Feeling the gentle light of the early morning dawn, I lie still in that half way place between dream and wake as I vaguely remember dreaming all night that someone must have a pet monkey in the next room. Then as I slowly gain consciousness, I hear clicking noises out the window and realize the obvious fact that the incessant chatter that was disturbing my sleep was not the pet monkey of some guest, but rather the sounds of a real animal right outside of our room. I am struck by the fantastic reality that I am waking for the first time in Africa.

I step out on to the veranda and to see the sun breaking over the river Cheri as it snakes its way in front of the hotel. I can see the fisherman poling across the lazy river collecting the morning catch and on the far bank in Cameroon farmers are already busy working their plots.

I walk down to the grounds and up to the barded wire fence that separates the hotel from the muddy banks of the river below. There are families living in huts and plots of crops growing along the river banks below. There is a family below and woman holds up two, 3 foot long catfish, and asks me in Arabic if I would like to buy them? I try and explain that I am mostly a vegetarian and everyone laughs in that uncomfortable way that happens when you don’t share common language and neither side can understand what the other is saying. As I politely decline her offer, I am struck by the reality of how strange it is to explain the luxury of my picky eating habits to people who know what real hunger is. I’m not sure how much lactose intolerance or vegetarianism exists here, but my guess is that people are probably just grateful when they have something eat.

UNHCR Guest House, Guereda

Dogs have not stopped barking since we got back to the guesthouse in Guereda. Hala is a wonderful host. It gives me a warm feeling to be meeting people that now know us, and must believe that what we are doing is right because they treat us as family.

I enjoyed today’s flight from Abeche. It took us all the way north to Bahai first, then down to Iriba, and finally to our destination, Guereda. The two American pilots gave us a smooth ride in a little plane that looked like it could so easily be rattled by any weak turbulence. When we landed in Bahai, which is in the middle of the desert, one of the pilots (from Austin, TX) ran out to a heard of camels that was close by. The other pilot (from Pennsylvania) told us that his friend had been wanting a camel for a pet. The dog and cat they had at their Abeche home was not enough. TX pilot ran back from the camels and said that the camel herder tried to call him over. Penn pilot told him, “never trust a cigar smoking camel salesman!” I don’t know if it was the cold desert air, but I thought that was really funny!

Tomorrow, there is no more flying. We get to head out to Camp Kounoungo. There has been so much violence around this area for some time now. Aid workers have to live with the very real possibility of being attacked, mostly for the cars. This is my third visit to Guereda, so I somehow feel comfortable, but I never forget that we are in an area of active conflict. I get to leave though, and I never forget that either. The refugees stay. SGN is focused and energized to make a concrete, positive difference on the life of the refugees you will be meeting during the next 10 days of i-ACT. The relationships that you will be a part of, between communities half-a-world apart, will continue and will grow.

I hope you don’t get sick of hearing this because I just cannot say it enough. I am immensely grateful for my SGN/i-ACT teammates. KTJ here with me and the team back home is really family. To all of them, as we get ready to start the ten day marathon, you are very much loved. Also a part of my team is my familia. They not only put up with me being away, but they also participate on everything SGN does. Un abrazo a todos!

Paz,
g

After months of preparation and me doing the best packing job of my life we finally landed in Chad after 24 hours in transit. Traveling from LA to Paris to Chad has been a fascinating and wild ride. I didn’t sleep for the first 19 hours because I was so full of anticipation and excitement and having so many interesting conversations with people from all over the world their perspective on the situation and about our adventure. Everyone was very supportive and enrolled and always issuing the ever present reminder to be careful of the pitfalls that can happen in the wild, wild, east of Chad.

While the all perspectives were quite varied. I had three conversations with people who have either lived in Chad or spent significant time here working in Humanitarian endeavors that all gave me exact same bottom line assessment of the situation in Chad…. its hopeless. “Hopeless?”, I said in all three conversations. “Yes, hopeless” they reaffirmed. This was coming form people who loved the people of Chad and had invested much time and energy into assisting in the situation. And I have to admit, when you hear their first person descriptions and the immense complexity of the ongoing genocide, mass illness, a 70% unemployment rate, rebel wars, a total lack of economic infrastructure, the local politics mixed with a geopolitical quagmire, on top of corporate profiteering and greed. I have to admit, I began to feel a little discouraged. However, as we were on final decent into Chad, I was reflecting on what I had learned. Its then that I realized that the challenges are great and overwhelming when you think of them in totality, but then I remembered that we don’t have to fix it all at once. It is going to take time, attention, and a global effort to assist our fellow citizens to rise out of the crisis and to be able to stand on their own and in their own way.

