# thirdworldliving

Although, to be fair to other third world cities, we *are* scrapping the bottom of the third world barrel

Aka, perhaps this shit only happens in *this* city

# at the airport, immigration officials outdo each other to be as rude to you as can be

# dogs roaming the streets like they own this shit

#mosquitos!

#finally! Good coverage of international news on t.v

(*on that note, fkc south Carolina and those in-bred kkk’s (including those imported from n.carolina). its time to bring back the BPP.)

# you add cellphone ‘credit/minutes’ to your mobile phone in order to buy internet ‘daily bundles’

-          This shit is slower than dial-up

-          You bought a weekly bundle once, which was used up in a day, and never again

-          ‘it swallowed my credit’ becomes a sentence that makes sense

# your main phone network line works sporadically, hence you have more than one phone number

*downloads fbmessenger, whatsapp, viber just to make sure you have options*

# children less than three years old running around barefoot, half-naked playing unsupervised (it’s a beautiful thing, these kids are fearless)

# child labour (depressing)

# the lack of concern about child labour (frustrating)

# kids walking to and from school in their brand new uniforms (uniforms are ugly, watching the kids enthusiasm brings a smile to my face)

#women breastfeeding whenever and wherever (this should be life)

#all adult women are seemingly always in three stages of reproduction; either pregnant, or breastfeeding, or getting ready to be pregnant.

#the fact that households leave covered pots of water with cups outside their gates for passersby to have a cup of water on their onward journey (little mercies)

# soldiers walking around with aka47s slung around their shoulders is a ubiquitous sight

-          The fact that they are not as many as a few years ago is a sign of progress

-          You can tell the ones who have been kitted out with new guns since your last visit

-          You are impressed that the curfew is not being enforced and the checkpoints are fewer

# you can be arrested arbitrarily, including for ‘talking back/ badly’  #truestory

#your friends advice you to have on speed dial, the numbers of a powerful person/someone with connections, a lawyer and a doctor, just in case, for next time, if you ever do get arrested. *pause*

# you’ve ridden around in a truck full of soldiers, all the while thinking wtf is this life

# half the country is at war but we party and bullshit in the capital city

# an argument about politics is always about two minutes ahead in any conversation

#everybody’s got answers but nobody is asking the right questions

#”we liberated this country” is considered a valid way of ending said political discussions, especially when it’s contrary to the status quo/ way of thinking

# we all know national security is listening. We also know they drive the cars without number plates

#knowing the dollar exchange rate at the black market, but not the official rate

#this exchange rate tripled in the six months since you’ve been here, yet we continue to soldier on

# majority live in poverty but huge SUVs are the main mode of transport for a chosen few

#the moment you realize you and your grandkids will be paying off the debts that were taken to buy said SUVs and accommodate people in expensive hotels

#motorcycles/boda bodas are the main means of public transportation for the rest of us

#nobody you know takes public transportation and wtf is wrong with you? Hire a car

# drinking spiced tea under a tree while the tea lady and her clients regale you with funny stories

#tea options include hibiscus or fenugreek tea

#becoming one of those people who spend hours drinking numerous cups of tea under a tree while talking about ‘building the nation’

#you can spend hours ‘people-watching’

#ethiopian coffee, now *this* is life

#the local coffee, spiced with a lot of ginger- now *this* is heavenly

#food from the local restaurant tastes way better than anything you make when you are home

#not knowing how to speak the main language or mother-tongue is shameful and a pity. in fact, since most people speak at least four languages, nobody gets it.

# complaining about any and everything about this country even though you realize you will never stop coming back, regardless.

July 9th... and almost getting arrested

Feels like every time I come to Juba, someone or other threatens to arrest/detain me. I am not sure if this is something to do with me specifically, or if it reflects the fact that at one point or another, someone is either always being arrested/detained for no apparent reason.

I tried to go to the Independence Day celebrations with a camera. I passed one checkpoint on the way there and no one mentioned that cameras are not allowed. This was until I got to the mausoleum, where apparently having a professional-looking camera, without being either a journalist or possessing a press pass is highly suspicious. 

As soon as I get into the mausoleum, the next thing I know I am being interrogated by a number of people. 

 “Why do you have a camera, are you a journalist? No? Do you have a press pass? No? Then you have to leave. No, you are not allowed to have a camera here. And where are you coming from? Are you from Nairobi or are you from U.S? And when did you get here? You came here yesterday? No, no, no, no, this is very suspect.  where are your papers? You don’t have your passport? Where do you work? You do not work? then what are you doing here? Yes, this is very suspicious, sit over there.”

And every few minutes a new person would come and ask a variation of these same questions.

Until finally a soldier forcefully marches me out of the mausoleum. 

