Sudan

All posts tagged Sudan

I recently stumbled across WordPress’s Daily Post blog, where they suggest a topic each day designed to inspire and encourage bloggers to write around a set theme. I’ve been meaning to respond to a few of them, but rarely seem to be able to have the time to spontaneously write something against the clock. And I don’t today, either. But I thought I’d do it anyway, because I particularly liked the theme.

Today’s theme, “No, Thanks”, asks the question “Is there a place in the world you never want to visit? Where, and why not?”

Couldn’t refuse…

As an aid worker, I generally get to see the worst of the worst. Nowhere’s really off-limits. In fact, the places I tend not to get to are the really nice ones. You know, the sort of spot you might take your family for a spot of skiing, or a two-week all-inclusive on the beach.

Refugee camps? Done ‘em in spades. War zones? Sure, why not? It’s been a few years since I was last shot at. Poverty and human misery? To be honest, I’m rarely out of arms’ reach of them.

So is there anywhere I wouldn’t go?

There are a few places I haven’t been, when it comes to the list of top trouble spots. I’ve not been to Baghdad, nor Afghanistan. My folks used to live in the A-stan, however, and I pretty much grew up on slide-shows of the place. In fact, along with watching re-runs of M*A*S*H, I’d credit a pretty fair percentage of my drive to get into aid work with those old washed-out positives. As for Iraq, well, there was a time when they were decapitating foreigners when it didn’t seem like such a great destination, but even then I had friends in Kurdistan telling me I was welcome for a visit, and with the right opportunity I wouldn’t hesitate today.

Another of the world’s aid hot-spots I’ve not managed to get to is Goma, in eastern DRC. Generally acknowledged as one of the very worst humanitarian crises- it’s prolonged, forgotten, and horrifically violent- Goma is also fearfully beautiful. Forested hills overlooking deep lakes and in turn overlooked by towering volcanoes, I’ve heard nothing but terrible things about the crisis, and nothing but awe about the landscape. It’s definitely on my to-do list when the right assignment comes up.

Storm and Ruin, Somalia

While I’ve travelled a little in the more peaceful portions of Somalia- and thoroughly enjoyed it- I haven’t been down to the Mog yet. A former colleague of mine was there a couple of weeks ago, and it was amusing to see pictures of her all dressed up in her ballistics vest standing next to the armored vehicle trucking her around. But to be honest, Mogadishu is stabilizing rapidly (for now), with Somali businessmen and their families returning in droves, and while I wouldn’t want to buy a summer home there just yet, I would certainly leap at the opportunity to pay a visit to what is one of the most fascinating pockets of east Africa at the moment.

Darfur, South Sudan, Sri Lanka (at the culmination of the civil war), even Turkana in northern Kenya make up the list of some of the more challenging and unstable places I’ve dropped in on- each of them deeply enriching and fascinating places, despite the conflict and the deeply entrenched physical poverty and even injustice. A year in Papua New Guinea had me dropping in and out of Port Moresby more often than I ever would have liked, but even PoM has beautiful hills and bays, and from what I hear, fantastic diving. And my time living in West Africa took me through some of the poorest nations on earth, and some of the poorest communities therein. I still remember Niger with deep fondness.

Chad remains the most unpleasant environment I’ve visited- and likewise for most of those I’ve met who’ve worked there. Physically harsh- beautiful in its own way- the plight of the hundreds of thousands of Sudanese refugees sheltering in the desert was devastating, and the violence and hopelessness rivals anywhere I’ve visited on earth. It was a hard, hard place. I’d go back though- if for no other reason than to see what’s changed.

Desert Transport, Chad

All up, I’ve been to around 60 countries, most of them poor and many of them pre- or post-disaster, and routinely listed on government ‘Do Not Travel’ lists.

So, is there anywhere I wouldn’t go?

Well, don’t tell my wife, but, probably not. I mean, maybe I’d pick my timing. I wouldn’t be so keen to visit Karachi today (I was there a few years ago), and there are certain slums in Nairobi I’d be steering clear of for the next few days, just as a precaution.

But sometimes people ask me is there anywhere I have no interest in going, and there is a place that typically comes in at the bottom of my wish-list. It’s even a place that I had the opportunity to visit, and actively chose not to (probably the only such time I’ve done-so in my life). And I realise in saying this, I’ll undoubtedly upset a lot of people. Not least because the residents of this nation make up one in seven Africans, and I don’t doubt some of them routinely read this blog.

Nigeria.

Let me tell you why. And then, before you lynch me, let me tell you why I recognize that this is unfair.

Why Nigeria? It’s not that I wouldn’t go there, or even that I can’t recognize that there would be some lovely things about it. It’s just that there are enough things stacked against it that don’t make it an attractive option.

Nigeria has sadly got a terrible reputation when it comes to crime. Friends and contacts who have travelled through Lagos speak of the scams and the urban crime, which traditionally starts before you leave the airport. Political corruption is rife, as is corruption in the police force. There’s extensive poverty and inequality (nothing unique to Nigeria given the places I visit), and simmering tension, both between north and south, and within communities.

Boko Haram, a militant Islamic group, along with other similar groups, are carrying out attacks on government infrastructure, churches, civilians, and foreigners (including, allegedly, the abduction of a French family from northern Cameroun ten days ago). Meanwhile, pirates operate off the southern coast, targeting shipping, and seperatist rebels operate in the Niger Delta, targeting foreign oil interests.

Even some Nigerians I know hesitate to go home. A former colleague, who was from the south of Nigeria, would travel by bus from the northern border to get home to see her family, and was routinely held up and robbed on the journey home. The organization I used to work for had opened an office there briefly, and was forced to close it due to the strong corruption in the place.

Now, let me be clear. No one of these things is unique to Nigeria. Nor do I want to suggest that Nigeria is a universally awful place. In fact it isn’t. For every person I know who’s had a negative experience in Nigeria, I know several others who have loved it- people who have travelled, who have been there for short missions or service trips, people who have lived there and brought up children, both Nigerians and foreigners.

There are some physically beautiful places, and many, many beautiful places.

I have recently finished reading Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Half of a Yellow Sun, set during the Biafran War of the 1960s. It is an achingly beautiful story, stunningly written, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me interested in visiting, that my attitude didn’t soften. It should also be required reading for any students of modern African history, given that it addresses one of the most important historical events in one of the most important nations in Africa, which still has echoes in today’s politics.

There are many, many fascinating places in the world, and I don’t doubt for a moment that with the right information, the right contacts, knowing where to go, a trip to Nigeria would be fascinating, beautiful, inspiring. But for me, with the long (long long) list of places I want to see, and go back to, balanced against the hassle of getting to and around those places, Nigeria just doesn’t yet make it into the positive balance. It remains somewhere around the bottom of my list.

Dust Storm, Maradi

When I was living in Maradi, a grubby town on the edge of the Sahara about 50km north of the Nigerian border, an Ivorian friend of mine suggested we take the weekend off and go down to visit Nigeria. I’ve never yet turned down an opportunity to stamp my passport. But my friend had shared just a few evenings before a long story about how as a young man he had been extensively robbed in Nigeria, and I remember looking at him and saying, “Why would I want to do that? No thanks!”

To this day it remains the only time I’ve turned down a chance to cross a border.

To my Nigerian readers, and anybody else who has a soft spot for that country, I welcome your feedback as to what you love about Nigeria, and how my appraisal is utterly unfair and misplaced. Let me know below!

All photography my own.

Reading a couple of recent articles on the latest upsurge of the civil conlict in the Central Africa Republic (I understand if you hadn’t heard anything was happening there), and an interesting New York Times piece on the militarization of poaching in central Africa, led me to reflect once again on the fascinating interconnection that exists between the various armed groups across Sub-Saharan Africa. Here’s a quick, dirty and non-exhaustive glance.

CAR, Chad and the Sudans

We’ll start with the CAR, as it’s topical. The northern rebels (currently going by the trade name ‘Seleka’, which in a local language means ‘The Alliance’) are quite literally that- a hodge-podge of armed gangs, guns-for-hire, militia representing disenfranchised communities (mostly northern), and bolstered by rebels who have come into the north from their neighbour Chad.

Chad has been a breeding ground for militant activity for the better part of 20 years and longer. Current Strongman President Idriss Deby seized power in the early nineties, launching from his home base in the far reaches of eastern Chad (Bahai) on the Sudanese border. His ethnic Zagawa militia swept across the country in a series of bloody battles, the remnants (tanks, shells, landmines, technicals) of which are still scattered across the landscape today.

Deby’s rise to power was supported by armed groups within Sudan. His ethnic group- the Zagawa- are on both sides of the border, in eastern Chad and in Darfur, western Sudan, and his coup d’etat was backed by Khartoum. Various rebel groups sprung up as a result of his seizure of power- which was brutal both from a military perspective, and from the reprisals wrought on the civilian population.

From 2002, two major rebel groups in Darfur, the Justice and Equality Movement (JEM) and the Sudan Liberation Army (SLA) became prominent in Darfur, fomenting an armed uprising against the Khartoum government. The Zagawa formed one of the prominent ethnic constituents of the rebellion, and Chad was implicated. Tensions with Khartoum quickly soured. Cross-border raids by the Khartoum-backed Janjawid militia took place into Chad. It became clear that rebel groups were using refugee camps in eastern Chad as an opportunity to rest, recuperate, and stage new attacks against government forces.

From 2005, a fresh impetus of rebellion against Deby began, with implications clear that the renewed support was coming from Khartoum, in response to Chadian support for Darfur rebel groups. Twice, once in 2006, and later in 2008, rebels (the same, or allied to those, as those now pushed into CAR) pushed all the way across the desert and showed up on the outskirts of N’djamena- where they were eventually supressed. In both instances, the government of Sudan was blamed. Interestingly, the attack was eerily similar to one carried out, also in 2008, by Darfur rebels, who pushed across the desert all the way to Omdurman, on the edge of Khartoum, before being overcome. Khartoum claimed the forces were essentially Chadian, and blamed N’djamena for arming the group. Tensions between the two countries remain tense.

The uprising in Darfur itself was a complex issue, based on similar complaints to those leveled by the southern Sudanese rebels, the Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA)- a combination of economic marginalization, Islamicization, the centralization of government control, and access to resource rights and profits. Indeed, the rebellion echoed that of the north-south civil war, quite literally: Throughout the history of the Darfur conflict, rebel activity has followed from gains and advances made in the peace deals with the southern rebels (now an independant state). Essentially seeing the SPLA’s rebellion as ‘successful’, they resorted to a similar model for their own resistance against Khartoum, and as gains were made by the SPLA at the negotiation table, so military pushes could be mapped by Darfur rebels, trying to get Khartoum’s attention and force concessions in their own deals.

As well as using conventional forces in both the Darfur and north-south civil war, Khartoum has always espoused using proxy forces- militia groups that it arms and supports, but with whom there is a measure of deniability- particularly when they terrorize the civilian populace with torture, killings and ethnic cleansing. The best-known of these groups is the Janjawid, horse-backed ‘Arab’ militia allegedly stocked by, among others, prisoners released by Khartoum. The Janjawid carried out indiscriminate killing of civilians and the burning of villages, essentially forcing up to 4 million people from their homes in Darfur between 2003 and 2005. However the use by Khartoum of Arab horsemen in subduing and slaughtering agrarian villagers was well documented during the 1983-2005 civil war as well (the Murahaleen). Various different proxy militias- including previously southern-allied armed groups enticed to break away from the SPLA- were employed by Khartoum. Likewise, the SPLA (itself a fragile agglomeration of warlords and their private armies) employed similar tactics on northern soil.

The SPLA itself received backing from external sources. More strongly identified with East Africa than with the north African/Arab culture associated with Khartoum, the south Sudanese at the time found natural allies in Kenya and, notably, Uganda. Both nations hosted large refugee camps of southern Sudanese, who eventually formed an influential diaspora in those nations. This quiet support was further strengthened by Cold War politics. NATO interests in Sudan’s oil reserves (at the heart of the civil war) had it come down on the side of the south, and backing was funneled via the former British colonies of Kenya and Uganda, both of which helpfully became bases for the large western-funded aid operation as well.

Museveni, Bashir, Garang, Kagame and Kony

While Uganda was providing a channel of support to the SPLA, Khartoum’s response was to engage with its well-established tactic of using proxy militias. The technique depends on identifying existing divides within the target community, and exploiting those accordingly. In Uganda, an obvious candidate was a northern-based and highly disgruntled Acholi rebel group known as the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), which would come to be led by a sociopath called Joseph Kony and become infamous for its use of child soldiers, and horrendous crimes against civilians. Over the years, Khartoum’s backing of the LRA became common- if scantily-proven- knowledge. In doing so, Khartoum kept Museveni’s forces and military investment wrapped up at home, reducing the extent to which Uganda was free to invest in creating an ally on its northern borders in the SPLA. The LRA remained a major destabilizing force in northern Uganda from the early eighties and into the first half of the first decade of the new millenium- eerily echoing the timescale of the Sudanese civil war. Since 2005, they have been vastly reduced in capacity and influence, carrying out few attacks (despite an over-the-top web campaign suggesting the contrary), and pushed variously into pockets of South Sudan (where they were enemies of the SPLA), DRC and, now, CAR, where they are being hunted by a contingent of Ugandan troops and US Special Forces.

The links between Uganda’s Museveni and the SPLA’s Garang are well established- Garang died flying in one of Museveni’s helicopters after returning from a meeting in Uganda, the purpose of which is still unknown. While Museveni was providing backing to the SPLA, he was also supporting another regional warlord (who would one day also become President of his nation), Paul Kagame. Kagame, inspired by Museveni’s first insurgent campaign against Idi Amin, joined Museveni’s National Resistance Army (NRA) in 1981, and fought alongside him in that second insurgency against Milton Obote. For a time, the Rwandan refugee served in Museveni’s government as head of military intelligence, before taking the leadership of the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), a rebel group that prior to 1994 launched a long, violent and militarily highly successful insurgency campaign against the Hutu-dominated Rwandan government. The RPF had bases in southern Uganda, and received backing from the Ugandan government. Both Kagame and Garang studied at US military institutions during periods of their respective exiles, and Kagame also received intelligence training in Tanzania.