Then as we stepped out of the plane onto the tarmac and I was immediately struck by the refreshing cool of the African night air. I looked around to see a mixture of smiling Chadian faces and the stern rigid stares of the armed soldiers against the backdrop of the N’Djamena International airport. When I realize that it is not the immensity of challenges that is interesting, but rather how will the challenges define me? Define me as a Citizen of Humanity acting in the service of other Global Citizens who are in need of all of our support? Regardless of the immensity of the crisis, humanity has faced larger challenges before and history has shown us that divided there is little we can do, but united there is little that cannot be done. Because its as Deepak Chopra so eloquently put it, when he said, “People are doing the best they can with what they understand. SO it really a problem of awareness.” Awareness of the negative, the crisis, the horror, but also of hope, the courage and the difference that each one of us can make if we step outside ourselves to assist another in need. So we begin tomorrow to bring the story of how we will try our best to “Be the change” and see if we can’t raise the level of awareness to Global Citizens everywhere about the Crisis and the Opportunity that exists in Chad and the Sudan. Hopefully, how we can all do a small part to create big difference and change the world for the better.

I so am grateful for this opportunity to work with the SGN team, meet the Citizens of Africa and to all the committed people who made this trip happen. I can already say this has been life changing experience and I just got here……. which is pretty exciting.

In Peace & Abundance,
Joshua

The streets are empty as we travel to UNHCR in Abeche to drop off extra luggage and then to the airport. We are the first ones this morning – and a good thing since we have a tad too much weight still! Government soldiers rolling up their mats and gathering at various gates around the airport, smile and wave, Bonjour. As in N’Djamena, the World Food Program and UNHCR planes leave at the same time. Although by air our destination was only 20 minutes away, we have stops at the two most Northern UNHCR field office sites first. Dropping off some people, and collecting others.

From the plane, I can see dry riverbeds; most lower than the rest of the land. For the small tributaries that are too small and too dry to see I can still tell by the curved lines of tress and small shrubs where the water flows during the rainy season. We are only a little more than four months past the rainy season, and the water has already stopped. In and near some of the riverbeds local villagers have planted crops. The almost universal lines of small green tops reminds me of what is growing back in Portland – garlic, arugula and bok choy. I wonder about the crops they are growing below.

Every so often we see small compounds of several huts, all of which have some sort of fencing surrounding them. As we get closer to landing on the dirt runways, distinct only by large rocks or painted dead tires, I can see that the fences are of wood or mud. In the middle of nowhere, why a fence? Animals? Protection from other humans? Or perhaps the simple feeling of security that comes with enclosed spaces.

We finally land in Guereda. Three vehicles escort the plane to the landing strip – two Land Cruisers with aid agency logos and a pick-up carrying several missiles (or at least that’s what they look like to me – about as tall as my waist) and 6 or so men standing in the bed of the truck, a huge gun mounted on the top.

We are at least a kilometer from Guereda and several more from the two refugee camps the UNHCR field office serves. First I see a few herds of camels and goats, then two young boys smiling at our car. One rides a donkey dragging a huge piece of dead tree, enough firewood for perhaps a week of cooking. We pass one mud hut, then another, then another – enter Guereda. The streets look similar to those in N’Djamena and Abeche. Clear and black plastic bags scattered among foot high grass and shiny tin cans sparkle in the bright sun.

Ahh, the now familiar blue gate of UNHCR. Hala, the local director greets Gabriel, as others have, with a hug and warm welcome. We talk for while about education in the camps and our schedule while here before we travel the short distance to try and gather stamps. I say try since as I am writing this, we still are two stamps short to be able to enter the camps. Again, we hear about the effects that the Zoe’s Arc fiasco has had on aid workers – more levels of bureaucracy and skepticism of raison d’etre. I notice for the first time today that we have met very few American aid workers since our arrival in Chad. Why do you think this is? Is it because the Peace Corps is used so often as the life-changing humanitarian work for us? Are we scared to leave the comforts of our lifestyle? Or is simply because more of us study Spanish than French?

We begin i-ACT tomorrow, and its timed perfectly since tomorrow is the first day we step foot into a camp. Here we get to reunite with Ahmet’s family, Jacob, the teacher whom we met in July, and Aziza. Tomorrow will be an exciting day, I can’t wait! Please join us for our first i-ACT January 2008 view of the camps and stories of survivors.