I do think he mainly wanted to confiscate the camera, because instead of letting me leave once we get outside, he once again starts with the interrogation, now to also include; “Ita junubin? From where? Northern Bahr El Gazal? Where? Oh im also from Aweil. And why you don’t speak mother tongue.”

At this point I am not really sure what the purpose of these personal questions are, it’s not like we are about to have a reunion during this street interrogation, and its about a 40-minute walk back to where im staying, i need to get moving if i am going to walk back. 

I finally ask, exasperated; “Why can’t I have a camera and take pictures, as a normal citizen, only journalists are allowed to have professional cameras here in South Sudan? And fine if that is the case, then you need to let me go so I can go return this camera, I’ve already left the mausoleum."

Which causes him to accuse me of talking badly/ being disrespectful, and this of course, in addition to the camera, warrants my being arrested. At this point there is really not much I can say or do, especially after I asked what I was being arrested for, and the response was, ‘you shall see.’

And it’s less than 24 hours of my being in this country.

He calls for a military police truck, which after about five minutes, pulls over, with 4 armed soldiers in the back. 

I am 5 feet 6 inches, and weigh about fifty five kilos (120 pounds) and apparently I am a threat. 

I really just can’t believe all this, at this point. All I wanted was to celebrate Independence Day and actually planned my entire trip around this. This was not how i imagined my day would be like. Not only that, i am not sure what exactly happens after this.

His superior comes over and asks what the problem is and we both explain our sides of the scenario.  At this point I am thinking of what I always say; the day I end up in jail in this country is the day I am never coming back. 

But he surprises the both of us by saying, “khalas, this is what we are going to do. Where are you staying? Tombura road? Okay we will take you to where you are staying to return the camera and then we will bring you back”. 

The soldier does not like this and tries to speak but he is told, 'khalas, this is a very small matter, I will solve the issue.'

So I get into the MP truck, and we go to drop off the camera. 

Enroute back to the mausoleum, we come upon a hit-and-run accident; two boda bodas (motorcycles) and two guys lying on the road- and the other guys point at a car driving off in haste saying that’s the car that hit us. So off we give chase to the other car. (clearly this is more drama than I bargained for)

The driver is a woman and she has a child in the car; she is bleeding but the child is alright and is handed over to a neighbour to take home. She probably did not stop because in this country, accidents can get violent. The soldiers believe one of the guys involved in the accident might be dead, and so we take her to Juba traffic police station in downtown. I really do feel sorry for her, because i am sure this was not how she imagined her day would be like, either.

One thing I have to say though is I that was grateful to be in that vehicle, regardless. Because I have no doubt if left to the other soldier, I would have probably spent the day in a jail, for no reason. And the experience of driving around with the MP was not at all bad:  all the other cars give way, all the solders on the roads let us through, even when one of those official escorts are driving past, and these soldiers were a lot more polite. This was definitely a view from a different side. 

I am finally dropped off at mausoleum. (I will write about this experience later)

Juba, I have to say. Shit like this only ever happens to me here. One of these days this country is going to push me too far - and when that happens I know I will probably never come back. I guess until then, its like a ticking bomb

July 8th: Return to Juba, after six months away

Landed in Juba today, after six months away. And this city definitely beats to its own drum.

At the immigration desk they insist on calling me ‘Nyabo,’ because in South Sudan any unmarried or childless female, regardless of age, is considered a girl, and since Nyabo is the Ugandan word for ‘girl’ and I look appropriately non-South Sudanese…

I always have to deal with these assumptions. And when I complained about being neither Ugandan, nor a girl (35 years old is not a girl, its an adult), the only thing this earned me was the right to be shuffled a few counters over to be asked additional questions:  “where do you come from, what are you coming to do here in south sudan, is this your first time here, where do you work, you don’t work? then what do you do? Do you have family here? etc. I definitely feel like a foreigner every time I land here, and even though I consider this to be home.

And I do come here by choice -it’s certainly not even because of any family or work obligations.

However, on the drive from the airport, there were all these cars flying the flag of south sudan and this evening, I hear people out and about celebrating, cars honking and music playing. Tomorrow is the fourth anniversary of our independence.This is the reason i am back.

I see numerous editorials talking about we have little to celebrate and this makes me realize how little they understand. Four years ago we waited for days, stood in line for hours, and decided we wanted to stake ownership of our own land. This, for us, will always be worth celebrating, even as we watch ourselves destroy this country. 

Only those who have been stateless know what it means to have nowhere to stake claim to and nowhere that claims us. Only those who have ever experienced being a refugee knows what it means to finally have a homeland. Even when i come back and are made to feel like a foreigner, because i dont 'look' or 'act' south sudanese, it does not take away from the fact that this is still where i belong. 

So yes it still matters. And we must still celebrate it, even if it is for a day. 

We can go back to mourning the direction in which we are headed, the day after July 9th.