Hutus, Tutsis and Africa’s World War

The RPF’s campaign- which included massacres of Hutu civilians that remain under-acknowledged to this day- kicked into overdrive following the assassination of Rwandan President Juvenal Habyarimana and the subsequent slaughter of ethnic Tutsis and moderate Hutus that followed over the subsequent 100 days. A strong military force, their overthrow of the Hutu military establishment is lauded as a spectacular acheivement- indeed there are allegations that were it not for French intervention on behalf of the former Rwandan government, the RPF would have taken Rwanda in the years preceeding the 1994 genocide. Regardless, Kagame’s RPF did eventually take control of the country, and Kagame remains President to this day.

The fallout of the RPF victory was the flight of hundreds of thousands of ethnic Hutus, among whom were the genocidaires- the architects and footsoldiers of the massacres. These fled into eastern DRC, into camps and into the jungles and villages. While the violence between Hutus and Tutsis in Rwanda had largely come to a close, it continued in various guises in eastern DRC, and does-so to this day, between various splintered militia groups. These groups generally share alliances that can be broadly categorized as pro-Hutu or pro-Tutsi (although names and divisions shift as you cross the border) in a highly complex and shifting patchwork of old allegiences and new grievances.

The most far-reaching consequence of the Rwandan civil war for the DRC showcased the phrase ‘when Rwanda sneezes, Congo catches a cold’. Laurent Kabila, a pro-Tutsi rebel fighter who cut his teeth following Congolese liberation in the 1960s, re-emerged in 1996 to front the Alliance of Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Congo-Zaire (ADFL), an overtly Uganda-, Rwanda- and Burundi-backed group that would eventually force despot Mobutu into exile and lead to Kabila’s presidency from 1997.

In all of this, it’s quite interesting to note that Kabila, Kagame and Garang all had close relationships with Museveni, who faciliated relationships between the men. Also interestingly, during his own rebellion to seize control of Uganda in the mid-80s, Museveni had actually approached Mobutu for military assistance, but Mobutu had been training troops loyal to the then-government of Uganda, which would go some way to explaining Museveni’s eagerness to support anti-Mobutu forces in DRC.

Nowhere was this interplay between various central African forces demonstrated- and with remarkably low profile- than during the Second Congo War. Dubbed ‘Africa’s World War’, it involved the overt engagement of no less than seven African nations. Following the initial installation of Kabila on the back of a Tutsi-allied army, backed by Rwandan, Burundian and Ugandan forces during 1996-7, their heavy presence in DRC subsequently forced Kabila to request their withdrawl or look like a Kagame puppet (not an unreasonable concern). Rwandan, Ugandan and Burundian forces piggybacked a Tutsi revolt in north-eastern DRC (Goma) in 1998, aiming to unseat Kabila (and no doubt install a more acquiescent puppet), and would likely have been successful were it not for the direct involvement of Chadian, Angolan, Zimbabwean and Namibian troops. Libya and Sudan were both indirectly supportive of the Kabila government as well- Sudan did not engage directly, but did continue to fund its proxy militias to worry Uganda, including the LRA. (Interestingly, the support of the Angolan government came as a result of Mobutu’s backing of the UNITA rebels during that country’s nasty civil war; the government victors were keen to repay the debt by ensuring that Mobutu stayed out).

The fallout of this interplay of regional actors continues to this day, with north-eastern Congo becoming something of a lush, mineral-rich carcass over which a patchwork of militias fought- and continue to fight. During the Congo conflict, Ituri and Kivus North and South played host to an orchestra of militia on both sides of the conflict, including the anti-Rwandan militias the FDLR, the Mai Mai, the RDR and the ALiR, as well as the remnants of the genocidal Interahamwe and other Hutu groups. Allied to them were anti-Burundian groups CNDD and FROLINA. On the other side of the coin were the pro-Rwandan groups the RCD and RCD-GOMA, the ethnically Tutsi Banyamulenge, and the pro-Ugandan militias MLC, UPC and other pro-Tutsi groups. Since that time, this murderous alphabet soup has aligned, split, rebelled, splintered and reformed into a variety of coagulating movements, all squabbling for a piece of the eDRC pie. Most recently, the takeover of Goma by the M23 rebel group (with ostensible backing from both Rwanda and Uganda) signifies that this regionally-interwoven conflict is by no means over. The tension for Joseph Kabila, who replaced his father after Laurent’s assassination, is that the regime he inherited was essentially installed by a pro-Tutsi coalition which expected to dominate the subsequent political landscape. By rejecting this, both Kabilas find themselves fighting against the very group that put them in power. Meanwhile, the Hutu-Tutsi conflict that reached such a bloody crescendo in 1994 in Rwanda has merely been exported a few dozen miles over the border into what is in effect a disputed territory, irrespective of lines on the map (and with horrendous consequences for the population; the 800,000 who lost their lives in the 1994 genocide have had as many as two and a half million added to their number from the forests of DRC since then).

I’m not even going to try to list the latest iteration of rebel groups and their alliances in east DRC currently.

The oft-forgotten child of the Great Lakes region, Burundi, is no less intertwined with regional conflicts. Stepping back a decade or two, it is riven by the same Tutsi-Hutu divide that Rwanda and east DRC are, and was a little-mentioned but insperable part of the 1994 Rwandan Genocide. Indeed, new Burundian President and ethnic Hutu Cyprien Ntaryamira was in Habyarimana’s plane the night it was shot down, and died alongside his Rwandan counterpart. Tit-for-tat ethnic killings between Tutsis and Hutus, which had been ongoing for decades, reaching a crescendo in 1993 when Ntaryamira’s predecessor Ndadaye (a Hutu) was assassinated by disgruntled Tutsi soldiers- preceeding both the Ntaryamira/Habyarimana assassination and the Rwandan genocide. Indeed the Tutsi-Hutu killings in Burundi in the lead up to May 1994 provided fuel to the genocidal fire, and the presence of Burundian Tutsi refugees in large numbers in southern Rwanda proved to be a destabilizing (and fear-evoking) influence that leant credence to the genocidaire case, as well as proving a ripe recruiting ground for Kagame’s RPF.

Conflict in the Horn

A pivotal nation less directly implicated in its neighbour’s conflicts, but none the less indirectly involved, is Kenya. At the time of its engagement in southern Somalia in 2011, its claim was that it had never before fielded its army (a claim to which some truth was subsequently demonstrated in its fairly inept tactical handling of the fight with al Shabaab). Be that as it may, Kenya has repeatedly played host to war-embroiled diaspora. Sudanese refugees in camps in northern Kenya became a recruiting ground for the SPLA to which Kenyan authorities turned a blind eye, and Kenya became a safe-haven for SPLA leadership at points along the way. Operation Lifeline Sudan (OLS), the mammoth relief operation funded by the UN and largely western nations (many of whom interestingly enough also had economic stakes in South Sudan) was also run out of Kenya, from the pokey northern airhead of Lokichoggio, and it, as much as any foreign arms transfers, holds much of the credit for prolonging the war and forcing Khartoum to the negotiating table which saw South Sudan win its independence.

Kenya also provided the home for the Somali Government in Exile, which has been based in Nairobi for most of the period since the fall of Siad Biarre in 1991. This, combined with a growing and restive Somali diaspora in Kenya, fears of a porous border, and alleged support, by Somali militants, for Islamic militants within Kenya, resulted in Kenya’s ill-advised military intervention in southern Somalia (‘Jubaland’) against al Shabaab- the fundamentalist group in tacit control of most of southern Somalia at the time.

Over the years, a number of different forces have been involved in the war against the various iterations of Somali Islamic militant groups, with Kenya the most recent addition. Uganda and Burundi have both provided substantial troop numbers (and suffered casualties), but the key player in the conflict has been Ethiopia, whose government essentially used the chaos in Somalia to justify a military invasion to bolster their own porous border, establish a buffer-zone, and weaken home-grown Islamic militant groups in Ogaden and Somali Region (Ethiopia and Somalia- both highly distinct nations with strong historical identity- have a long history of border conflict, and Somalia launched an invasion of Ethiopia as recently as the late 1970s).

A nation that allegedly provides support for al Shabaab is Eritrea, which recently faced sanctions for its involvement in moving Shabaab finances. Eritrea is possibly operating on the principle of ‘The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend’. Eritrea fought a bloody war with Ethiopia in which it gained its independence from that nation- after the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) initially supported the overthrow of the communist Mengistu regime in 1991 alongside Meles Zenawi’s Tigrayan Peoples’ Liberation Front (TPLF) as part of the Ethiopian Peoples’ Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF). Indeed Isaias Aferwerki, subsequently President of Eritrea and leader of the civil war, was one of the EPRDF’s co-leaders alongside Zenawi.

As well as Eritrea and Somalia, the other regional actors the EPRDF has relationships with are Sudan and South Sudan. Initially, the EPRDF was supported by Khartoum as it overthrew the Derg regime- perhaps because Mengistu was allowing the SPLA to use the refugee camps along Ethiopia’s western border as bases for R&R and recruitment for its troops. Upon seizing the area, the EPRDF emptied the camps and forced tens of thousands of southern refugees back into Sudan. This changed, however, upon consolidation of power, and by 1995, Ethiopia and Eritrea both had troops in South Sudan in support of the SPLA. To this day, Ethiopia continues to provide support to rebels fighting the Khartoum government, allowing an SPLA presence around refugee camps in the west, where recruitment of militia fighters operating in Blue Nile state continues. One of Ethiopia’s primary interests- and the source of conflict with Khartoum- is over control of the Blue Nile’s water resources. The Blue Nile provides roughly 90% of the Nile’s overall flow, rising in Ethiopian territory, and Ethiopia is in the process of constructing a massive hydroelectric power station (the Renaissance Dam) close to the Sudanese border- a move that has heightened tensions between Ethiopia, and Sudan and Egypt downstream.

Libya, the Sahel, and Transnational Islamicism

The other lynchpin tying many of sub-Saharan Africa’s conflicts together is- or was- Moammar Ghaddafi. With his view of a Pan-Saharan Islamic Caliphate, Ghaddafi poured billions of dollars in aid money into propping up friendly regimes- including (but not limited to) Sudan’s Bashir, Chad’s Deby, Niger’s Tanja and Mali’s Toure. Indeed, at the time of the Libyan civil war and Ghaddafi’s death, mercenaries from Mali, Chad and Niger were all present fighting on behalf of the soon-to-be-late dictator, and upon the failure of the regime, flooded back home to their respective countries. This influx of arms created rapid destabilization, increasing security concerns in Niger and Mali particularly, although both Chad and Mauritania have also had coup scares since Ghaddafi’s death. The fall of the Libyan regime is argued as one of the factors in the insurgency that has split Mali in half, which the French have just launched military action in response to, pre-empting a planned ECOWAS intervention.

The loose coalition of Tuareg and Islamist militias that annexed northern Mali to form their state of Awazad is itself a regional conglomeration. Tuaregs exist across the Sahara region, with the bulk of their territory in northern Mali, Niger and Mauritania, and southern Algeria, but with significant populations and ties in Morocco, Chad, Libya and links throughout West Africa and even to the Bedouin of the Middle East. The strong cross-border ties ensure that the Mali conflict has direct repurcussions for stability in both Mauritania and Niger. Meanwhile, Islamist groups, particularly AQIM and its offshoots, also operate across the Sahara region. Originally born out of the Algeria conflict of the 1990s and the insurgent groups that rose to oppose the government, they now have operational reach in Niger, Mali, Mauritania, Chad, Algeria and Libya and beyond, in a complex presence that is part insurgency, part fundamentalist terrorism, and part criminality.

While long rumoured, the conflict in Mali also led to renewed claims of a partnership between AQIM and its partners, and the Nigerian militant group Boko Haram, fighting a domestic insurgency in Nigeria to create a Sharia-based state in the north of that nation. Reports that Boko Haram fighters were supporting operations in Gao provided some confirmation that Boko Haram and AQIM share resources and information in their mutual jihads. Boko Haram has also publically announced its ties to Somalia’s al Shabaab, which in turn is networked to militant Islamic groups in Kenya and Uganda, as well as to global fundamentalist groups outside the African continent.

The below map is a rough and only partial representation of some of the relationships described above- more to visually demonstrate linkages across geography than to provide accurate detail. You’ll need to click on it to view large enough to read properly.

Note that you could carry out a similar analysis on a much smaller scale in any one of the individual conflict-zones, such as Darfur, east DRC or Sudan/South Sudan- which details I have not gone into here.

Africa Conflict Relationships Map

Strongman Politics, Statehood and Postcolonial Identity

The incredible array of cross-border interactions and networks that embody conflict in sub-Saharan Africa is hardly surprising. A relatively small number of individuals have a very extensive impact on conflict. Museveni supported Garang in his fight against Bashir, who in return funded the LRA in Uganda against Museveni. Museveni equally fought alongside Kagame in Uganda’s domestic conflicts, and so supported his former compatriot in Kagame’s own struggles, first in Rwanda, and subsequently in DRC. Kagame and Museveni together installed Kabila, who then rejected their influence, creating a new conflict. Meanwhile Bashir, as well as fighting Garang in the south, initially supported both Deby and Zenawi in their respective rebellions, but finding himself at odds with both, after Deby invested in the Darfur conflict to shore up his borders, and Zenawi took sides with Garang. Zenawi found himself at odds with Afewerki, and also took the opportunity to secure his borders with Somalia, taking on al Shabaab in the process. Meanwhile, Ghaddafi’s influence provided some facade of stability to several sub-Saharan nations, supporting Bashir, Deby, Tandja and Toure, and with his death, all four nations have experienced an increase in instability.

The concept of the Strongman has a dominant presence in the politics of most sub-Saharan African states. The cultural context is often described as embodying a ‘power/fear’ paradigm (contrasted with the notion of ‘guilt/innocence’ that is commonplace in most European cultures, or ‘honour/shame’ that is found across the Middle East and much of Asia). The development of society for many centuries has in many parts of the region revolved around a single strong leader who takes responsibility variously for family, clan and tribal groups, and this has translated into state-level politics.

The colonial division and subsequent post-colonial devolvement of sub-Saharan African politics and identity is both a part of the problem, and goes a long way to explaining this highly integrated conflict dynamic. State borders are lines drawn on a map by colonial surveyors and clashing European powers. They cut across traditional boundaries, creating situations (as in Rwanda/DRC, for just one of many examples) where ethnic groups are subsequently split by an arbitrary international boundary. Thus war on one side of the boundary naturally spills across the other. Alliances between self-identifying ethnic groups are far stronger than those to nation-state governments in many cases, resulting in the mutli-national involvement so often seen.

