the real prize – satellite TV. We bundled ourselves into our rough and tumble 4x4 and drove through the dusty town as evening fell. We quickly settled in to our home away from home and immediately turned on CNN International. My family gathered in front of the flickering screen, soaking up the images of the outside world and its rich diversity of celebrations. We saw amazing fireworks, huge parades and extravagant shows. Outside, the donkey started braying. We saw people dressed in their glitz and glamour braving the cold to giddily grip their microphones. Through our window came the far-off wailing of a Muslim call to prayer. As CNN’s coverage flew us around the world to witness noisy celebrations, we gathered together as a family on the concrete floors and lit a few quiet, orange candles.

As midnight struck, we sat around illuminated by the twin glows of our candles and the TV and enjoyed being a part of the great big, beautiful human race. It was fun to feel a part of something spectacular even though it stood in stark contrast to the reality of life in Chad. But despite the fun being held elsewhere, as I looked outside my screen door, I remember thinking – there is no other place I would rather be than right here, right now. I love my family and I love Africa.