The last three days in El Fasher have been trying. The temperatures climbed above the norm and it has been hard to keep dry no matter how high I turn up the ceiling fan. From time to time, I turn off the fan to catch what I think is gunfire in the not-too-distant areas surrounding our office. But it is usually just the water wagons sounding off in search of customers. The water wagons consist of several used oil barrels welded together, lying horizontal, set on wheels, and pulled by an Arabian stallion. As they make their way through the neighborhoods, they periodically bang on the containers, literally drumming up business.On April 6, I woke to what sounded like heavy machine gun fire.
I walked outside to gauge the mood in the neighborhood. Everyone seemed calm. Uncaring. So, I assumed that it was the sound of hammers on a nearby construction site. You see, the neighborhood is poor but bustling with new construction. I interpret the new building materials in two ways. The humanitarian community (INGOs and UN) has created a lot more jobs and a market for increased purchasing power. But the fighting has also forced many people to seek shelter with distant relatives, creating a need to build new rooms for the extended house guests. That morning, I found out that the sound was indeed weapon fire from a nearby firing range. Seems the military will be practicing for the rest of the month.
My day only got worse.
My driver came from the market and told me that there was a run on the bank and lots of unsatisfied customers. As we drove through the market past the bank, we noticed that the bank was closing along with neighboring stores. The market was essentially closing down at the peak shopping hours. I called in what I saw to the security tree. Markets don't close unless it is getting too dark or too risky. All along the road, there were dozens of Janjaweed - the Arab militia that the government had recruited to help fight the rebel movements. Most of them were dressed in worn fatigues or in civilian clothing. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something and no one was acting particularly aggressive. But when I arrived at a local government office to discuss our programming, I understood the problem.
The banks were out of money.
I saw a long line of NGO employees complaining that their employer had been late with their payment. Picture 50 men in long flowing white robes, a lawyer, and two labor officers trying to explain that they will each get a chance to file their claim.
When I walked in the door, all the eyes focused on me and someone yelled out the name of the NGO they all worked for. I quickly corrected them and moved passed the edgy crowd. I had business in the office and it could not wait for a quieter moment. I found my appointment contact and we sat down to go over the paperwork. Just 10 minutes later, a loud shot rang out across the valley. The discussions continued but my colleagues started to look nervous. At one point, I suggested we take a break and we all went outside to take stock of the situation. Everyone in the yard was sitting against the 5 foot fence surround the compound and motioned to us to do the same.
A bullet had just hit the outside wall.
The Janjaweed had expected to be paid but since they are not part of the regular army, there is no official payroll and banks do not store funds for non civil servants. When the banks chose to close rather than be forced to pay, the Janjaweed and their allies the Border Guards tried to force their way in. When they failed, they opened fire on civilians in the city to send a message: Janjaweed and Border Guards provide security to the towns in North Darfur; without their cooperation, this is what chaos would look like. The shoot out led to three deaths and a public outcry from the population insisting that the government do more to keep the population safe from brigands.
The shoot out was short lived, but I thought it wise to make it back to the office and sit it out. That evening, the state governor negotiated a settlement with the Janjaweed. He agreed to pay and tensions dropped considerably the following day. There were still more Janjaweed in town than was comfortable, but at least they were getting what they wanted. When I left El Fasher to travel to Nyala, it seemed that things were going back to normal, but at midnight, I received a call from my guard. He does not speak any English and I do not speak Arabic, so the conversation was short. He mentioned the market, something about 30 minutes, something about 8pm, Janjaweed, and that everything was not good. A few follow-up calls revealed that the Janjaweed had engaged in a sustained and then sporadic gun battle with the army in the center of town over night between 8pm and 3am. By the next morning, the two groups had assumed aggressive postures around the market area. I learned that this act had been well coordinated and similar displays were reported in Kebkabiya and in Tawila - two areas west of El Fasher. In both instances, Janjaweed shot in the air in the market and also ransacked the marketplace when the local population complained. This is not a turning point in the war in Darfur. Janjaweed have used this tactic in the past to get an increase in pay. The population has in turned demonstrated in the same way against the use of force in the populated areas of the city and the matter has been laid to rest for another 8 or 9 months. Janjaweed are pro-government militia, so it is unusual to see them at odds with the government but it is not unheard of.
As one Sudanese told me to describe the present situation "when you have a dangerous dog, you can try to direct him to bite your enemy, but in the end, dogs have a poor sense of direction" Or "everyone is your friend when the wallet is full." Quite the philosophers these Sudanese.
I am in Nyala now and far from the wild west show that El Fasher has become. I plan to head back there before I take my R&R in mid April but only if things have calmed considerably.
Thanks for your emails of concern.