Together with you,
KTJ

If have not done it yet, please sign the petition that asks President Bush to do more for Darfur.  This is not about politics. It’s about humanity. Presidents representing both the red and the blue (and everything in between) have failed when confronted with genocide and mass atrocities. President Bush still has a chance to change his legacy. Please go to www.enoughproject.org for a lot more information on policy recommendations. Bringing peace and stability to Darfur is doable!

Man, I wish I had brought a French dictionary! Slowly its all coming back to me – all 5 years of reading and writing with very little speaking of French still gets puts me in situations of “Je ne comprends pas ou Je ne sais pas!” But as I hear more and more, I begin to feel more confident, even if I don’t’ know exactly what the other person is saying!

Yesterday was the last day in the capital, at least until after we return from the camps. I must admit the most entertaining part of the day was not my Parisian style eggs topped with mushrooms and red sauce (I tried to get Gabriel to branch out of his omelet and pizza, to no avail!) but meeting Ashis for lunch which produced a great many laughs. French military personnel sat nearby wearing shorter shorts than I would ever imagine wearing in public and a few business meetings were taking place in the garden. We discussed the history of Chad and its relationship with Sudan. I listened as Ashis bounced around from idea to idea of what in the world he could possibly put his energy towards – a speakers tour, teaching at University, or playing futbol in camp Oure Cassoni. We laughed a lot, he dished them out and in my usual way, I had no problem handing jokes right back. In this type of work, laughing and light hearted comments go a long way.

We spent the rest of the day waiting…wondering if our permits, one of which had the wrong date, were going to be ready by 6am today, and taking a visit to see Abraham, the luggage god of UNHCR. “We have over 70 kg more than we are supposed to,” we struggled to say. With a smile, “I think it will be good, come tomorrow and Bienvenue Chad!” I crossed my fingers and somehow, even after being late for the plane, it all made it aboard this morning.

After landing in Abeche we line for a stamp; the man two people ahead of me was enduring yelling from the ominous general in the security office, as Gabriel looked around for our ride to UNHCR, which here is only HCR. Upon making it to the front, I struggled with my few words in French until Eva, a UNHCR worker translated – thank god for aid workers, eh? Hahaha. He wanted to see my official press badge…what, I thought? He asked what I would do if he sent me back to N’Djamena – mental note: make i-ACT press badges for next trip! – I shrugged my shoulders and looked innocent, or at least tried too! He stamped it and greeted Gabriel like an old friend.

Once on the road, my eyes shuffled between dirt, piles of trash, donkeys, a small herd of unattended goats, and walls. But the kids huddled around what looked like an ailing rubber tree and women selling Heirloom tomatoes, were still smiling. Once inside the blue gate of UNHCR, we made our way to various desks – Annette, Marcel and Victorian. Discussions of our itinerary, focus in the camps, and education initiatives filled the morning. We would return in the afternoon, but first, PERMITS. I know have 13 official stamps either on my passport or my precious papers calling me a professional journalist. All which cost us several days and more cash than a Doctor earns here in a month.

The most exciting part of today was speaking with refugees who were participating in a secondary school initiative through RET (Refugee Education Trust). There were 10 refugees age 15-25 from each of the 12 camps testing in Abeche to earn their secondary diploma. We interviewed one young man from camp Oure Cassoni who wants to be a journalist and who translated for a few others. It was exciting to think about how our community, your community, can partner to strengthen and widen the effects of such programs. Among many others, this is only a pilot project, but each refugee spoke of the desire for more education and emphasized education as the key to successful personal and community development. A similar view that many of us share.

I am beginning to get comfortable with the camera and now can take photos and film simultaneously! I am only beginning to know what Chad is like and today I received lesson 101 in interviewing refugees. I am eager to continue and look forward to bringing you more stories from Chad.

Peace, KTJ

It’s cold up here. I have my SGN hoodie on and two shirts, but the cold still seeps through to my skin. We’re on a nine-seater, twin-engine “Beechcraft 200.” I’m reading this from a little pamphlet on the seat pocket, since I know nothing about planes.

Mubarak arrived late for us at our hotel. We were ready to go at 5:45am, but he got in to pick us up at almost 6:30. It wasn’t a good start to the day, but I felt good and not sure why. We had way too much weight in all our luggage, and we should have been the first at the airport to work this out., or at least that was my thinking. Mubarak’s not-exactly-new Mercedez had other thoughts. It did not want to start, and there was no one around to help push it to get it running, as we had done the day before to get back from UNHCR to hotel. Mubarak had to scramble and find another car to borrow, and thus he was very late; but I still felt good.We had to use all of the back area of the new old little car that Mubarak borrowed for our luggage, and KTJ and I squeezed in to the front passenger seat.

