Darfur - Day 6

Please note that any opinions expressed in this blog are those of Chip Duncan and do not represent any other organizations or individuals. Darfur is a place of constant change and any statistical references are approximate and may change rapidly. If you are reading this after January, 2008, please verify any information with up-to-date and verifiable resources.


Day 6 – Jan. 6, 2008 – I awake early, 6:00 a.m. (ok, well it’s early for me). It’s part jet lag, of course. Our internal clocks have gone haywire and Bob has been up since 4:00. It’s also due in part to the 4:00 a.m. “call to prayer” which is, admittedly, hard to sleep through. It’s worth noting that all the beds are covered by mosquito netting even though malaria is not as prevalent during the dry season. In fact, the only critters we’re made aware of that frequent the area are scorpions.

Breakfast is simple – eggs and bread. I’m not a tea drinker and the instant Nescafe coffee has gone from a terrible necessity to an acceptable one in just a few days in Sudan. I can’t say I’m thrilled to be getting used to it. There is tap water here and at the RI compound, the water for the sinks and showers is chlorinated but still not potable. We have to boil all water for drinking in hot drinks or for cooking to avoid illness. As it is, visitors are more susceptible to various bacteria their bodies are unfamiliar with – and Bob and I are doing our best not just to wash our hands regularly, but also to use a Purel-type disinfectant before eating. Generally, I follow the old Peace Corps motto – if you can’t boil it or peel it, don’t eat it. So bread and hard boiled eggs it is – and yes, the jar of peanut butter we brought along comes in handy.

At 6:45 the hand held radio report comes through and there’s been another shooting in the market. It’s the second in two days. We would take extra precaution except, frankly, it’s not unusual so there’s nothing extra to do. At some point, whether you’re a resident, a humanitarian worker or a displaced person, you have no choice but to simply go about your life.

Today’s a big day – our first visit to one of the several camps for people who are often referred to as IDPs – that is, Internally Displaced People. In other words, people who have been forced to leave their homes and livelihoods and have been relocated to camps. Relief International runs a medical clinic in Zam Zam that’s about 9 kilometers south of El Fasher.

Zam Zam is named after a holy well located in the Masjid al Haram in Mecca, Saudi Arabia. However, there is no well at the Zam Zam Camp.

After a stop at the office, we drive south to Zam Zam in a beat up minivan. The countryside is bleak and flat with a few huge old trees here and there – obviously left behind in the clear cut. The road is paved in most places but is generally washed out in low spots or near the small bridges. Flooding through the area is common during the rainy season. During just 9 kilometers, we pass through two security checkpoints. The sides of the road are also used for transit by many local people riding an assortment of horse drawn carts, donkeys and camels.

As we approach the R.I. clinic, we see that it’s surrounded by the camp itself. There are approximately 40,000 people living in Zam Zam Camp – mostly in makeshift brick or grass huts. Some have been here as long as 4 years, others arrived yesterday. As many as 600 people are arriving each week and Relief International is running the only clinic in the camp.

The clinic itself is a group of about 8 buildings on roughly 1.5 acres of land. It’s been spruced up to be as attractive as possible, and it’s definitely clean, friendly and inviting. R.I. services include nutrition programs, basic health care for injuries, disease, illness and check ups, immunizations, and maternal care. They also run a pharmacy and an area where children’s health can be monitored for height and weight. During our brief visit, several toddlers and babies are being immunized and as many as 40-50 women are receiving both nutrition packs and medicines from the pharmacy.

There are many common ailments here that affect people of all ages – the most common include issues related to pregnancy, malnutrition, malaria and long term cases of diarrhea or dysentery. HIV is a significant and growing concern here as well. Children here are at significant risk as they are throughout many parts of the developing world and both the maternal and infant death rates are high.

All services are free, of course, and the R.I. team in Zam Zam includes as many as 25 doctors, nurses and midwives as well as assistants for everything from registration to record keeping. The clinic is currently serving as many as 3-400 patients each day. They operate six days a week; however, for security reasons, the clinic can not operate at night.

