Distillations of Darfur
He is leading a camel through the streets of El Fasher, Sudan. Streets that are more sand than tarmac, filled with people leading donkeys, riding donkeys and with donkeys carrying loads that seem unimaginable for their small frames, and emaciated bodies. Flowing white forms; bodies that are dusted black and shades of brown from the Sahara sands that blow and cover everything with its thin film. He is shielding his face with a black turban that shields his eyes from the biting sand, and glaring heat. He catches my eyes and there is something unreadable in that glance. For a moment I feel that despite immense distance in experience that I can sense his thoughts. I represent something that although intangible, represents something very real to these nomads who find themselves traveling alone and in small numbers to prevent fear from spreading from their presence. They represent something too, and in that moment it is this that causes recognition between us. “He is from the North”, Zaky my driver said, watching me watching the man with the black turban. “You can tell by the way he wears his turban and leads his camel. He comes from the North. Maybe he does not want to be recognized.”
El Fasher is the Northern most state of the three states of Darfur. El Fasher town is a market town and one whose size has burgeoned by almost 100,000 from internally displaced people (IDPs) who have fled attacks, insecurity, and food shortages to come to the "relative” safety of these populated market towns. They have come by the tens of thousands, seeking refuge, and services that they may or may not have had in the villages that they have left behind, many of them burned and isolated. They come in droves, with little on their backs. Those that are fortunate enough to have donkeys or horses have loaded these animals with all that they could manage to tie onto their backs, giving a new meaning to the term “beast of burden”. These livestock represent livelihood and mobility and in an even more “real” sense safety and security to flee when there is a need. Now these donkeys, horse carts, and camels walk the streets of El Fasher blurring the line between village and town.
IDP Camps have flooded the town of El Fasher with new residents, some 20,000 finding cover in the town with relatives or friends, some living in doorways, verandahs and abandoned spaces. More than 100,000 are living in camps, made into small ghettos of relief as more and more organizations find space, staff, and permissions to operate in Sudan. Slender frames walk the streets looking to supplement their meager holdings with some small venture in the town. In the market one sometimes finds Jerry Cans and Plastic Sheeting being used in a local stall, far from the shores of these humanitarian havens. Hands move goods from fist to mouth and sometimes from fist to famine if one is old, isolated, without family or a method to cook or gather fuel for their stoves.
The vulnerable are all around and it is hard to know which one is more vulnerable than the next. They all have their edges, drawn in the sand by the conflict that holds them at bay, far from their villages, communities, and lives. There is still fear, even here in this populated town. It is easy for the IDPs to spot those that have “harmed” from those that are ”hurt”. This identification, recognition and reemergence of fear and distrust are everywhere. Most conversations will come back to this place, if one inquires about the weather, the cost of millet in the market, or asks seemingly benign questions about the price of a grass mat in the local Suka. This sudden wave of people into pressured places causes feelings to come close to the surface and all have been affected in one way or the other.
Abu Shouk Camp is a small “town” of close to 70,000 people. It is full of shelters some made to a “standard” and most made to design, covered with what cloth, blankets or coverings a family could find. There are more women than men and more children than one would think could be in such a place. Crowds gather at water stands and long lines form whenever some commodity is being distributed such as small pieces of soap given away to promote hygiene and encourage sanitation and discourage the spread of disease. Abu Shouk is one village made into many, and although family units and relatives may live in the same Zone, it is often quite mixed and represents many movements of people fleeing to safety, and seeking to find some meager security and assurance that their children will not be shot and killed and that their livestock, if any will survive and not be stolen and sold. There is vibrancy, but also a vibration of constant movement to prevent grief, an undercurrent that shimmers in the colorful Hijabs of the women in the camp.
There are many children in the camp, although most are kept busy gathering water, waiting in lines, or going to receive supplemental feedings. The word “resilience” is uttered to describe how children can smile and laugh even after such grief and trauma. Resilience, may not be the term, but rather resolve, and reassurance that despite the fears, the insecurity and the lack of food, that this too will pass into something that may be harder or may be more tolerable. There are no guarantees in this place and this seems to be more of a fact of life, a comfort of sorts that allows some balance to what comes ahead and sneaks in from behind.
No one expects the root causes of this conflict to be uprooted. It will not turn over on its side like the trees surrounding the towns where these IDP camps are, chopped to pieces despite age, and tenure to fuel a few stoves and to heat a few meals. There will be no deep wells in the sand left behind from this, looking more like bomb wells, than the uprooted soil and space from these titans of the desert, stripped desolate by destitution. This conflict is like the drought that has plagued these sanded shores for years. There are years, of plenty and there are years of war. There have been periods of stability, growth, and pockets of resistance to the tribal clashes, but the land and its slow demise has gradually forced friends to foes.
These IDPs are products of a long line of problems that have plagued this place. The mass and scale is what has caused distant shores from the US, to France and Belgium to raise their tired eyes to look into the sand storms of Darfur. Humanitarian operations have opened a gaping wound and now there appears to be nothing but brittle grass to work on stitching up this sore. We are all a party to this wound, and there is no Good Samaritan clause, that lets you walk away, once you have provided your best attempt at integrated and comprehensive care. These faces stay with you and so will this place once you have seen some of the places that these people have left behind, and listened to some of their experiences that continue to plague them at night.