Indeed the very nature of ethnic identity in sub-Saharan Africa is problematic. In part it is a construct of the colonial period, where the notion of ‘divide and conquer’ was used to administer restive provinces. People-groups were identified and given artificial containment (see tribal groups in Kenya under the British, and Hutu/Tutsi identity as reinforced by the Belgians). Divisions that were malleable and interchangeable at best prior to colonial rule became reinforced in order to create some kind of order. Where once, ethnic identity could be redefined according to marriage or economic status, it had now become something linked to birthright, some genetic trait unchangeable and therefore open to exploitation. Thus have been born many of Africa’s post-colonial conflicts.

This post is by no means an exhaustive list of alliances. I’ve barely scratched the surface of the dizzying acronym maelstrom that identifies the various players in today’s war-zones, never mind those of the last thirty years. In 2007 there were nearly 30 armed groups operating in Darfur alone- many with ties to other groups in other parts of Sudan, South Sudan, Chad and CAR. A similar number of militia groups existed in South Sudan at the birth of its statehood- most of which were subsumed into the new South Sudanese armed forces, but which retain discrete identities within that force, ready to break out should their agendas be compromised. Then there are the proxy militias on both sides of the north-south Border, the various disgruntled insurgency groups within Ethiopia who claim ties to various other disgruntlecies across the region, and the veritable sea of militias, proto-militias, startup-militias and mom-and-pop militias in the jungles of DRC.

To name a few.

Without wishing to turn something with terrible and far-reaching consequences into an academic whimsy, I have long found the interaction between the various conflicts (and their masterminds) in sub-Saharan Africa fascinating, and it’s been interesting mapping them out for this little exercise. What I hope it demonstrates is the extreme complexity in understanding conflict in Africa; the need for careful analysis, both in terms of motivation and in terms of stakeholders involved; a greater appreciation for the diversity that this continent (or rather, the particular chunk of it reflected in this post) exhibits; and hopefully, a nuanced understanding that conflict in ‘Africa’ doesn’t just happen because it’s the ‘dark continent’- or any one of the newer myriad of tropes the media unconciously trots out when it covers ‘yet another’ African war. Rather, as with any conflict, there is a highly intricate set of circumstances, histories, identities, motivations and participants that coalesce to give a particular event at a particular point in time.

A disclaimer: This post doesn’t address any of the complex linkages to forces outside the African continent, such as politics of the Cold War during the 80s, or subsequently, the newer dynamics of neocolonialist power-games and players, such as China’s economic imperialism, or the US and its allies in their ongoing investment as part of the ‘Global War on Terror’- all highly complex networks that fuel conflict. Likewise I haven’t touched on the dynamics of post-independence conflict in southern Africa, which reverberate up into DRC, ROC and elsewhere, or the conflicts in West Africa, such as the nexus between Cote d’Ivoire, Liberia, Sierra Leone and Guinea-Conakry (with destabilizing influences into Burkina, Ghana, Niger, Mali and elsewhere). And I’ve barely referenced the Arab Spring that ties all North African nations together, including tying in to Bashir’s Khartoum, and weakening that regime’s position vis-a-vis its ability even to manage its southern ‘problem’. Here, I’ve just focused on the central/east regions of the continent, but maybe sometime I’ll expand broader.

Also, apologies again for the lack of URLs in this post. There are HEAPS of sources I pulled drawing this together, gradually over several weeks of reading and pondering, but my internet connectivity out here is poor and going back to catalogue them all has been impossible. If I get a chance to update this again in the future, I’ll see what I can do to fix that.

Finally- I’m pretty sure that Kenya was substantially implicated in supporting Kagame and the RPF on some level during the early 90s, but I couldn’t dig up any sources that explicitly outlined this relationship. If you come across anything, please could you post a link/source/theory in the comments below- thanks!

-MA

South Sudan Flag

The last couple of days, Sudan’s President Omar al Bashir, and South Sudan’s President Salva Kiir, have been meeting here in Addis Ababa, ostensibly to try and break through a number of contentious issues between the two nations that have kept them on the brink of open warfare for some time now.

For those not familiar with the conflict between Sudan and South Sudan, try here for an overview. However in brief, there are several critical issues on the table at this particular time. One is the status of the disputed town of Abyei and its environs- control of which gives great leverage over the rich oil fields in South Sudan. Abyei has been a flashpoint between the Sudan Armed Forces (SAF) and the Sudan Peoples Liberation Army (SPLA) for years, and has its own UN peacekeeping base to prove it.

A second issue is restarting the flow of oil from those southern oil fields. While the fields themselves and the pumping infrastructure are all in southern-held territory, the pipeline runs through Sudan and exits at Port Sudan, all controlled by Khartoum. Therefore while profits from the sale of oil will accrue to the southern government in Juba, Sudan has a right to levy fees on the oil as it runs through it. Loss of the oil-fields to the south were arguably the biggest sore-point in the 2005 Naivasha peace accords for Bashir, so it was little surprise when Khartoum started to demand vast- almost unsustainable- fees on South Sudan for the right to pump oil through its sovereign territory. In response, Juba shut down pumping altogether, denying both north and south any oil revenue at all. Khartoum is demanding recompense for unpaid oil fees, and the south is demanding Khartoum reduce its tax on oil. While steps have been taken to resolve this and reach an agreement on the final per-barrel cost, it will still be months before oil starts flowing again, taking a big swipe out of Sudan’s economy, but all but crippling South Sudan’s.

The third major point of contention between the two nations are the two ongoing conflicts, one in South Kordofan/Nuba Mountains, and the other in Blue Nile State. In each case, rebels backed by Juba (a fact generally acknowledged, but denied by Kiir) are fighting Sudanese government forces in northern territory, ostensibly in defence of southern-allied civilian populations who are being targeted by Khartoum. From their side, the rebels (SPLA-North and other allied militia) claim that the SAF is carrying out campaigns of ethnic slaughter and aerial bombardments of civilians populations. Hundreds of thousands of mostly southern-allied Sudanese have been displaced over the last couple of years and are living in camps.

According to media reports (somewhat reserved in tone, and with clear caveats), progress was made during the talks this week. The Africa Union mediator, former South African leader Thabo Mbeki, stated that both Bashir and Kiir had agreed to actually implement an agreement on having a buffer-zone between their respective territories. They also agreed to create a timetable for implementing outstanding agreements, which should be created in the next week or so. After this, it’s argued that the two nations could be in a position to move towards a joint administration of Abyei, and begin pumping oil again.

In summary, what came out of the talks was:

1. A commitment to implement agreements

2. An agreement to write up a timetable moving towards those agreements

What’s important to note is that the agreements in question were pretty much all negotiated back in September 2012- it’s just that over the last 4 months, neither party has actually implemented what they both said they agreed to. Now they’ve agreed that they need to implement what they’ve agreed. And agreed to agree to a timetable to implement what they’ve agreed. It’s clearly all very agreeable between the two nations.

Which of course, it isn’t. Neither Kiir nor Bashir made any statement after the talks. The reason why nothing’s been done for four months is that neither side trusts the other, and the two nations remain, if not on the brink of war, then at least wallowing in mutual animosity. In fact, a source tells me, the presence of large numbers of women around the Sheraton Addis over the conference weekend indicates that the diplomatic parties may well be more interested in the extra-curricular activities on offer, as actually reaching any meaningful deal.

Omar al Bashir and Salva Kiir may have shaken hands and smiled for the cameras, but I suspect this has more to do with wanting to avoid international sanctions for being belligerent, than any genuine warmth, hope, or interest in compromise the two leaders have towards one another. Not to mince words, Bashir and Kiir are enemies. Both are military men, and both have thrown their respective armies at each other on and off for the last thirty and more years. Bashir took Sudan in a military coup in 1983, and the second Sudanese Civil War took off shortly afterwards. Kiir was one of the most senior military commanders under SPLM/A leader John Garang. And this was no gentlemans’ conflict, no Geneva conventions. The war was a vicious, bloody one, with terrible atrocities committed by both sides.

More than three decades of unresolved hatred lies between the two men, and whatever show they may put on for the diplomats, there is nothing to suggest in either man’s actions that there is any interest in reconciliation- nor would there be any real reason to suggest such a thing should happen. The peace between north and south, and the subsequent referendum on southern independence, is entirely externally engineered. South Sudan owes its independence to the intervention of what was then the world’s largest humanitarian operation, coupled by regional (and almost certainly clandestine Western) military support, driven by interests in the south’s oil and mineral reserves, which are substantial. Were it not for Operation Lifeline Sudan, advocates in US congress, the Cold War politics that pitched US interest in the south’s resources against Khartoum, and the pro-SPLM/A stance of several East African governments (particularly Uganda’s Museveni), there’s little question that Juba would be nothing more than a district-level hub in Khartoum-controlled Sudan by now, and the SPLA likely running a low-level insurgency from the bush, like countless other sub-Saharan rebel groups.

There’s more than just old hatred driving the inaction between the two sides though. The thing is, it may have taken a different guise, but the war is still going on. Bashir wants to crush South Sudan. Losing the south has been the biggest blow to his Presidency. From a northern perspective, southern independence is an incredible loss of face. It represents a military defeat and an economic emasculation. From the perspective of the political psyche of Khartoum, a vast swathe of Sudanese territory (and resources) has been annexed to a sworn enemy. Bashir knows he cannot retake the south militarily at this time- in part because the SAF does not have the military capacity, and in part because western powers would not stand idly by and let him.

For Bashir, the best option is to encourage South Sudan to fail as a state. Already the world’s newest nation, South Sudan is also perhaps the world’s most fragile (depending on the various ways it can be stacked up against Somalia). The dispute over oil revenues provides a perfect opportunity for Bashir to choke Juba. By raising taxes on oil through the north, either the south was going to find its revenue slowly held to higher and higher ransom while feeding the coffers (and the war-machine) of the north or, as happened, be forced to cut off oil altogether. And while this equates to a blow for Khartoum’s revenues, Sudan at least has other sources of income. South Sudan, by contrast, basically has nothing. 90-odd percent of its income comes from that oil, and without it, it has been surfing the edge of bankruptcy since. Already inflation in the south is out of control, unemployment rampant, and the government (frail and corrupt to begin with) is all but broke, propped up by the band-aid of international assistance and little else.

At the same time, Bashir has been quietly running ammunition to dissenters within the south. Far from being a coherent nation, at the time of independence there were nearly 30 disparate militia groups-many of them divided along ethnic lines- and bringing these various armies to heel has been an imperfect process. The intense violence seen between Nuer and Dinka groups over the last 18 months is testimony to the very fragile threads that hold the ‘nation’ together- only ever at its strongest when united against the common foe of the north. With ‘peace’, fractures appear and groups turn on each other, settling old scores and creating new ones. Evidence suggests Bashir has been fueling this by supplying bullets to anti-SPLA forces, further weakening Juba’s ability to manage the state’s affairs.

But delaying the flow of oil is not just a tactic that Khartoum is using to its advantage. While Sudan may have more income sources than South Sudan, the reduced oil revenues are still a critical shortfall in its annual accounting, and Kiir knows this. In a way, both nations are now relying on their outside supporters: For Khartoum, China, and for Juba, the western ‘International Community’- and also China.

Kiir knows that Bashir is currently the weakest he’s ever been. The loss of the south undermined Bashir’s authority and the confidence of people (including some in the SAF) of his capacity to rule. The International Criminal Court has issued warrants for Bashir’s arrest in conjunction with crimes against humanity, as well as against several of his key leadership, as well as accompanying sanctions- further weakening both his political position, and his authority. Not only have assessments of SAF military capability demonstrated a vastly weaker force than it has been in the past, but there have been several attempts at popular demonstrations and uprisings a-la Arab Spring- which have been quickly, fiercely and quietly put down. None the less, the fact that these protests have happened demonstrates his weakening position. Further to that, recent analysis of his nexus of power- political, military and religious- shows he is more vulnerable now than at any point in the last couple of decades.

For this reason too, Kiir is unlikely to take any meaningful steps to rein in the SPLA-N. Although he publically denies supporting them, nobody seriously questions the links between the rebels (southerners operating in northern territory) and Juba. The ongoing fighting sucks up Khartoum’s resources and, somewhere in there, with a weakened SAF in the mix, no doubt Kiir is hoping that perhaps there may even be an opportunity to gain a conventional upper-hand. After all, only a few years ago a column of Darfur rebels made it all the way to Omdurman, on the outskirts of Khartoum, before they were destroyed. I am sure that in his happy place, Kiir envisages the potential of pro-southern rebels breaching SAF defences and moving on the capital, or if not, then creating enough political space to allow a popular uprising to foment.

Interestingly, the south continues to hold the sympathy card, at least as far as Western support goes. A hangover from the days when the SPLM/A and the South Sudanese were seen as victims of northern aggression during the 80s and 90s (courtesy, in a large part, due to western media and supporters in US Congress), the west continues to sympathise with the southerners, with stories of ethnic cleansing and bombing raids by Antonovs in South Kordofan and Unity State featuring predominately in the narrative. The fact that the SPLA-N is in part responsible for stirring up this renewed aggression (most atrocities carried out by SAF and pro-north militia were ostensibly attempts to weed out southern militia fighters) doesn’t get as much mention. Nor, due in part to limited media and observer access, do claims of bombings and killings by northern forces get a lot of critical analysis- they are reported at face value (with that very caveat- ‘reported’)- which is all the south needs. Meanwhile, a friend closer to informants than I am tells me that in fact, in some of these cases, there’s reason to think that many of these accounts of bombings are in fact being made up by the south to bolster their political position.

Both Kiir and Bashir are playing the long game here. Bashir would like nothing more than to see the south implode- ideally, in his books, without having to lift a military finger, which keeps him ‘clean’ in the eyes of the international community. Delaying the flow of oil as long as possible, for example by stringing out internationally-mediated negotiations, will play right into this game. Kiir, on the other hand, is hoping that by keeping pressure- military and economic- on an increasingly fragile north, may yet give him the upper hand and weaken Bashir’s hold on power until he’s overthrown or replaced by the military. Kiir’s game is a particularly high-stakes one: The north has more reserves than the south and can probably hold out far longer, but he may be counting either on the current trend of MENA nations to revolt against unpopular despots, or the fact that the international community simply can’t afford to let South Sudan fail, and will prop it up whatever it takes, even while the economy chokes. In the meantime, there are enough regional powers no doubt quietly sinking funds into the SPLA against the SAF (Museveni hasn’t gone anywhere) that the SPLA-N is unlikely to run out of support just yet.