When we got to the airport, Mubarak, as he’s unloading our heavy bags, says, “We will need some good luck today to get this on the plane.” My immediate response was, “I feel lucky today. It’s going to be a good day.” Walking in to the airport and seeing the long line at the UNHCR flight counter, lucky was not the first think I felt. We were the last and had to wait for what seemed like hours but in reality was just minutes. Mubarak cut in, and we gave it a try, starting to put all of our bags on the scale. Before they were all up, the men at the counter were shaking their heads and asked us to take the bags down and wait until all passengers had checked in. It did not look good. They told us that we could only take fifteen kilos per passenger.After a few more nervous minutes, they all of a sudden told us to put everything on the scale and gave us our boarding passes—that easy! KTJ asked, “What happened?” “I feel lucky today,” I said, and the three of us, with big smiles on our faces, walked over to the waiting area.

I still feel cold up here, flying above the Chadian desert, but it’s not too bad. And, I still feel lucky.

Paz,g

N’Djamena

It was so nice to see Ann at UNHCR in N’Djamena again. She is just getting back from leave and told us how “Chad is home,” and she likes coming home. Talking with Ann, you can feel her passion and immediately know that her job is not just a job for her. She has great insight as to what makes sense in an area where little seems to make sense.

We drove through the city, from hotel to UNHCR, a route that I have gone by many times now, but I can’t say that I’m used to it. It’s a busy city, with cars and motorcycles filling the streets and honking, so much honking. We go by the Presidential Palace, with its armed guards protecting every entrance. For someone like me, used to the kick-back streets of Redondo and Hermosa Beach, there is definitely a different kind of feeling on these drives.

These two days here are about getting the necessary permits, which allow us to travel to the east and convert KTJ and I into journalists (!!), and about finding a way to get way too much weight on to the small little planes that fly out to Abeche. We will not know for sure how much we can take with us until Wednesday morning at the airport. We’ve divided things in order of importance, with our tech equipment at the top of the list. Our food does not look like enough for two weeks, but I’m sure we’ll make it last. Included in the menu for this trip is the same as always: tuna, nuts, dry fruit, and some caffeine pills. I’m already very much missing my diet-sodas and the sf red bulls, but the pills do the job.

We have a few days before the first day of webcasting, so the pace of work has not been as intense as it will get. I’ll give you a run down of what’s ahead of us on tomorrow’s entry. Please get some more people to sign the petition to President Bush. We’re getting some great notes from people that are signing; add yours!

I’m anxious to get out to the camps…

g

14 janvier 08

Men in solid dishdasha (Muslim robes) and women in two-piece African dress meander through the busy streets of N’Djamena. Last night the streets were lit by only a few lamps with small groups of teenagers gathered, laughing and smiling as I once did with friends in high school. Now the streets are busy with motorbikes, white vans and beat up old cars. We pass two schools with young kids lined up waiting for what the day’s lessons will bring. One university hosts groups of young people outside its walls. So many walls and each with men guarding it – red, blue and black berets some with guns, some shouting across lanes of traffic, others staring directly back into my eyes. Through the back seat of Mubarak’s car I see various litre bottles on tables that look as if they are going to fall apart if only one more was added, behind men sit swatting flies with sticks longing for the shade that their competitor across the street has found. These are gas stations, Mubarak describes. We pass the internationally known Red Cross symbol before pulling in front of the big, bold, light blue UNHCR gate.

We talk with Ann Maymann, a friend and Director, who has only been back from leave about as long as we have been in Chad, and colleagues for a while. Mostly our conversation is of projects and rebel/army action in El Geneina, Sudan. Ann describes a vision of villager participation and collaboration for projects that excites me and brings me back to the foundation of organizing and empowerment that my Thai Ajaans (teachers) gave to me. This trip and for future projects, along with UNHCR, we will seek to increase the ownership and leadership of villagers; beyond creating a council or committee who is asked questions and makes recommendations, but to deepen their involvement from the beginning. “In the end,” Ann says more than once, “these programs are for them.” A task that is not easy, and many times is not an objective of an incoming agency. As we make our way back to Le Meriden Hotel, I am more ready than yesterday to leave the capital and meet our friends in the camps.

