[s]

The dark stares follow as we slowly drive past. Is it a look of innocent curiosity? Of simple envy? Of animosity and hatred? Of wanting to slit my throat and take my boots? They line the roadways, scattered around the town, at the intersections, hovering around after school, from the militias protecting commanders. I am starting to think there is a huge hurdle a foreigner must over come to surpass the biases and stereotypes that exist here within the general public.

My cynical voice speaking now: I look around at all the UN and humanitarian SUVs driving around here and I’m left wondering what the hell are they actually doing? I see the huge compounds they have, the large amount of expat staff – not to mention the necessary staff in their home countries to support operations. With the large percentage of organizations here, is it making this place any better off, are the local people benefiting, is it becoming any more sustainable, any more self sufficient? Is there really any hope that the proper initiatives will be taken to grab the reigns of future ownership? I can only hope that it will, otherwise everything will be in vain and billions of dollars flush down the pit latrine.

Back to my normal voice:
Guns are prevalent among the [S] soldiers and they drive around at top speeds, sending other cars for cover on the shoulders. When a dignitary is in town or moving around in his motorcade, they swarm around him – intimidating bystanders with the big guns on the pickup trucks. They are above the law. They can shoot and never ask questions. They have a license to kill and people are afraid of them. The peace here balances gingerly on a hair pin trigger – vulnerable at being lost with any excuse to exacerbate tribal differences or historic vendettas. In these environments, the situation can change on a dime.

I talked with a couple of [S] soldiers and they had both joined when they were 9 years old. Child soldiers, given a gun and told to fight - and now that is all the know. They never went to school, they never were able to grow up as boys. They had been fighting for 21 years. They didn’t go into details on the war, but talked about the hopelessness they feel living here in Sudan and how they wanted a better life. Being both 30 years old – old in Sudan standards where the average life span is in the mid 40s (or something like that), they talked as if their lives were coming to an end, but that they had so much more that they wanted to do (for example one wanted to marry an American woman).

As a fellow 30 year old, I couldn’t imagine thinking that my life was about over. This is our only chance at life on this planet and to have it be so short – there is no re-start once we reach terminal age. They said that the lack of good (nutritious) food and medical facilities were the main reasons people didn’t live long. There was a constant despair lining his every sentence, until he started talking about Rambo – yes, the movie. I told him that Rambo was back in theaters with another movie...and that made his day. I will try to find a copy of it to show him.