Left to their own devices, it’s doubtful that the two nations could avoid war, almost certain that they wouldn’t make significant headway in building a sustainable and cooperative peace. There are a few wild-cards in the mix though. Western support is one. As mentioned, the extent to which the US, the UN, Europe, other nations and aid groups prop up the almost non-existent South Sudanese economy will be a factor in how long Juba can hold out against Khartoum. The pressure these parties bring to bear to force a grudging resolution is also in the mix- and clearly, it continues to bring both parties to the negotiating table, albeit leaving plenty of room for delay tactics. The Chinese also play a big part here- with the potential to either offset western agendas, or reinforce them. One thing is clear, however, and that is that with the unpopularity of NATO involvement in Libya, and the public-relations disasters that were the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, there is little chance of significant western engagement in the Sudans to intervene should things get messier, and both sides know this.

One nation that does have both capacity and political will to intervene is Ethiopia, which already has forces deployed around Abyei and continues to host peace negotiations. I won’t say much more about that, but for anybody interested, I’d suggest looking at the Rennaissance Dam project currently underway on Ethiopia’s Blue Nile, and the negative reaction it’s received from Cairo and, pertinently, Khartoum. Then ask whether in fact there could be some sympathy towards opponents of Khartoum as a result, particularly rebel groups operating in Blue Nile state and undermining the current regime’s capacity. Just a thought.

The piece that gets periodically touted as a possible solution for southern economic independence is the construction of an oil pipeline out of Kenya, instead of Sudan. There was talk at one stage of this being bankrolled by China, and depending on who I talk to and the angle of the sunshine, I hear either that groundwork is underway, or its been abandoned as a bad idea. At the very least, such a pipeline would take many years to build and would offer no short-term respite. It would also have to run through extremely insecure terrain- through zones fought over by warring South Sudanese tribes, then through areas in northern Kenya similarly afflicted by tribal warfare, and finally exiting on Kenya’s troubled coastline, where seperatists in Mombasa as well as ethnic rivalries in coastal areas further north continue to raise their head. Not to mention making a big shiny target for the disgruntled Somali militant element within Kenya. According to the most recent snippet of analysis I heard, the cost of the pipeline is so prohibitive, South Sudan’s current oil reserves are insufficient to make the new pipeline worthwhile.

I don’t want to sound hopeless. There’s always hope. However thin that sliver of light might be. And international pressure (particularly from the Chinese quarter) has potential. So too might a significant undermining of Bashir’s position, should that trend continue, as he may be forced to make concessions from a place of weakness. However, as another observer has pointed out, you have to question whether a meaningful cooperative peace between Sudan and South Sudan is possible with two enemies such as Bashir and Kiir at the helms of their respective governments. Extrapolating further, given that both nations have governments that are deeply entrenched with military personnel- men with direct combat experience against their foe- doesn’t inspire many positive thoughts. However, perhaps as one generation passes and another rises, if the prospect of another all-out war like the 1983-2005 one can be avoided, perhaps there’ll be the chance to build true reconciliation.

In the meantime, I think we can expect to see continued stalling, to see Bashir’s trademark diplomatic two-step, and Kiir to continue to play the international sympathy card, while very deliberately running his own violent agenda. Progress, such that it might be, will most likely be drip-fed, with more talk than action. Fighting by proxy-militia is a given, and will happen north and south of the border, and when the pressure isn’t on Bashir on his side, then it’s likely that he’ll find ways to invest spare capacity in stirring up disgruntled populations within the south in an effort to undermine his foe. If the oil starts flowing again- and it’ll still be months at best before it does- then it’ll be an action begrudged on both sides, and probably muscled through with some heavy-hitting diplomacy and some not-so-subtle carrots and sticks.

In short, change, if any, will be slow coming, unwillingly shared, and unlikely to make much difference for the millions of Sudanese on both sides of the border suffering from conflict, from economic marginalization, and from the disease and malnutrition that are the hallmarks of mass displacement in harsh environments.

Note: My apologies for the lack of sources and URLs on this post. I’m not a journalist, so my rigor probably isn’t what it should be when it comes to keeping notes and sources. I’ve collected the information above over a number of weeks & months from various web sources, but my internet connectivity at the moment isn’t really strong enough to spend a lot of time scouring old tweets and links for original material. If I get time later I’ll try and link to info as I rediscover it. In the meantime, feel free to call me on anything you think is inaccurate. -MA

The humanitarian industry is a relatively new one in its current form. This makes it an interesting, frequently exciting one to be involved with, as it’s constantly changing. This can be a challenge, too.

I like to joke that the earliest disaster preparedness and response on record is Noah’s Ark. Then of course there’s the story of Joseph (he of Technicolour Dreamcoat ™ fame), who interpreted Pharaoh’s dreams of skinny cattle devouring fat cattle as an impending famine and subsequently requisitioned harvest surplus which he then redistributed to the hungry when said famine eventuated.

Humanitarianism as we know it today has, for better or for worse, become an industry, and has developed quickly from a relatively fringe activity best left to hippies and missionaries, to a multi-billion-dollar a year sector attracting a wide range of skilled and experienced professionals. It’s unique, dynamic and, certainly from an insider’s perspective, fascinating. But the way things look today haven’t popped out of nowhere. Over the last century and a half, the humanitarian industry has been shaped by a number of key events and moments that have given rise to its current dynamics.

1. The Battle of Solferino (June 24th 1859)

At the height of the Austro-Sardinian war, a Swiss businessman by the name of Jean-Henri Dunant travelled to the small Italian town of Solferino, where he witnessed the aftermath of a battle that left forty thousands dead and wounded. So struck was he by the plight of the casualties, many of whom were abandoned and left to die, or executed by the enemy, that he forewent his business plans and spent the ensuing days helping to organize medical care for the survivors.

The experience so moved him that upon returning to Geneva, he wrote up his memories, recommending the establishment of a movement of trained and neutral volunteers who could administer medical aid to the casualties of battle, and treaties offering such people protection. His recommendations became the foundation for what was to become the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), as well as the first Geneva Conventions.

The Committee’s proposals, initially signed and endorsed by 12 nations in 1864, recognized the need for national committees of volunteers to provide medical assistance on the battlefield, but also enshrined the neutrality of wounded soldiers. The agreed international symbol, as laid out by the signed agreements, was a red cross on a white field- the inversion of the Swiss flag, itself a symbol of neutrality.

This notion of neutrality, and of non-combattants offering non-partisan support to the injured victims of warfare, became the founding tenet of modern humanitarian organizations, and the ICRC continues to this day to occupy a unique status under International Humanitarian Law and within the rules of warfighting. The Red Cross Code of Conduct forms the guiding set of 10 principles that most major NGOs voluntarily adopt as their core values, particularly enshrining the primacy of the humanitarian imperative, neutrality and impartiality.

2. The Aftermath of World War II and the Marshall Plan (1945, 1948-51)

Following the victory of the allied forces first in the European theatre, and subsequently in Asia, most of Europe in 1945 had been devastated. The extent of destruction caused by warfare and bombardment, the loss of millions of men at the peak of their economic productivity, and the diversion of years’ worth of resources into the machinery of war, meant that both society and economy across the continent was decimated.

Conversely, because it had stimulated its economy through the production of wartime assets without suffering any destruction of its mainland infrastructure, the USA had become the first country in history to economically thrive under conditions of warfare (a dynamic that has echoes today in how the economy operates while America is at war). In order to shore up its wartime allies, to assist with the vast humanitarian needs of post-war Europe, and no doubt to maintain the health of its key trading partners, Harry Truman’s government put together an economic recovery package of unprecedented proportions. It would see some USD 13 billion invested across western Europe.

Whether due to the plan itself, or due to the simple mechanics of post-war recovery, industrial output did increase substantially during the plan’s lifetime, and was deemed in many corners to have been a great success. The Marshall Plan laid out a framework for international foreign assistance that became increasingly the norm, with large bilateral or multilateral grants or loans provided to countries with struggling economies in order to lift their productivity and stability.

As well as normalizing the concept of foreign assistance on such a large scale, another interesting side-effect of such a large humanitarian crisis was the need to have capacity to deliver support, and so the US government agreed to allow private charitable organizations provide emergency relief to war survivors. Although the charity was not a new concept, this gave new impetus to non-governmental relief agencies, and many of today’s largest NGOs appeared around this time. CARE, which is an acronym for “Cooperative for Assistance and Relief Everywhere”, in fact originally stood for “Cooperative for American Remittances to Europe”.

A third impact of the end of the Second World War was of course the founding of the United Nations (UN), to replace the defunct League of Nations that had failed so miserably to prevent World War II in the first place. This occured in 1945. As well as spawning a host of international agreements on everything from trade to human rights, the UN also gave birth to a spread of sub-organizations with specific mandates. Among the most pressing in the post-war years was the plight of the tens of millions of refugees forced from their home in the fighting- and thus was born the International Refugee Organization (IRO) in 1947, which three years later became the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), one of the most dynamic and critical international organizations in the humanitarian field today.

3. The Biafran Airlift (1967-70)

In 1967, civil war broke out in Nigeria following a series of coups, counter-coups and ethnic killings, and the ethnic Igbo in the south of the country declared their own homeland, the state of Biafra. The Nigerian government responded by blockading Biafra, and a humanitarian crisis resulted, with millions of civilians caught up without food and medical supplies.

In response, a huge humanitarian operation was launched, and a mix of well-meaning volunteers and mercenaries, funded by charity organizations, began flying food and medical supplies into Biafra. The mission was fraught with danger- the Nigerian airforce would shoot down any relief flights claiming (most likely accurately) that weapons were being smuggled to the resistance. Flights were flown in at night, without lights, and landings orchestrated on roads in the bush where supplies could then be delivered to starving civilians.

By war’s end as many as three million people may have died, mostly due to a mixture of starvation and disease. The involvement of humanitarian actors, however, has subsequently been condemned. Not only did the relief flights facilitate the smuggling of weapons to the Biafran rebels, but some critics claimed that the relief assistance merely gave the Biafrans the resolve to hold out longer, exacerbating the humanitarian situation rather than surrendering and allowing the seige to end. One report put the toll due to humanitarian action at 180,000 dead. This was the largest and most high-profile instance to that point of humanitarian intervention being arguably partisan, and also contributing significant harm, not just good.

Another important cameo played out in the Biafran civil war. Red Cross workers were allowed to work in the war-affected areas to provide medical assistance, but under the guise of neutrality were not allowed to speak about what they were seeing. Witnessing atrocities against civilians committed by government forces, as well as attacks against humanitarian staff, this enraged some of the volunteers. Most prominent among these was Frenchman Bernard Kouchner, who felt strongly that the Red Cross’s stance on neutrality was an ethical compromise. He determined to establish an organization that was free of any government influence and could speak out on behalf of those affected by crisis, and the NGO Medecins Sans Frontieres (MSF) was born. MSF remains one of the foremost NGOs to this day, and is fiercely independant and proud (to a fault…?) of its independence from government, military and even international organizational influence. The actions of Kouchner and his peers also set a precedent for relief agencies advocating on behalf of the rights of the victims of conflict and injustice, not simply being silent responders.

Biafra introduced a whole new complexity to the idea of ‘neutral’ aid agencies on several fronts.

4. The Ethiopia Famine (1983-5) and Live Aid (1985)

From 1983, a combination of failed rains, civil warfare and the purges and collectivist policies of a communist dictatorship had pushed Ethiopia into one of the worst famines of the 20th century. By its end, 8 million people would be affected by famine, with between 500,000 and one million deaths. Images of its victims, made famous by BBC reporter Michael Buerke’s dispatches from the field, were broadcast onto TV screens across the western world, making the Ethiopian famine the first to really be witnessed by a western audience.

Galvanized by public sympathy, a group of some of the most popular musicians of the day joined together, led by the enthusiastic Bob Geldof, to form Band Aid. They recording a song to raise funds for Ethiopian famine victims, ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ which became a Christmas Number One in the UK charts in late 1984. In 1985, Geldof again coordinated efforts for a fundraising concert, held simultaneously in the UK and the US, which ultimately garnered an audience of a little under 2 billion people worldwide and raised an estimated $150 million.

The Ethiopian famine and the subsequent fundraising efforts marked a watershed moment in the history of aid fundraising. Large amounts of fundraising money were no longer just the domain of governments, nor were charities restricted to small pockets of whatever they could raise through collection baskets and faithful donors. Furthermore, the idea of a world out there- the third world- experiencing hardship was suddenly projected into peoples’ homes and made a part of their day-to-day consciousness. Since that time, people- particularly in the west- have remained aware of third world disasters. It is part of the collective experience and expectation that there is a poor world out there that suffers things that people in the west do not tend to.

On the up side, this has made the job of convincing people of the need to give easier. There is also a downside. Since Live Aid and many of the confronting images that were broadcast to shock people into giving, people have slowly become increasingly desensitized to images of suffering. The awareness-raising and media campaigns for the Ethiopia famine also represented the major incursion of shocking images into the public space, to the detriment of the dignity of survivors which has taken years to break down (and is still a challenge in some sectors).

5. The Second Sudanese Civil War (1983-2004) and Operation Lifeline Sudan (OLS)

The civil war between the Government of Sudan (GoS) and the southern-based Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA) ultimately resulted in two million deaths and four million refugees. Africa’s longest-running civil war, and possibly the most destructive, it too resulted in devastating images of famine as population groups were forced from their homes to settle in large, unsanitary camps where food supplies were precarious and disease rampant.

The international community established Operation Lifeline Sudan (OLS), a consortium of UN agencies and three dozen NGOs, in 1989, with the aim of delivering assistance to the mainly southern displaced people in camps both within and outside Sudan itself. A logistics airhead was set up in the small Turkana town of Lokichoggio, in Kenya, from which a vast operation of airdrops and relief deliveries was flown into Sudan. At the height of operations, Loki was the second busiest airport in Africa. OLS remains functional today, although not to the extent it was through the 1990s.

The civil war in Sudan was in part a proxy of the Cold War, and as such western allegiences found themselves favouring the southern rebels, both in terms of ideology and in terms of potential access to oil and mineral revenues in the long run. This was reflected in the huge amounts of funding that were invested in OLS, enabling such a massive aerial logistics operation. The offshoot of this was the explosion in budget of many of the NGOs party to OLS, catapulting some of them into the massive organizations they are today.

OLS also became an unwitting party to the conflict. Food aid became a weapon in the war on the ground, and was used to tactical advantage by both sides. By feeding humanitarian information to OLS, belligerents could influence where food drops were headed, and because populations would move to where the food was, they could thus influence the movement of people to their advantage in the field. It was an ugly ploy that cost the lives of thousands.

