Surfing the dry river beds of Darfur

Forgive the long delay.

I finally managed to leave the cities and travel to the field. Then the city ran out of fuel again and we had no internet connection for a week. Suffice it say that it has not been a good past 2 weeks for communication.

I am happy to report that I managed to spend a week in the most beautiful desert landscape I have ever seen. It is not the typical sandy desert with dunes. It was in the higher elevations and very rocky. It reminded me somewhat of Arizona - a state in the southwestern part of the United States - but this area was far more pristine. White sand, yellowish rocks, against a pale blue sky. Not quite as hot as Fasher or Nyala and definitely cooler than Khartoum these days. I arrived the day before the regional market day and was able to see thousands of people descend from the surrounding hills bringing their wares to sell or trade. Most were on foot but had four or five donkeys carrying their goods to market. The children either walked or rode along with the merchandise. I wish I could have taken a picture of the throngs of folks crossing the dry river bed (called Wadi). Here the sand is white and deep and people move very slowly passing these huge trees that grow in the center of the rivers. I thought at first they were Boabab trees but I now know them as Tibaldi trees. Are they the same thing? Guess I could have looked that up before writing in this log, but you are free to do so. Okay rambling again. But the image of the people wearing so many different colors moving slowly towards a vibrant market day was amazing.

Unfortunately, a breathtaking moment is not always a picture taking moment, especially when you have a few dozen rough looking militia and soldiers also making their way to the market to keep order in case some of the merchants or traders happen to be rebels looking for trouble. So the camera stayed in the bag.

While I was visiting this desert paradise, I experienced my first real rain. It rained from morning to evening and the following day the town was empty. Merchants closed their shops. The market where I buy my pita bread was closed. It was not until the helicopter flight out back to Fasher that I saw everyone out in the fields planting. The dry river beds became roaring rivers and the white sandy and rocky landscape took on a pale green hue. Amazing to be able to witness this natural transition from barren land to green terrain with promise.

I also managed to fly over a few displaced persons camps and villages along the way since the helicopter flies very low. The life of an IDP is one of fear. Every time the UN opens an encampment, those afraid of renewed attacks with pitch their tent close-by. When another 500 households do the same, a camp is born. Suddenly the needs of one family is complicated by the competing needs of 20,000 people. Many of these camps are not government approved and attempts are made to dismantle them or deny its residents access to humanitarian food and water. But eventually access is granted and these camps become formally recognized IDP concentrations. The ideal is for the international organizations and NGOs to establish a camp formally, with rows between each house, designated areas for latrines and schools, and social time. Unfortunately most camps look like this picture. People all pushed together and little chance for reorganization.

I will speak more about the camps in my next entry. We just lost power again and I will sign off to save on the battery life of this computer.