We hand Mubarak another set of whitewashed passport pictures and walk to the back of the hotel. For a moment, we watch as pirogues carry Chadians from our side of the river to several farm plots on the opposite side. Gabriel mentions that last time he was here, mud huts stood where crops were now growing. I take a 360 degree view: guarded by barbed wire I see green grass, bushes, a tall Jackarhonda tree. It brings me home for a moment, I hope the one we have growing in Portland, OR withstands the winter, it looked sick when I left. The images that can bring back memories and thoughts always surprise me. Gabriel and I bring the computers to the lobby to work for only two reasons: Coka et café espresso – thank god for the French, eh?

Now back in the room repacking for our flight to the East and thinking of the day, I can smell the gasoline from the morning’s trip and remember the juxtaposition of walled streets and barbed wire gardens.

Peace, KTJ

13 January 2008

We just landed in Europe, after the first big jump, with a few more jumps ahead of us before we get to the refugee camps in Eastern Chad. Everything is so expensive here at the Paris airport! My diet-soda, one of my last ones before being diet-soda-less for three weeks in Chad, was about five dollars! Well worth it, though.

I was telling KTJ that, when planning and even executing i-ACT1 back in 2005, we were not looking beyond that one trip to the camps. I could never have imagined that more than two years later I’d be at this same airport, on my way for i-ACT4. I could never have imagined that the crisis in Darfur would still be getting worse, and that Chad, the neighbor that took in hundreds of thousands of refugees in danger, would now have its own growing number of displaced people. Violence and instability is the norm in the region.

We’re going back to see our friends in the camps. This time, though, we are not coming alone. We are bringing communities from all over the US that want to build more than symbolic relationships with the families in the camps. We have commitments from high school students, church groups, citywide coalitions, actors, and even NBA players. They all want to be a part of changing how the world has responded to genocide and mass atrocities. We’re going to make it personal.

My son, Gabo (short for Gabriel in Spanish; like Gabe, but cooler), has given me some of his most valued possessions to give as gifts to some of the kids in the camps he knows by name. For Leila, he picked the top one, Lightning McQueen, a little toy car and a character from the movie “Cars,” which I’ve seen at least 25 times. He also sent a train and some dinosaurs for Mansur and Aljafis. He asked me if I could just bring Leila back home with me. With the whole drama of the French aid workers trying to smuggle kids out of Chad, I think my four-year old son is going to have to wait until he can visit Leila in a peaceful Darfur.

Hang in there with us, as we start this fourth i-ACT. Let us know what you think; ask us questions; suggest actions; be a part of this community. I can assure you that it is a mutually beneficial relationship. I go in to this thinking that I could help the survivors. I’m finding out that I have grown in ways that would never have happened if I had not met my Darfuri friends.

Paz,

g

13 January 08

One step closer to N’DJamena, and one step closer to meeting friends face to face who I have met through my teammates. I am eager to see for myself what the capital looks like, and hear the sounds of a city that, like the East and Darfur, has been in turmoil for so long. The poverty that I have seen and experienced in Southeast Asia, Central America and the United States no where near compares to what I will experience on the border of Chad and Sudan. I do know there is one thing in common between the human experience: the longing for home, to place one’s roots down solid in the ground and move forward from there. Villagers displaced by dam projects in Thailand, redevelopment in Guatemala and Rain Forest devastation on the Amazon beg for answers to one single questions: why should we give up our lives for the “betterment,” as defined by government and big business, of society as whole; why us, why not you? If an American was asked to leave their home because the government wanted to use the land for a national project, there would be an uproar. There are uproars, and sometimes voices are even heard. In many other countries around the world people are forced to leave either through government or militia force. There many times is no citizen review process or local constitution that protects the rights of all the people, no matter what race, ethnicity, religion or class.

Which leads me to why I am doing what I am doing. Many people have tried to talk me out of this trip, saying that I can do better work here in the States; why put my life in danger? But why is my life any more precious than the life of someone who wants the same thing: the power to live the life they choose. Every Darfurian and every human being deserves to choose their future. To say where they want to live and create a home and life. I have this right where I come from, and so will stand by Darfurians and every global citizen who wants, and deserves, the very same thing.

This journey is different for many reasons, one of which is the nature of the work. What I will be experiencing, I get to share with my entire network of friends, family, and fellow activists. The stories I hear will be shared with you. And you can share your experience with me. Beyond the three weeks I will spend listening, learning and opening myself, I have the privilege to create sustainable, long term relationships that will change the way communities interact and respond to mass atrocities forever. My hopes are that these relationships help end the violence in Darfur. But moreover, my hope is that by building understanding and fostering relationships between people who might otherwise only know one another through definitions, images, and boxes, that targeted violence ends forever.

Today is only the first day of our journey together that has implications for the rest of our lives.

In Solidarity,
KTJ