OLS’ involvement in the Sudanese civil war was a turning point in the humanitarian industry. As it became clear that the impact of food aid was having a detrimental effect on the people it was supposed to be helping, it began to become clear to the aid industry as a whole that they could no longer act out of the right motivations and still be operating with a clear conscience. The aid industry could no longer feign innocence- it was clearly becoming complicit in the conflict- and nowhere has this been more obviously demonstrated than in the Sudan civil war, and the ultimate secession of South Sudan as a state. With the humanitarian sector essentially propping up the southern government- even to this day- there is little doubt that South Sudan is a state that was created by the intervention of humanitarian actors. I have not seen any studies that suggest what the humanitarian impact might have been without OLS intervention, but I wonder whether the war would have lasted as long or cost as many lives, and I am utterly convinced that, for better or for worse, South Sudan would not be a state today.

The high profile of OLS, particularly the drama of large-scale airdrops, also had the unfortunate side-effect of cementing in the donor public’s mind that this was what aid was about- truck-and-chuck. It’s an assumption that twenty years on, the aid industry still struggles to re-educate the public about, making it hard to raise funds for other less appealing but often far more relevant issues such as human rights, advocacy and institutional capacity-building.

6. The Rwandan Genocide (April-July 1994)

During a hundred day period in mid-1994, Hutu extremists slaughtered over 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus in a calculated, cruel campaign of extermination. Based on old ethnic tensions, a history of tit-for-tat killing sprees, a hate-fueled propaganda message, and the meddling and inaction of international powers, the Rwandan genocide remains one of the darkest stains on the concience of modern history.

The Tutsi-led Rwandan Patriotic Front, at the time a rebel army, swept across Rwanda and eventually brought the killing of Tutsis to something of a denouement. The Hutu extremists, together with nearly two million ethnic Hutus, fled ahead of the advancing front and found themselves in dire camps on the rocky lava flows of eastern Zaire. Unable to dig pit latrines, and living in deplorable conditions, cholera broke out and killed tens of thousands of the refugees in a matter of weeks.

While the international community had stalled and stalled again during the genocide, images of Africans dying by the thousands on TV screens now galvanized them to action, and millions of dollars worth of aid was flown into the Hutu camps around Goma- while survivors of the genocide were still receiving scant attention. As dollars flowed into the camps, the orchestrators of the genocide and their militias consolidated control over the population (and the aid resources), preventing the return of Hutus into Rwanda to begin a reconciliation process, and even launching attacks back into Rwanda (which the newly-installed Rwandan government returned with gusto). Eighteen years on, fighting continues to plague the forests of eastern DRC (as Zaire has since been renamed), with vicious slaughter of civilians and proliferation of horrific rape a daily occurence, while old scores are settled by both sides. The invasion of Goma by the Tutsi-backed M23 rebel group this week is the latest chapter in this story.

The failure of the international community to act to stop the genocide (something that could have been done with the right political will), and then the subsequent outpouring of international sympathy and support to the very purpotrators of that genocide- all in the name of impartiality and the primacy of the humanitarian imperative- remains the blackest spot on the history of the aid community. The concepts of neutrality, impartiality and humanitarian imperative all took a beating, and where at one time they might have been considered black-and-white standards, since Rwanda there has been a new appreciation for the shades of grey they embody.

The Rwandan genocide was one of three humanitarian interventions that went horribly wrong in the early 90s- the others being Somalia (1993) and the former Yugoslavia (1992-95). In the former, aid was appropriated by warlords and used as a weapon against a suffering populace, ultimately leading to a catastrophic peace-enforcing intervention. In the latter, UN forces with a sketchy mandate struggled to make sense of the deep-seated hatred of the belligerents, their biggest failure being the murder of 8,000 men and boys by Serb extremists in the beseiged muslim enclave of Srebrenica- even while a battalion of dutch peacekeepers stood by and did nothing.

The aftermath of these failed interventions gave rise to a whole new understanding of the complexity of aid and the potential for humanitarian assistance to be outright unethical. Approaches such as Do No Harm, which are mainstream today, were birthed from the Goma debacle, while standards such as the Sphere Project arose, in part to try and ensure that humanitarian actors were singing from the same songsheet and not tripping over each others’ toes.

In addition, the highly complex nature of operations following Rwanda began to make it clear that aid work was no longer just about well-meaning do-gooders with a social conscience. Humanitarian actors needed to be able to work within the highly complex contexts which aid found itself being delivered in- to be able to work both with the technical aspects, and also the political ones. Where up to and throughout the 1980s it was generally enough to have a heartbeat and a willingness to work in the field, the fallout from Rwanda, Somalia and Yugoslavia saw a push towards the ever-increasing professionalisation of the aid sector.

Ultimately, Rwanda served as a deeply humbling experience for the humanitarian industry. If nothing else, it robbed the industry of the moral high ground, and forced it to accept its place as a player within a political landscape, often to the detriment of the people it purports to support. No event before or since has communicated this message so clearly.

7. The Bombing of the Canal Hotel (August 19th 2003)

Following the September 11 attacks on US soil, the United States led a ‘coalition of the willing’ against alleged terrorist targets, first in Afghanistan from late 2001, and subsequently in Iraq from early 2003. While the aerial assaults and troop incursions quickly broke the conventional forces of both nations (where they existed), the result was a bitter and drawn-out insurgency overlaid on a highly complex set of tribal and sectarian divisions that has turned both nations into two of the most unstable places on earth today.

As coalition forces swept through different parts of each country, the UN and NGOs flooded in behind them to pick up the pieces- providing humanitarian assistance to areas that had been difficult for them to reach in prior times due to political and security restrictions. With pro-coalition governments in each nation ostensibly supporting the foreign presence, humanitarian space opened up rapidly, and was quickly filled by humanitarian actors.

The net effect of this to the anti-western belligerents- who saw the coalition invasion of their homelands as an occupation and who framed it as an attack on Islam- was to view (not entirely without cause) the presence of western aid workers as simply a second wave of the occupation. While the first was a military presence, the second was a cultural colonization that sought to unravel conservative social norms with western notions of human rights, gender equality, tolerance and so-forth. The humanitarians became the enemy.

On August 19th 2003, a truck bomber drove into the compound at the UN headquarters in Baghdad, based out of the Canal Hotel. 22 people were killed, mostly UN staff, among them Sergio Vieira de Mello, the UN Special Representative to Iraq, whose office was allegedly specifically targeted. One hundred were wounded. The attack was claimed by al Qaeda in Iraq. It was followed a month later by another bombing at the same site, and then a month after that, by a coordinated series of bombings that also targeted the Red Cross compound, killing 12. When it became clear that the humanitarian industry was no longer considered neutral by the belligerents but was being specifically targeted, NGOs and the UN withdrew rapidly from Iraq and began remote operations, based mostly from Jordan.

While aid workers had suffered incidental attacks, particularly while carrying out operations in active conflict zones, and had even suffered occasional deliberate attacks (for example the killing of six Red Cross workers in Chechnya in 1996), this was the first time that the industry had been targeted by a high-level campaign sending such a clear message. It did not mark the end of such attacks, either. Among other subsequent high-profile deliberate targeting of aid workers include the murder of 5 MSF staff in Afghanistan in mid-2004, the abduction and execution of CARE’s Iraq program director Margaret Hassan in November 2004, and the murder by militias of 17 ACF workers in Sri Lanka in August 2006. Roughly two hundred aid workers a year are victims of violence while on operations.

The Canal Hotel Bombing essentially set a precedent that said the humanitarian industry was no longer a neutral, impartial body but a party to the conflict, and as such a legitimate target. The industry has not been the same since. Aid workers now go through intensive security training before deploying to insecure areas. Aid agencies are jumpy about pulling their staff from hostile situations. Where once an aid agency’s logo might have protected them from violence, there are many places in the world where it is now seen to be something that puts them at risk. Significant portions of NGO and UN aid budgets are now spent on security, and in some parts of the world, NGOs struggle to differentiate themselves from military actors and government contractors who are agents of foreign policy and do not hold to humanitarian principles. No single event in the last ten years has had a bigger impact on the landscape of humanitarian action in insecure environments than the August 2003 bombing.

8. The South Asian Tsunami (December 26th 2004)

Early in the morning on December 26th, an enourmous tectonic rupture beneath the Indian Ocean triggered an earthquake of magnitude 9.2, generating a gigantic tsunami. The wave struck the Indonesian region of Aceh first, where the wave height was estimated at as high as twenty metres coming ashore, before other devastating waves washed up against southern Thailand, Sri Lanka, India, and eventually even the east coast of Africa. More than 230,000 people died and five million were impacted.

The event made the term ‘tsunami’ a household word as shocking images of destruction emerged on television sets and the toll grew almost hourly, almost defying belief. Western audiences, particularly struck by the devastation on the tourist beaches of southern Thailand, where thousands of European holiday-makers were among the casualties, poured sympathy and money into the subsequent relief response. Ultimately, $14 billion would be provided in international humanitarian assistance.

The public response to the disaster was unprecedented and overwhelming. NGOs quite literally received more money than they knew what to do with- and while one (MSF) publically closed its appeal once it had reached an amount it felt it could work with, most others continued to allow the funds to flow in, creating a massive surplus. The result was an organizational disaster as agencies tripped over themselves to try and spend their funds in a timely manner, squabbling over response sectors and geographical areas in order to stake out their territory and not dissapoint their donors. Many smaller NGOs popped up specifically in response to the tsunami with no knowledge of the humanitarian sector or its standards, and coordination across the board became at points nearly disfunctional.

The massive response to the tsunami- an admittedly enourmous natural disaster- occured against the backdrop of a number of other major world crises, particularly the war in Darfur, but also a devastating conflict in DRC, both of which were suffering from a paucity of international attention and funding. This frustration was exacerbated by the fact that the actual humanitarian needs following the tsunami were not as great as the scale of the event itself might suggest. While the death toll was high, the damage was limited to relatively narrow coastal areas, and the countries most affected (Sri Lanka, Indonesia, India and Thailand), while overwhelmed, all had some national capacity to cope. Nor were the majority of survivors at the same level of risk as those in IDP camps in Dafur or eastern DRC.

This reality led NGOs into a period of considerable soul-searching, and the revamping of fundraising processes, particularly around the concept of raising too much money for a crisis that did not need the funding, and how that funding might be redirected. The issue of transparency around NGO spending became a prominent theme.
The single biggest criticism, however, remained that of coordination. Although the UN’s cluster system had begun to be piloted, the failures within the humanitarian community in this regard created a renewed impetus for focusing on collaboration. In the years following the tsunami, the UN’s Humanitarian Reform program has become mainstreamed, and coordination between major humanitarian actors is now the norm- if at times still flawed- in any significant humanitarian response, and the central role of UN OCHA is largely undisputed.

The vast amounts of money raised and the numbers of humanitarian actors involved did however create a prime testing ground for a number of cross-agency initiatives. Humanitarian accountability, for example, was piloted across a range of response programs, while the notion of interagency evaluations also gained traction. Existing humanitarian standards such as Sphere were given a rigorous outing, and found to be largely robust.

Other knock-on effects of the tsunami response relate particularly to donors. The disaster set a new precedent for a shocking event against which all other disasters would be measured. It demonstrated just how fickle western donors could be (not a new truth)- the outpouring of assistance was demonstrably linked to people’s identification with Thailand as a holiday spot. It also raised the issue of donor fatigue. So many people had given significant amounts to the tsunami response that it became difficult to fundraise for any other disasters, including areas of arguably greater need, such as Darfur.

9. The Haiti Earthquake (January 12th, 2010)

When a large (7.0) and shallow earthquake struck near Haiti’s capital Port-au-Prince, it was that city’s vulnerability rather than the enormity of the quake itself that resulted in the scale of catastrophe that ensued. Between two and three hundred thousand people died, as many more were injured, and a third of Haiti’s population affected. Against the backdrop of a fragile political and economic state with entrenched poverty, and the intensity of destruction within the city itself, the impact was devastating.

Because almost all major infrastructure in Port-au-Prince was damaged or destroyed, aid floundered reaching the survivors. Reporting on the disaster was fast. Within a couple of hours of the quake, it was headline news, and details were pouring out aided by social media. Within twenty-four hours, most major networks had journalists and film crews on the ground filing reports, and the world’s giving public, again shocked by the scale of the tragedy, began to give.

They also began to ask questions. Within seventy-two hours, criticism was being ladled out that the emergency response was too slow, that international responders were not doing enough to get aid to the victims. The ever-accelerating news cycle, aided and abetted by Web 2.0, was looking for ways to build on the story. People, not understanding the complexity of aid as anything more than truck-and-chuck logistics, grew rapidly frustrated with what they saw as unacceptable delays.

The Haitians too played to the media. Savvy and well-connected themselves, they understood the potential of broadcast images to rally support for their crisis, and there were numerous reports of crowds playing up and becoming aggressive only once the news cameras were on the scene.

Crowdsourcing of disaster response information came in to play. Use of text messaging, combined with web-based crowd-sourcing platforms, triangulated the location of trapped victims and directed search-and-rescue teams to dig them out. The question of whether this was a good thing or not remains unanswered.

Haiti became the world’s first participatory disaster in many ways. Not only were people following along with information in near-real time- and contributing to it- but so too people felt that they had a right to get directly invovled. While the South Asian Tsunami had generated a lot of startup NGOs, the scale paled compared to what happened in Haiti. Due to its proximity to the US, as well as strong ties through the Haitian diaspora there, thousands- literally- of well-meaning but thoroughly unqualified citizens filled suitcases with money and flew on over to Haiti to contribute to the relief efforts. At one point, there were reported to be over ten thousand NGOs operating in Port-au-Prince.

While the UN coordination mechanisms had become well established by the time of the Haiti earthquake, they were insufficient to deal with the sheer number of ‘humanitarian’ actors, leading to accusations of poor coordination. In fact, most major humanitarian actors were coordinating reasonably well under the circumstances. The problem was, the influx of do-it-yourself do-gooders had no knowledge of the standards of behaviour developed to manage exactly this sort of issue, and simply did their own thing. Ironically, despite nearly thirty years of increasing standardization and professionalisation of the aid sector, Haiti marked a return to the days where anybody with a heartbeat, a will, and a wad of notes could carry out aid work.

*

From its humble beginnings as a simple set of agreements around the treatment by volunteers of wounded soldiers a hundred and fifty years ago, the humanitarian sector has ballooned into a high profile, multi-billion-dollar and increasingly professional industry. The clear-cut principle of neutrality has been built upon, and then increasingly nuanced as the implications of high-value aid resources flowing into conflict and post-disaster settings has become increasingly understood. Aid workers have gone from being unsung heroes protected by their badges, to targets in an increasingly violent playing field.