While we’re visiting, we see scores of women and children receiving much needed food and medicines as well as education in ways to improve the health, hygiene and welfare of their families. Maternal care is in many ways the most significant part of the clinic. It’s here that women can gain assistance throughout their pregnancies and, when it’s time, deliver their babies safely. While I’m photographing the main room, one young pregnant woman shows signs of dehydration and stress and faints into the arms of Dr. Wali. The team is quick to administer assistance and within moments she’s cared for by doctors and midwife assistants who administer IV fluids. Before we leave, we’re told by Dr. Mohammed, the resident physician, that the woman will be fine once her dehydration is mitigated.

It’s worth noting that sustainability is a significant goal of the R.I. team. In other words, the thinking is both short term and long term. The R.I. staff working daily in the Zam Zam clinic is Sudanese and their commitment to care and education is admirable. There is also a positive spirit that I find pervades the team. While smiles can be hard to find in Darfur, the camp is a safe, clean and progressive environment with pure motives – regardless of what’s facilitating the crisis here, the R.I. team, like so many in the NGO community, is simply here to help.

After our visit to the clinic, we’re allowed to make a drive through the camp itself. Whatever roads or infrastructure exists in the camps, it’s developed organically and over time. In other words, the roads are crooked, the housing random, and there’s no specific planning for the sort of things one finds in a normal village or city – that is, no fire hydrants or infrastructure related to electricity, water resources or trash collection. It simply doesn’t exist here.

Of course, we quickly see the desperate conditions people are living in. Those who have been here longest have found ways to build single room homes out of handmade brick and whatever materials they can find. Others, mostly newcomers, are living under whatever shelter they can find or manufacture – stick poles, grass, cardboard and plastic are the norm. The people here have few possessions, and what they do have they’ve carried with them for long distances.

As we had in El Fasher, we do find commerce going on in the camps, though it’s far from thriving. There is a market of sorts and there are men using sewing machines (powered with their feet on pedals) and doing basic repairs on everything from bicycles to hand carts.

What is most striking to me in the camp is the spirit of the children. As I’ve seen in various slums around the world, the kids have a way of rising above their condition. Within seconds of getting out of our vehicle, we’re surrounded by kids from 2 to about 12 who simply want to follow the excitement of our visit. We take some pictures and make a point of shaking hands with everyone who comes to see us. When I’m taking pictures of kids, I often make a game out of it and try to take the time to show them their own images – whether on a video screen or the back of a digital camera. In some places, I carry a Polaroid camera and try to leave pictures behind. In this case, there isn’t room for more equipment so I’m hopeful that I can create some prints and try to get them back to the camp via R.I. staff.

Our time in the camp is restricted by the various curfews we face and by 1:30 we’re forced to leave. As we’re riding back, Bob and I discuss the R.I. team and, in particular, their commitment to serving people who have, literally, no one else in their corner. If there’s a more difficult job on earth, we do not know what it is.

Back at the guesthouse, I do whatever work I can to log and take notes on our day. Within an hour or two, I’m feeling claustrophobic. Among the challenges for the humanitarian workers here that I find hard to comprehend is the significant amount of time spent in the small compound – mostly indoors. I try to get a sense of what people do to occupy themselves when their social life is so limited. Yes, there is a dialup service for internet (slow), satellite television (more than 200 channels, most in non-English languages), and books. We discover that the R.I. team enjoys cooking and both Bob and I do our best to get involved. Even with that, it’s not long after dark that I climb back under the mosquito net for another nights sleep.

###

Thanks for following along on The Road To Darfur. Please visit again tomorrow for Day 7. If you’d like more information on the humanitarian work performed by Relief International throughout Sudan or elsewhere, please visit RI.org. Your help will make a difference to the people of Zam Zam Camp and elsewhere!