Almost half way

On Saturday it happened, for the first time since I've been here: I was bored. I had finished Karen Blixen's "Out of Africa". I had read the last copy of "The Economist" that my parents brought me. I had written several pages in my journal and listened to some podcasts from Norwegian radio. I was sitting on the terrace, the temperature was pleasantly cool, and I was bored.

This was probably a good thing. It spurred me on to making plans for the immediate and not so immediate future. For instance, I decided I want to learn how to sail a sailboat, and maybe sail a regatta with some of my girlfriends. The offer from the Swede Leif to go to Yei with some friends of his newt weekend or the one after looked more interesting all of a sudden. I decided to call a meeting with the youth from the SSYPA network. And I offered Jeroge in accounts my assistance if needed. Etc. And by Sunday evening I had heard enough about other people's lives enough to decide that considering the kind of excitement most likely to occur here in Juba, a dull existence, as uneventful as possible, is quite a treasure.

Our house has not been cleaned since Tuesday last week. Dirty dishes, dusty floors and the lack of toilet paper are all evidence of this. My roommate was musing over the possible reasons for the absence of our housekeeper Angela, and decided she must be offended for some reason. "Angela gets easily offended", she stated. Implying: "The Sudanese have no work ethic." My roommate has discovered, after my reading aloud from my "Healthy Travel Africa" Lonely Planet Guide, that she is suffering from culture shock (being a Kenyan in Sudan). Let me quote phase two of culture shock (p. 232 in the 2000 edition): "Hostility as the novelty wears off and the differences start to irritate - you may feel critical of you host country, stereotyping local people; you may feel weepy, irritable, defensive, homesick, lonely and isolated, perhaps worried about you physical health". Going to "the river" (that is how we refer to the Nile) for lunch on Sunday with my collegues Leif, Mina and Jeroge, I asked them whether Angela had cleaned the men's guesthouse last week. She had not. Turns out her house burned down on Easter Sunday...

The other ladies in my guesthouse, Margaret and Flora, often refer to people as "this girl" or "this man". For instance, "this boy is no good at his job" or "this man is very sick. I will take him to the hospital", leaving you to guess at who "this" person is, as he is clearly not "here", but somewhere else. Apparently "this man" is one who works in accounts at the office. He has been off from work for the last week. He has a liver problem. A shrunken liver. Which leaves me of course worried about him, but also slightly worried of the employment policy here. At least if what I hear about the causes of shrunken livers are true. The second of three men in accounts has also been away from work for a week. He went home one day last week because he didn't feel too good. On his way home he had an accident on his motorcycle. He is said to be recovering, after spending one night in the hospital.

Which reminds me of a story much talked about this weekend: the vetrinarian in Taiwan or was it Thailand that had his arm chewed off by a crocodile, but had it sewn back on again. I doubt the doctors here would even have considered such a surgery. They cannot even cure those who come into the hospital infected with cholera.

Flora went back to Khartoum this weekend. Back to her house and her regular position at the NCA office there. She took her daughter and her outgoing but loud personality with her and kindly left me some local cough medicine that I've been refusing to take. Right now, I consider my choices to be a little sick but coping or very sick on a medical evacuation flight out of here. I might have a slight culture shock myself, as I am feeling critical of my host country's medical facilities. Or it could be just plain good sense.

For a couple of nights, then, Margaret and I are the only two left at the ladies' guesthouse. Birgit is returning from her three-week leave tomorrow. On Thursday, I believe, they will both go to Khartoum for some days. I have to stay in Juba, as my visa is only valid for South Sudan. I've been a little worried at the though of staying alone in the house. This stems from the rumor that some of the builder currently living in our garden are former LRA soldiers. Disgruntled LRA soldier, as they have not been paid for three months. But maybe one of the men will sleep in Flora's old room while the others are gone. And last night, the builders were actually trying to protect us when Margaret spotted a snake by the back stairs. They came with long sticks and prodded the snake, which turned out to be a leaf. I should say, though, that it resembled a snake to me too, and Margaret's mind was probably already tuned into snakes, as I had seen one by the river earlier in the day. I had been hoping for some time to see a crocodile, which would be a fun animal spotting during my stay here. A proper Nile crocodile. Great was therefore my joy when I finally saw one yesterday! It was only fifteen centimeters/six inches long, but it was a crocodile! ("Throw them to the crocodiles!"/Cleopatra).

Today I faced one of my big fears here: driving. Margaret forced me to drive to work. In a very low car, not extremely suitable for the road conditions here, and with the steering wheel and the stick shift on the wrong side. Kenyan car, where they drive on the wrong side of the road, just like in Britain. Sudanese roads, where they drive on the right side of the road, but where everything else you've learnt about driving can be tossed out the window. Easy does it. And dull it is not.