Increased critical awareness of the impact of aid has led to the development of more and more standards and tools to unpack that complexity, while tragic mistakes have lent a sombre, self-critical and often cynical edge to the notion of international do-gooders.

The expectations of a giving public have shifted too, from a time when charity was the domain of churches and old ladies, to today where major emergencies become causes celebres among teenagers or corporate businessfolk, and revenues are measured in the billions. So too as the world has shrunk, ease of travel has increased, and communications media has accelerated, the giving public is increasingly interacting with disasters in near-real-time as they unfold, creating expectations often unrealistic at best, very often ignorant.

Aid now operates in a highly politicized environment with rapid changes, almost incomprehensible flows of information, and a vast and shifting range of constituents, all of whom require satisfaction on one level or another. With every major disaster or event, the aid world changes, and the goal-posts shifts.

For all its failings over the decades, one thing that stands out is that the aid industry- like many of the people who have to respond on the ground- is by very nature flexible and adaptable, changing as its circumstances change. It’s made its mistakes, and it remains a deeply flawed sector. But for all that, I couldn’t see myself in any other.

What do you think? Are there any other key events in the history of humanitarianism that you feel have had a major impact on the development of the sector?

The last few weeks has seen a dramatic upsurge in tension between Sudan and South Sudan. The most recent iteration ‘began’ with the occupation, by forces loyal to the South Sudanese government, of the town of Heglig, officially controlled by Sudan and central to the control of north-flowing oil supplies. This was quickly followed by a) war-like rhetoric by Sudan’s President Omar-al-Bashir, b) condemnation of the occupation by the United Nations and [portions of] the International Community, and c) a military offensive by the Sudan Armed Forces (SAF). South Sudanese forces left Heglig- whether by choice (as claimed by South Sudan) or forced out by the SAF (as claimed by Sudan) being unclear due to the limited access by foreign observers.

The withdrawl from Heglig appears to have calmed the situation somewhat- commentary at the time suggested that an escalation to ‘full-blown war’ (whatever that is) was imminent. Sudan’s Air Force has carried out a number of bombing raids against southern targets (aerial bombardments are denied by Khartoum as a matter of course but well documented by witness accounts and the Satellite Sentinel Project). Bashir has turned his rhetoric narrative from that of the offended avenger to that of the vanquishing hero. Meanwhile, the government of South Sudan has played a more defensive game after receiving the diplomatic equivalent of a yellow card from the International Community.

The reality is, however, while the lines of tactical control have shifted and shifted again, the strategic position is little changed. The conflict between Sudan and South Sudan is fraught and on the brink of erupting. But don’t misunderstand this assertion. This is not just some thuggish brinkmanship between two hot-tempered adversaries that could boil over with a careless word. This is a deeply-rooted conflict, in which the issues, the stakes, and the players are all ingrained in a highly tangled context, decades in the growth.

Let’s take a quick look at what’s going on.

I’ve looked at the Sudans context previously, but for those just joining us, here’s the one paragraph summary of the salient points of the Sudans’ modern history. Sudan gained independence as a single nation following British colonial rule which previously saw it divided, with direct administration of the south as an East African colony, and a proxy rule by the Egyptians in the north, resulting in a country with a deep north-south divide on cultural, religious and ethnic grounds. Khartoum’s governance was challenged by a civil uprising in 1956 that lead to two rounds of near-continual civil war, largely driven by the impact of resource centralization, Islamicization, arabicization and the marginalization of impoverished outlying states. This was further exacerbated by the seizure, via coup, of the National Congress Party (NCP) in Khartoum, led by now- (and still-) President Bashir, who entrenched these policies further. The signing of the internationally-brokered Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) in 2005 brought an end to open warfare and led, in 2011, to a referendum which saw the south vote overwhelmingly for independence and becoming, a few months later, the world’s newest state. The time since has been characterized by increasing tension between Khartoum and the southern government in Juba, particularly over the official border demarcation between north and south and, by the same token, control over the country’s rich oil reserves that straddle that border.

On the subject of civil war, it’s worth mentioning the Darfur conflict, which kicked off in 2003 and led to a [debatable] 200,000 or more deaths due to a combination of direct combat and disease resulting from displacement. While geographically (and politically) distinct from the war between north and south (see above map for reference), it’s relevant because it shares many root causes, its protagonists many of the same disgruntlements. Darfur rebel groups have long taken their lead from developments in negotiations between north and south, and many of Sudan’s disparate rebel groups have shared a common sympathy and a loose alliance.

It’s also important to understand several aspects of warfare in Sudan. One is the principle of assymetry. Historically, the SAF has held considerable dominance from the perspective of materiel and training (a proper Air Force used to devastating effect against largely civilian targets, and a large convential standing army), while most rebel groups have historically been militias drawn from civilian populations, or at times elements deserted from the SAF (note that the SAF’s dominance on paper is no longer assured). A second issue is the use of proxy militias. The most infamous of these is the Janjawid, ostensibly used by Khartoum (who, characteristically, denies the charge) to carry out massacres and ethnic cleansing in Darfur. However they were used extensively during the north-south conflict, often drawn along ethnic boundaries and exacerbating existing tensions, and often associated with some of the worst crimes against civilian populations. A third issue is heavy international involvement. This manifests itself both in terms of the support given to the various sides of the conflict, and also in the efforts at mediation. While Bashir has perfected the diplomatic Waltz, dancing around sanctions and resolutions to keep the international community on the back foot, Juba all but owes its existence as an independant entity to the direct intervention by NGOs, the UN, and international sponsors.

Before we go further, let’s do a quick recap of the major players.

Sudan, Republic of- The northern half of what used to be the nation of Sudan and historically refered to as ‘north’ or ‘northern’ Sudan, governed from Khartoum. Population: 30 million. GDP: USD 89 billion (USD 2,700 per capita). Percentage of exports associated with oil prior to secession of South Sudan: 70-90%.

South Sudan, Republic of- The southern half of what used to be the nation of Sudan, independant since July 2011 and with its capital in Juba. Population: ~10 million. GDP: USD 13 billion (USD 1,500 per capita). Percentage of Sudan’s pre-secession oil fields now in its control: 80% (estimated). Percentage of budget accounted for by oil exports: 98%.

Omar-al-Bashir- President of Sudan since seizing power in a coup in 1983. There is an arrest warrant issued by the International Criminal Court in his name, for charges of war crimes. And (if the author is allowed a brief editorial moment in what will otherwise be a largely impartial analysis) a tool. Prop: Walking Cane.

National Congress Party (NCP)- The ruling party of Sudan, led by Omar-al-Bashir.

Salva Kiir- President of South Sudan, ex-soldier & former leader of the SPLA, successor to John Garang (obit. 2005), former First Vice President of Sudan pre-secession. Prop: Cowboy Hat.

Sudan People’s Liberation Movement (SPLM)- Main political entity representing the southern Sudanese during the 2nd civil war (from 1983) and now ruling party of South Sudan, headed by Salva Kir.

Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA)- Armed wing of the SPLM during the 2nd civil war, the legacy of which now forms the core of the South Sudan Armed Forces (SSAF) and is in the process of being regularized. Highly factional and historically driven by ethnic loyalties and personality cults.

Sudan People’s Liberation Army- North (SPLA-N)- Anti-Khartoum rebel group with a strong presence in the Nuba Mountains of South Kordofan. While Kordofan ‘belongs’ to Khartoum, it is ethnically strongly tied to the south, and the SPLA-N is allied with- although tactically and officially independant from- the SPLA.

Sudan Liberation Army (SLA)- Rebel group from Darfur fighting the government in Khartoum.

Justice and Equality Movement (JEM)- Rebel group from Darfur fighting the government in Khartoum.

Sudan Revolutionary Forces (SRF)- A relatively recent alliance (late 2011) between various anti-Khartoum rebel groups- the SPLA-N, JEM, and two factions of the SLA (the Minni Minnawi and Abdel Wahid groups), now fighting as a quasi-independant force allied with but not [fully] controlled by Juba. Implicated in the recent occupation of Heglig.

Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA)- Violent Ugandan rebel group known for abduction of thousands of children and the brutal mutilation and murder of civilians, recently made more broadly infamous by the #KONY2012 campagain. Allegedly supported by Khartoum as a proxy militia that occupied the Ugandan Peoples Defence Forces (UPDF), who were pro-southern Sudan, and also carried out attacks more recently in southern Sudanese territory. Interestingly, after a couple of years of relative inactivity, the LRA’s operations have picked up pace over the last six months, just as tensions in South Sudan rise. The LRA is currently operating out of eastern Central African Republic and being hunted by US Special Forces and elements from the UPDF.

United Nations (UN)- The UN has three missions in the Sudans: the United Nations Mission in South Sudan (UNMISS), a peacekeeping mission headquartered in Juba with approximately 12,000 personnel; The United Nations Interim Security Force for Abyei (UNISFA), a peacekeeping mission founded in response to an upsurge of violence in the contested region of Unity State made up exclusively of Ethiopian forces; and the Africa Union-United Nations Hybrid Mission in Darfur (UNAMID), a largely AU-staffed force of around 20,000 personnel carrying out peacekpeeing operations in the Darfur region of Sudan.

<<End Glossary>>

The situation as we find it now is a fabulous entanglement of agendas and historicity, driven more than anything by the need for control over oil resources, exacerbated by decades of political, cultural and military division. Sudan, under pressure from the international community via the CPA mechanism, has had to allow South Sudan to secede, losing up to 80% of its potential oil revenue. South Sudan, for its part, can currently only export its oil via ports in Sudan, thus striking an ongoing deal that 50% of its oil revenue will go to Sudan in exchange for said service. The deal should in theory mean that both nations can benefit from that sticky black nectar. In reality, a series of disagreements- over control of specific oil fields and over the pricing mechanism for oil leading to stoppages of oil flow which threaten both nations’ economies- have meant that the relationship between the two countries has been rendered quite disfunctional.

South Sudan’s occupation of Heglig- roundly slammed by the UN- came on the back of months of sporadic aerial and artillery bombardment by the SAF, as well as allegations of ethnic cleansing of pro-south areas in Sudanese territory. The latter events have created an upsurge in activity by the SPLA-N, which as far as Khartoum is concerned, is little different to a direct attack by regular South Sudan armed forces. Even the nature of the recent occupation of Heglig is under some dispute, with some observers claiming a large portion of the tactical operation used SRF fighters- but certainly with the support and official consent of the SPLM.

So what of prospects for peace or war? Does South Sudan’s withdrawl from Heglig represent a willingness to back down? Certainly, the quick and unequivocal condemnation by UNSG Ban Ki Moon seemed to come as a surprise to Kiir- as it did to a wide range of commentators and analysts, many of whom pointed out that the south’s occupation of Heglig, far from being a unilateraly aggressive act, was a fairly measured reaction after putting up with months of both military aggression and political deviance from the north. Whether the condemnation by the UN was as ill-founded as observers suggest, or whether it was a calculated statement planned to buy some more time for negotiations (of the two capitals, Juba- which relies on so much international support- would be much more likely to react to a statement of condemnation from the UN than Khartoum- for whom such pronouncements are somewhat toothless and pedestrian) remains to be seen.

The pieces are certainly in play for the steady build-up to a protracted conflict. Militarization on both sides of the border has been steadily increasing for months. Two-faced rhetoric is pouring from the politicians- most obviously from the north who, with one mouth placate diplomats with assurances they seek a peaceful resolution, while rallying the Sudanese population with talk of overthrowing Juba with the other.

More critical are the unresolved underlying issues. Unfulfilled commitments from the CPA are a critical component. One of the biggest complaints of the South is that key areas who were promised the opportunity to vote on whether they stayed with Sudan or joined South Sudan have not happened. While the rhetoric used by the South is that they are not concerned with the outcome, only that due process is followed, the reality is these areas are likley to declare for the South, further removing Khartoum’s access to oil.

And while control of the oil revenue remains the single most important factor, the exacerbating factor here is the historical animosity between North and South. A narrative- and a very recent one- exists to mobilize populations for war on both sides of the border. Many soldiers- and just as crucially, their commanding officers- are battle-hardened veterans of a violent conflict. While there have been few direct confrontations between Sudan and South Sudan since the turn of the millenium, proxy conflicts have been many. Meanwhile, the SAF have been fighting engagements in Darfur, Kordofan and Blue Nile fairly consistently since the conflict with the south began to lessen, and by the same token, the SLA, JEM and other pro-south militias have been equally engaged. Add in the evidence of targeted killings of civilians to enrage the South, and remarks that bring forth echos of pre-genocide Rwanda from Bashir, and the political mechanisms to move to a state of war are all but established.

There are reasons, however, to hope that war may be avoided. The shutdown of oil production has effectively frozen the lifeblood of both economies, and without financial resources, a war is unsustainable for very long. It’s expensive to annihilate your enemies.

There is a strong international presence in South Sudan. The international community has long shown itself fairly impotent where Khartoum is concerned, and Bashir has been masterful in giving the UN just enough of what is demanded of it to avoid real penalties, while not really conceding anything at all. However the South is far more dependant on that international support and, as reaction to the recent UN condemnation implies, more likely to react. That said, of course, UN-mandated peacekeeping missions are notoriously ineffective, and it’s unlikely that a significant upsurge in conflict between Sudan and South Sudan would or could be stemmed by the presence of Blue Helmets on the ground. During last year’s fighting in Abyei, peackeepers were accused of taking no action while civilians bore the brunt of the aggression.

One of the biggest factors in the 1983-2005 civil war was foreign interest in control of the oil fields. Then, the war was a proxy conflict in the Cold War, with Khartoum supported by the Soviets (until their demise) and the SPLA supported by the US, who purportedly poured millions of dollars worth of weapons and training into the rebels’ cause. In many senses, the war was eventually ‘won’ by the South (in a somewhat pyrrhic fashion), arguably due in a significant part to the collapse of the Soviet Union and the corresponding loss of support of Khartoum.