Darfur has a long history of being a place that was not easily controlled, regulated, or even understood. It was not only the outside looking in that saw Darfur as a place that did not exist until the term “Genocide” was discussed on BBC and Network news. Even people in Khartoum have never sought to travel to these three States. The North had been at war with the South for so long, and Darfur was used by the GOS and interested parties to allow for migration and integration for people flowing from the borders of Chad, West Africa and beyond. These people were allowed to roam their camels and livestock in the deserts, maintaining roots of trade and movement that were critical for their livelihoods. They would trade goods for millet and cereals to feed their families on the way to distant markets in Egypt, Libya and even the Middle East.
El Fasher is the Northern most state of the three states of Darfur. El Fasher town is a market town and one whose size has burgeoned by almost 100,000 from internally displaced people (IDPs) who have fled attacks, insecurity, and food shortages to come to the "relative” safety of these populated market towns. They have come by the tens of thousands, seeking refuge, and services that they may or may not have had in the villages that they have left behind, many of them burned and isolated. They come in droves, with little on their backs. Those that are fortunate enough to have donkeys or horses have loaded these animals with all that they could manage to tie onto their backs, giving a new meaning to the term “beast of burden”. These livestock represent livelihood and mobility and in an even more “real” sense safety and security to flee when there is a need. Now these donkeys, horse carts, and camels walk the streets of El Fasher blurring the line between village and town.
IDP Camps have flooded the town of El Fasher with new residents, some 20,000 finding cover in the town with relatives or friends, some living in doorways, verandahs and abandoned spaces. More than 100,000 are living in camps, made into small ghettos of relief as more and more organizations find space, staff, and permissions to operate in Sudan. Slender frames walk the streets looking to supplement their meager holdings with some small venture in the town. In the market one sometimes finds Jerry Cans and Plastic Sheeting being used in a local stall, far from the shores of these humanitarian havens. Hands move goods from fist to mouth and sometimes from fist to famine if one is old, isolated, without family or a method to cook or gather fuel for their stoves.
The vulnerable are all around and it is hard to know which one is more vulnerable than the next. They all have their edges, drawn in the sand by the conflict that holds them at bay, far from their villages, communities, and lives. There is still fear, even here in this populated town. It is easy for the IDPs to spot those that have “harmed” from those that are ”hurt”. This identification, recognition and reemergence of fear and distrust are everywhere. Most conversations will come back to this place, if one inquires about the weather, the cost of millet in the market, or asks seemingly benign questions about the price of a grass mat in the local Suka. This sudden wave of people into pressured places causes feelings to come close to the surface and all have been affected in one way or the other.
Abu Shouk Camp is a small “town” of close to 70,000 people. It is full of shelters some made to a “standard” and most made to design, covered with what cloth, blankets or coverings a family could find. There are more women than men and more children than one would think could be in such a place. Crowds gather at water stands and long lines form whenever some commodity is being distributed such as small pieces of soap given away to promote hygiene and encourage sanitation and discourage the spread of disease. Abu Shouk is one village made into many, and although family units and relatives may live in the same Zone, it is often quite mixed and represents many movements of people fleeing to safety, and seeking to find some meager security and assurance that their children will not be shot and killed and that their livestock, if any will survive and not be stolen and sold. There is vibrancy, but also a vibration of constant movement to prevent grief, an undercurrent that shimmers in the colorful Hijabs of the women in the camp.
There are many children in the camp, although most are kept busy gathering water, waiting in lines, or going to receive supplemental feedings. The word “resilience” is uttered to describe how children can smile and laugh even after such grief and trauma. Resilience, may not be the term, but rather resolve, and reassurance that despite the fears, the insecurity and the lack of food, that this too will pass into something that may be harder or may be more tolerable. There are no guarantees in this place and this seems to be more of a fact of life, a comfort of sorts that allows some balance to what comes ahead and sneaks in from behind.
No one expects the root causes of this conflict to be uprooted. It will not turn over on its side like the trees surrounding the towns where these IDP camps are, chopped to pieces despite age, and tenure to fuel a few stoves and to heat a few meals. There will be no deep wells in the sand left behind from this, looking more like bomb wells, than the uprooted soil and space from these titans of the desert, stripped desolate by destitution. This conflict is like the drought that has plagued these sanded shores for years. There are years, of plenty and there are years of war. There have been periods of stability, growth, and pockets of resistance to the tribal clashes, but the land and its slow demise has gradually forced friends to foes.
These IDPs are products of a long line of problems that have plagued this place. The mass and scale is what has caused distant shores from the US, to France and Belgium to raise their tired eyes to look into the sand storms of Darfur. Humanitarian operations have opened a gaping wound and now there appears to be nothing but brittle grass to work on stitching up this sore. We are all a party to this wound, and there is no Good Samaritan clause, that lets you walk away, once you have provided your best attempt at integrated and comprehensive care. These faces stay with you and so will this place once you have seen some of the places that these people have left behind, and listened to some of their experiences that continue to plague them at night.
Darfur has a long history of being a place that was not easily controlled, regulated, or even understood. It was not only the outside looking in that saw Darfur as a place that did not exist until the term “Genocide” was discussed on BBC and Network news. Even people in Khartoum have never sought to travel to these three States. The North had been at war with the South for so long, and Darfur was used by the GOS and interested parties to allow for migration and integration for people flowing from the borders of Chad, West Africa and beyond. These people were allowed to roam their camels and livestock in the deserts, maintaining roots of trade and movement that were critical for their livelihoods. They would trade goods for millet and cereals to feed their families on the way to distant markets in Egypt, Libya and even the Middle East.
More Stories from the Field to follow...
posted by kukuziwa at 6:57 PM
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