Today the stakes are similar- control of oil revenues- although the players (and their politics) differ. The US was one of the architects of the CPA. While having some influence over oil production (and therefore price and revenue) is a key outcome, there is also chatter about the US military footprint on the continent through the medium of AFRICOM, the US Africa Command, and possible interest in establishing an operations base somewhere in the subregion. The considerations aren’t entirely implausible. Khartoum was a target in the war on terror. It provided a home to bin Laden for a period, was Tomahawk’d by Clinton following the 1998 embassy bombings in east Africa, and its conservative application of Islamic principles in governance puts it high up the list of states that make the US twitchy. Regionally, the Sahara has become a major hiding spot for watchlisted insurgency groups, as well as drugs and weapons-smuggling operations. Somalia- where there’s a growing catalogue of evidence for US counter-terrorism and Special Forces operations- is a short plane-ride away. With South Sudan’s government a relatively weak (read: easy to muscle) one, it would make an attractive partner from which to base an operational presence, as well as being geographically strategic.

The other major outsider in the deal, however, is probably the most critical. China has vast investment in both Sudan and South Sudan, and is pouring money into developing the oil fields second to none. In 2009 alone, Chinese firms apparently invested USD 8 billion in Sudan, 90% of it going into the oil fields. Pre-secession, it accounted for 50% of foreign direct investment in Sudan. However, while a large portion of its investment has been through Khartoum, since independance it has also moved to shore up relations with Juba, and reported just this week is a USD 8 billion loan scheme. Prior to the oil-pipeline shutdown, South Sudan was providing 5% of China’s oil needs.

What’s key here, and perhaps the best news around, is that China is playing the field on both sides of the border- something that was missing in the 1983-2005 civil war, where both the USSR and the US had unilateral interest in seeing one side win over the other. China, which effectively holds the purse-strings for both Sudan and South Sudan, has no interest in seeing the two nations go to war. It would lose a vast amount of investment, its own personnel and infrastructure have already repeatedly been caught up in hostilities in the region, and to boot it would lose control over a sizeable oil source for which it is ever thirsty. If indications were that China was moving towards supporting one side (e.g. Sudan) over the other, hopes for peace would be very bleak indeed. The fact that they are continuing to invest on both sides of the border offers some hope.

That said, playing the neutral broker in a deal with such high stakes is a very unfamiliar and somewhat awkward position for China, which has consistently been slammed for its ethical track record, particularly in its African investments. Chinese engagement in international diplomacy is at best enigmatic, and this remains true. Salva Kiir has returned in just the last couple of days from a trip to Beijing, bringing with him the confirmation of the USD 8 billion deal. What conversations happened behind closed doors remain unknown for the time being, but it is highly unlikely that Beijing will part with that sort of cash without wanting some assurances that that money won’t be used to buy weapons or simply be bombed out of existence by two belligerents. So far, China has not confirmed whether it will support South Sudanese petitions for a new oil pipeline to be built which would allow South Sudan to export via a third nation. Such a deal would presumably infuriate Khartoum, effectively stemming any chance of benefiting from the southern oil fields.

Of course, to some extent events will be out of the hands of statesmen. Militias like the SRF and the SPLA-N may respond somewhat to the will of Juba, but are not wholly controlled by them, and they are less amenable to the chunks of cash wielded by foreign investors. Should they continue a regime of destabilizing (or retributionary) attacks, the situation along the border is likely to continue to deteriorate. The same can be said for incursions and bombardments by the SAF, which provide the fuel for SPLA-N/SRF wrath. Concerns are that China, with its less than exemplary record on human rights, is not the right intermediary to stop a dirty little conflict like the one currently building on Sudan’s southern border.

There are a lot of moving pieces in the machinery of the Sudans, and things are still unfolding. Even as Kiir returns from Beijing with a promise of full pockets, Sudan has continued bombardments of southern territory, and southern-allied militia have moved against SAF positions in Upper Nile, prompting Khartoum to declare a state of emergency. Behind the scenes, diplomats are scrabbling to keep the communication game alive, reporting with optimism that both sides claim to want peace, even while their respective pieces move against eachother along the chequered border. The withdrawl form Heglig appears to have bought a little more time for a brokered solution to be sought, but done little to change the trend towards escalation.

However, a brokered solution will take a lot of time to be reached, never mind implemented, and rest in part at least upon UN and AU statements whose threats for non-compliance carry about as much weight as ‘just wait until your father gets home’. With the underlying issues remaining unresolved, and a history of bad faith in fulfilling promises, there may be little confidence that both parties will abide by their agreements. With trust being eroded on the one hand, and catalytic events moving quicker than diplomacy on the other, if an escalation to destructive war is to be avoided, some very heavy-handed international involvement will be necessary. Finding an actor with both the will and the power to wield this sort of force is difficult. The best hope for this may well be the strategic use of Chinese investment and intervention, but it’s far from a sure bet. Right now, the indications- despite verbal assurances to the contrary- all suggest that Sudan and South Sudan are on a sturdy war footing. All else remaining equal, their stalled economies may restrict the extent to which either side can wage large-scale industrial war. However there’s still plenty of room for things to get very, very nasty, particularly for the hundreds of thousands of civilians caught in the crossfire. With significant portions of both Sudan and South Sudan highly food insecure, and hundreds of thousands displaced, the impact of conflict layered on this already fragile humanitarian context could be disastrous.

War between Sudan and South Sudan isn’t a done deal yet, but they continue to teeter on the brink.

For excellent online coverage from the front line of the Sudan conflict, follow @alanboswell and his stories for McClatchy (and recently, Time)

Photos linked to source, used without permission. Contact me with any concerns.

On the 9th of July 2011, Southern Sudan will declare its independence from the rest of Sudan and become the world’s newest country. It’s a moment that the Southern Sudanese and their supporters have been anticipating for many years, and comes off the back of more than five decades of warfare, punctuated by only brief breaths of peace.

Yet the news now is full of concern rather than celebration. A fresh outbreak of war seems pending, as analysts scramble to work out what’s going to happen next. Some of that analysis is far from rosy.

But what’s actually going on in Sudan? If you’re new to the Sudanese context it can be pretty confusing. What’s the fighting about and who is involved? How does the civil war that keeps getting talked about relate to the ‘genocide’ in Darfur? How did this all come about? If you’re a bit bamboozled by the bylines, this post should give you a high-level picture of how we got this far.

Map: Detailed map of Sudan’s states

Ancient History

Sudan’s a big place. The largest in Africa, the tenth largest in the world. It’s got about 40 million people, spread over nearly 600 ethnic groups- making it one of the most ethnically diverse nations in the world. Over the last couple of millennium, it’s variously consisted of some 50 states.

Colonialism, in all its glory, whacked this mob together within one solid black line and called it Sudan. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Britain and Egypt (with some customary flip-flopping) shared governance of the realm. Egypt (as a proxy caretaker on behalf of the British) governed northern Sudan from the new capital of Khartoum, while Britain administered southern Sudan at arm’s length.

The divide was more than administrative. Islam had been diffusing across northern Sudan for many centuries, while the south was largely animistic in religion and culture. The north was predominately desert and scrubland, while further south the ground grew wetter, with mixed woodland and, eventually in the far south, tropical rainforest.

The colonial division of Sudan meant that the north was effectively run as an Arab-Muslim kingdom, while the south was administered as a British colony in the order of other East African states (Kenya, Buganda, Tanganyika…), with Christian missionaries running many of the services in an otherwise sparsely-explored, -developed or even -penetrated land.

Thus, pre-existing differences in geography and resource-allocation were further entrenched through very different styles of political governance, through the adoption of opposed religious practices, and through an increased sense of Arabicization in the north versus more prominent sub-Saharan African ethnic groupings in the south.

Map: Northern Sudan in light yellow, Southern Sudan in light purple

North-South Civil War

In 1956, Sudan was granted independence as a single nation, to be governed from Khartoum and the old Arab-dominated administration left by the Egyptians. The south, resentful and distrustful of the north and its policies, had already laid the seeds for civil war with a military uprising in 1955 that led to all-out civil war. This war between the Sudan Armed Forces (SAF) and the Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA) lasted, with a brief interlude from ‘72-’83 and with various surges and lulls, until 2005, when a comprehensive peace agreement (CPA) was signed, brokered largely by the Americans.

As well as the underlying divide, the conflict also played out as part of Cold War politics. The Soviets poured weapons and funding into Khartoum in order to maintain control of Sudan’s rich oil reserves, situated largely in territory allocated to the South. (While the Cold War has ended, this continues to play a major component in the politics of war and peace in Sudan, with the Chinese blindly investing in the North in order to access rights to its resources, and the West taking an unusually intense interest in the outcome of Southern independence as well.)

The war was Africa’s longest-lasting civil conflict and claimed over 2 million lives, with 2 to 4 million people displaced as refugees and internally displaced persons (IDPs). Decisions by the north to impose Islamic laws on the south and push for the spread of Islam (such as putting money into building mosques over other service provision) provided further incentives for the south to keep fighting. In 1989 a coup by military officers put now-President Omar al Bashir in control of the Khartoum government, and he maintained a hard stance in the conflict and in terms of pushing for the Islamicization of Sudan. (Bashir is now wanted by the International Criminal Court for war-crimes in Darfur).

The war was an uncommonly brutal one. The North made use of extensive bombing campaigns using Soviet aircraft that targeted civilians, not just military targets. Very little infrastructure was left standing in the South as a result (and at the time of the signing of the CPA in 2005, the country effectively had to start building itself from the ground up). Mass displacement led to widespread famine and disease- responsible for a large portion of the two million fatalities. As the SAF seized control of major towns and roads, the SPLA withdrew into the countryside, fighting a vicious guerrilla campaign which brought more suspicion and suffering on civilian populations. Mines were laid extensively. Human rights violations abounded.

A particular (and particularly important) facet of the war was the use of proxy militias. The political and ethnic fragmentation of the Southern portion of the country leant itself to domination by warlords, whose forces would then ally with one or other of the major warring parties. For the most part, the SPLA provided a rallying point for most of the southern militias. However at times, internal politics or external greed prompted various groups to switch sides, sometimes returning at a later point when allegiance suited. These militias often operated with a large degree of impunity and used the context of the larger war to settle local scores with neighbouring groups, resulting in more civilian casualties and atrocities. Skirmishes with these warlords and their militias have continued since the signing of the CPA.

In the midst of this, the international community launched what was at the time the largest humanitarian operation in history, Operation Lifeline Sudan. OLS was run out of Kenya, with its Forward Operating Base, Lokichoggio, a vast relief city in the desert of Turkana. Food, aid and expatriates were flown into Sudan on a daily basis in support of the southern population- arousing suspicion in Khartoum which remains to this day. At its peak, Loki was the third busiest airport on the African continent, the town thrumming each dawn with the roar of WFP cargo planes taking off for their routine food-drops. The sheer volume of aid added a new dimension to the war, with both sides attempting to manipulate this supposedly ‘impartial’ aid delivery to its own ends, forcing civilian populations this way and that to suit their resource needs.

Darfur

 As hostilities between North and South were drawing down to a tacit ceasefire, simmering unrest in other parts of the nation were starting to bubble over. Khartoum’s policies of centralization, Arabicization and Islamicization had marginalized other groups. Most notable among these were a couple of prominent factions in the remote West of Sudan in a region known as Darfur: the Sudan Liberation Army (SLA) and the Justice and Equality Movement (JEM).

From 2003, triggered by Khartoum’s exploitation of new oil reserves and seeing the level of international recognition the SPLM/A had received as a result of their push for freedom from Khartoum, the SLA and the JEM took up arms against Khartoum. Bashir’s response, as well as mobilizing regular armed forces, was to arm a militia, ostensibly made up at least partially of released prisoners, known as the Janjawid. The Janjawid, a highly mobile and often horse-backed group of vicious fighters, became synonymous with the burning of villages, the rape and murder of civilians, and implementing an unspoken policy of ethnic cleansing.

The resulting conflict became very messy, very fast. Between two and four million people fled their homes (out of a starting population of 6 million), settling in a series of IDP camps across a desolate and arid area the size of France, largely lacking roads or other infrastructure. Chad, resentful of the support that Khartoum had given to opposition rebel groups during its own civil war years earlier, poured support into the Darfur rebels which resulted in a tense and lawless cross-border situation. The humanitarian operation was stymied by a Khartoum government which was both belligerent and distrustful of the incoming aid agencies, and also had no vested interest in seeing the population supported. Red tape was thrown up at any opportunity, while aid agencies were frequently punished with expulsion and the revocation of permits.

The fighting continued. The war was characterized as being one between Arabs and ‘Africans’, although on ethnic terms the differentiation was hazy at best. However at day’s end, as well as the macro-level context of an uprising by a marginalized people against a non-representative and distant government, this was really a resource conflict. The players polarized themselves largely along the lines of groups that traditionally practiced sedentary agriculture versus those that traditionally practiced more nomadic livestock rearing. The conflict, at its most basic, was about who controlled wells, grazing land and firewood and, from a government perspective, the small but significant new finds of oil.

Over the next few years, the conflict fragmented. The government lost control of the Janjawid, while the rebel groups split into around 30 different forces, with alliances shifting so rapidly they were almost impossible to track, let alone resolve. Banditry- partly to resource fighting, partly for profit for its own sake- blossomed, and aid workers with their shiny Land Cruisers, disposable cash and walkie-talkies were prime targets. Anarchy reigned.

Meanwhile, Elsewhere…

At the same time the SLA and JEM were consolidating their struggle for recognition, groups in the far east of the country, in Kassala and Red Sea States, were instigating their own rebellion. With support from the SLA and JEM, militias like the Beja Congress under the flag of the Eastern Front also started a low-key insurgency, and while it didn’t get far, it remains a tense point to this day.

In Kordofan, like Darfur consisting of three states- West, South and North- the conflict from Darfur was spilling over. For a while analysts were concerned that it was going to explode in the same way as Darfur, but while there were a number of reports of village massacres, the focus remained on Darfur.

Several areas remained, however, flashpoints for violence. Kordofan had been deeply divided during the North-South wars, with militias (most notably the Nuba) aligning with the South while the state remained occupied by the North. Likewise portions of Blue Nile (belonging to the North) and Upper Nile (belonging to the South) were made up of a patchwork of proxy militias and their complex alliances, which continue to simmer to this day.

There is, of course, the contentious Unity State. Unity- never a more inappropriately named location- is apparently sopping with oil, and is subsequently claimed by both the North and the South. Under the 2005 CPA, Unity’s future was supposed to be determined by a state referendum, but neither the North nor the South could agree on a structure to the referendum, particularly because the North wanted Arab nomads who crossed the territory to be given a vote (as they would vote to join the North) while the South did not.

One of the biggest threats to the stability of Southern Sudan as a nation is its very ethnic diversity. Conflict between ethnic groups, clans and even families at a very local level has strong currency in the micro-politics of the area. Disagreements, usually over cattle or women, used to be settled with spears, bows and knives. Today they are settled with 7.62mm rounds on fully-automatic. Interclan tussles used to score their casualties in ones and twos. Now they’re counted in twenties and forties. While the North-South war kept a lid on much of this and provided a common enemy to unite otherwise-belligerent factions, since the signing of the CPA there has been a marked increase in ethnic tension in Southern Sudan. If war with the North does not eventuate, the SPLM will still need to contend with this very real threat to remain viable.

In the last few years, the despicable Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), pushed ever northwards by the Ugandan army, has established itself in the forests of Western Equatoria, in the far south of the country. Known for its brutal campaigns against villages- seizing children as soldiers, porters and sex slaves- it has continued its trademark attacks against Sudanese villages and continues to create tension in that area.

Map: Zones of tension in Sudan
Orange: Northern Sudan
Blue: Southern Sudan
Pink: Kordofan, Blue Nile
Green: Darfur
Purple: Eastern Front
Yellow: Abyei

Spiralling Towards Independence

In many ways, Sudan and its constituents are holding their breath. This year’s referendum, timetabled by the CPA and independently monitored, clearly stated that the South (as voted on by Southerners) would cecede- a vote of 99%. This is clearly not in the interests of the North, but for now, the North has little power to stop this from happening without angering the entire International Community. This doesn’t stop it playing games. Like cutting off the South’s access to its oil pipeline for export.

From there, SAF incursions into Unity State (Abyei) late in May made international headlines as the potential signal for an impending civil war post-independence. Whether designed to test international waters and the Southern reaction, whether planned as a pre-positioning of forces, whether a statement of ownership, or whether to drive out pro-South populations, the move demonstrated the weakness of the UN resolve to step in and intervene.

It also demonstrated the unwillingness- for now- of the SPLA to respond with significant force. This can be chalked up to the SPLM’s concern that nothing should jeopardize the handover of independence in 2 weeks’ time. After the July 9 transition, their restraint may be weaker.

The United Nations has been instructed by Khartoum to end its mandate in Sudan once the South has its independence. That means from July 9, the UN will need to withdraw its peacekeepers from any territory controlled by the north, including South Kordofan.

(Rumours that the UN in the South may also be asked to leave- possibly an internal political manoeuvre relating to dissatisfaction with bilateral donor support for the SPLM- are currently unsubstantiated, but this also would create a significant concern in the light of increasing tensions.)

A tentative agreement has been reached by both the North and the South that a contingent of Ethiopian peacekeepers will take control of Abyei while a long-term solution is agreed. Of course, it’s been 6 years that a long-term solution has been discussed and still hasn’t been reached. But it’s better than slinging it out.

Meanwhile, Khartoum has refocused its efforts on Kordofan, with evidence of troop buildup, ethnic cleansing, arbitrary execution of political dissidents, and 60- to 100,000 people displaced from their homes (claims of up to half a million by local leaders). Strategically close to Abyei and Unity State, Khartoum may well be prepositioning itself for a much larger incursion.

Rumours of instability in Blue Nile are growing, with concerns about militia groups there and across the border in Upper Nile. Should conflict between North and South erupt, this will almost certainly become a major area of concern- and probably a highly complex one.

Although the war in Darfur is ‘different’ to the North-South conflict, many of the drivers- fear of Islamicization, Arabicization, marginalization, resource exploitation- are the same. The SLA and JEM (as still the major rebel figureheads negotiating with Khartoum) very much take their lead from what happens in the South, which they see as setting a precedent for their own struggle. What impact Southern independence, or a possible return to war with the South, triggers in Darfur remains to be seen. However with anarchy and banditry continuing to dominate, with the ongoing belligerent attitude of Khartoum towards NGOs, and with the UN having to close its mandate in the North, some impact is certain.

Sudan has it all. Beligerent governments. Long-standing ethnic grievences. Oil and resource conflict. Warlords with wavering loyalties. A harsh, unsupportive and disease-prone environment. Poor infrastructure. High aid dependency coupled with suspicion towards the international community. A contested border. High levels of international ‘interest’ in the outcome. And a lot of guns. And I mean, a lot.

Many observers agree that the Southern government is unlikely to embrace any large-scale response to hostilities this side of July 9. The government is occupied with managing transition- and ensuring it goes ahead. Even beyond that time, the SPLA does not have the training or equipment that the SAF possesses (not to say that certain western governments aren’t doing their damnedest to correct that imbalance). Whether we see a return to all-out war between North and South in the near future isn’t clear; it may not swing that way. However with the build-up of tension and troops in flashpoint areas such as Southern Kordofan and mutterings along the Nile, the chances of low-level conflict remain very high.

A likely campaign from the North, based on past performance, would involve the use of proxy militias in sensitive areas. These would be used to drive out pro-South populations and secure- de facto if not de jure- the areas it wants to control. The South may respond with similar tactics, or pour in more regular troops which could considerably escalate the conflict. Whichever path results, the outcome for civilian populations caught in the middle is grim.

That said, there’s no war yet. Negotiations over Abyei and Unity continue. While the North doesn’t want to lose its oil, if it declares war on the South it will exacerbate its international pariah status and find that China really does become its one and only ally- something which Bashir may be okay with, but will not do Sudan as a nation any favours over time. Likewise Southern Sudan’s President Salva Kiir, despite his cowboy appearance, has no wish for his fledgling nation to be embroiled in conflict while trying to consolidate a functioning state infrastructure. The South’s struggle to lift itself from what is undoubtedly one of the lowest rungs of the Human Development ladder will be hard enough without a war.

Note: I realise that many of my readers are going to be Sudan ‘experts’ with knowledge and information beyond what I have expressed here. Please do feel free to add commentary, facts or analysis I may have missed in the comments section- and yes, I know I have oversimplified some of what is a crazy complex context in this post!

Images: All photos (c) MoreAltitude 2011

1. Orange Palm: Sunset in Yambio, Equatorial Guinea, 2004

2. Forest Landing: Yambio airfield, Equatorial Guinea, 2004

3. Welcome to Rumbek: Rumbek Airport, Lakes State, 2004

4. Purple Palm: Sunset in Yambio, Equatorial Guinea, 2004

Map Credits: Image sources linked within images

Note: This is the third in a three-part account of a security incident I was involved with in late 2007, in Sudan’s war-torn Darfur region.  Click here to read the first part, and here to read the second.  I’m sharing this story for World Humanitarian Day (19 August), which honours aid workers, and remembers those killed and injured in the line of duty.

Please note that the story contains an account of violence that readers who have been exposed to critical incidents themselves may find disturbing.

Evac

The stretch of sun-seared bitumen from Nyala airport into the town itself passes along a desolate acreage of dry scrubland- bare earth pocked with low grey houses, rising to a couple of low scraggy hills in one direction, and otherwise opens out to the brown and barren expanse of the semi-arid Sahel. Not far from here is the vast sprawl of Otash camp, the makeshift home these past four years to tens of thousands of internally displaced Sudanese relying on international assistance to survive.

I’m sitting in the back of another logo’d Land Cruiser eerily similar to the one I left this town in earlier today, under vastly different circumstances; in some ways a vastly different person.

It’s an ambulance-style setup as well, with bench-seats running along the hull and facing each other over an empty bay. I can’t help thinking of Abdul and how, seven hours ago I was kneeling by his head trying to keep him alive as we jarred our escape along the vehicle-tracks of the savannah south and west of here.

I’m sitting opposite Emmanuel. His face is drawn and weary, but there’s also inexpressible relief there. He looks at me, and although there’s nothing funny about today, he smiles and shakes his big dark head.

“Truly,” he says, “You are a child of God.”

I thank him, a wry smile that is part acceptance, part bemusement twisting my lips. It’s an odd compliment. It’s an odd time for it. But I take it.

He elaborates.

“They shot you,” he says. “But nothing happened.”

I nod, and get a funny feeling. I think he’s talking about the way our assailant emptied his clip through the windows of the four-by-four and the dozen or so bullets that must have whipped through that tight space but leaving us alive.

But I’m wrong.

Flight Out

The chopper comes about four in the afternoon. The attack happened a little before eleven, which means we’ve been out here for a little over five hours. Hot, thirsty, exhausted. But we’re all alive.

It’s a big Mi-8 Hip, a behemoth of an aircraft that seats 24 passengers plus crew, with round portal windows and a ramp that drops down at the back.

We’ve been hearing word that the thing is on its way for a few hours when it finally materializes. It wasn’t really until about half an hour earlier that we get confirmation that yes, this time it’s actually taken off. Then we hear that the pilots can’t find the village. ‘Bul-Bul’ isn’t a helpful reference, and they’ve had to put down a couple of places already, looking for us. But at least this confirms to us that it’s actually airborne.

We hear it whopping through the air a couple of minutes before it comes into sight over the low scrub, and the sheer release of tension I feel finally seeing it hovering over the village makes up for the growing frustration I’ve been feeling as reports of our pending evacuation begin to to feel less and less believable.

There’s a big open patch of ground in front of the health hut, at least the size of a soccer pitch, and the brute hangs there like a giant airborne cricket before slowly putting down, back-wheels and then front-wheels. It is all white with a black-stencilled designation on the airframe.

The ramp at the rear drops down, and four medics carrying a stretcher between them come running out, heads low beneath the thumping blades. They could only have made a more dramatic entry if they’d parachuted into the village from on high. The whole community has turned out to watch them. Soldiers are stacked in the tray of the pickup truck, leaning nonchalantly on their weapons as though they aren’t totally digging the fuss.

They put the stretcher down in the open area in front of the compound, and inside I organize a few men to transfer Abdul back onto the bench, after which we litter him outside and transfer him over. The lead doctor pours over him, consulting in Arabic with the nurse. Within a minute there’s another drip in him, being held aloft by a female orderly.

There are orders now. There’s an Africa Union official with the flight, fair skinned but fluent in Arabic, and I suspect he’s Egyptian, or maybe Moroccan. He’s telling us to get onboard quickly. They don’t want to stay on the ground longer than absolutely necessary.

There’s a brief discussion going on. The drivers are talking about staying with their vehicles and driving them home. Emmanuel is telling them no way. Eventually they acquiesce. I watch the proceedings, standing by with my backpack until I’m waved onboard through the rear ramp. When I get into the cabin, Mohammed and Essam are already seated, and Mohammed’s head is being rebandaged.

I sit near the front by one of the round windows. The escape exit is marked with Cyrillic words. I muse to myself that I never thought I’d be so happy to be inside an aircraft stamped with Russian letters. Then they’re loading Abdul into the back on his stretcher, a calm little hive of activity, and the ramp is closing. The curious villagers are waved back.

The engine rotations increase and the noise level in the helicopter ramps up. I’m handed a pair of earphones. There’s a curious feeling as the vehicle goes weightless, and then we’re hovering.

I look out of the window. The whole village is there, in a giant semi-circle, must be three hundred people. The two technicals loaded with armed militia. Men in their robes. Women in bright coloured print dresses and headscarfs, all fluttering in the wind. Our exit is like something from a Hollywood movie. I note it at the time.

Then the nose dips, and we’re heading east.

***

I’m in a funk of exhausted relief. There’s not a whole lot going through my head. I’m staring out of the windows watching Darfur slip beneath us a few hundred feet down. Flat-topped acacia trees and thorny scrub, little clusters of villages and the outlines of pasture-lands. Wadis are marked by lines of dark green where foliage taps the underground moisture. In the late afternoon sun, the brown landscape takes on warm hues.

The confused euphoria of survival sets in.

Nyala

Approaching Nyala, the helicopter banks over the outskirts of town. I can see the IDP camps laid out beneath us, white and brown speckled over the dusty landscape like a skin-rash. They’re vast. I’ve noted them every time I’ve flown in and out of here.

Touching down on the apron moments later, and I see the Sudanese helicopter gunships lined up a few dozen yards from where the UN Humanitarian Air Service flight disgorges its daily quotient of arriving aid workers. It’s one of the blatant ironies of this corner of the world.

The blades go still and the vibrating leaves a remnant that tingles in all the muscles. The ramp opens. Hot daylight and the perfume of AvGas spills into the cabin.

I’m the last of us out, and I step into a mob of chaos. It seems half of Nyala is out here to meet us. I can see a score of people from our office. Family members of the staff involved surge forward. Emergency personnel and aid-workers with some of the medical charities are there. There’s a small fleet of four-by-fours and an ambulance.

By the time I’m out of the chopper, a throng of people has surrounded Abdul’s stretcher. There’s crying and loud voices. Over it all, a set of jet engines is whining loudly. People are trying to make decisions, others are trying to keep the crowd thin. I stand well back.

I feel awkward and a little left out. A couple of the senior expats from our office come over and welcome me back. They look worn and a little haggard. They haven’t been with us in person, but they’ve been trying to manage the crisis from this end, knowing only that their friends and colleagues are in serious trouble. It’s been an incredibly distressing experience.

I see the freshly-bandaged Mohammed being led away.

“You’re being medevac’d to Khartoum,” I’m told. “The plane is waiting.”

The UNHAS flight is the one standing nearby, jets idling and the rear door still open. I can see white faces peering through the windows at the commotion on the apron, but I shake my head.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I want to stay here.”

There’s a little pressure to convince me, and Essam too, but in the end Mohammed flies without us, a nurse staying with him until he reaches the hospital. He’ll be stitched up and treated for a mild concussion, and released without serious physical harm.

There’s still a mob around Abdul. The medics are deliberating. He’s still having fluids pumped into him. They’re very concerned for him and he’s not out of the woods yet. He’s fragile and his blood pressure has bottomed out. They want to fly him to Khartoum at once, but he’s too weak to fly so they’ll need to keep him in Nyala overnight. It isn’t good news.

I’m standing a little to one side when a Sudanese solider walks up to me and starts yelling. He looks nineteen, and he’s got some serious agro. I’m a head taller than him, and I suddenly feel a burst of intense fury, the likes of which I’ve rarely felt in my life. I’m standing there, covered in the dried blood of a colleague, having just had the most intense day of my life. There’s a whole knot of people clogging up the runway, and this punk has the audacity to pick on me. I heckle up and raise my voice back at him, gesturing the injured man on the stretcher, and his attitude arcs up in response. We’re nose-to-nose, and the only thing that stops me taking a swing at him is the knowledge that he has two comrades with assault-rifles nearby, watching. I back down, but stay furious for hours afterwards at the memory.

Later I get a taste of more of the attitude that was coming our way. Abraham, our office manager, tells me that as I stepped out of the back of the aircraft, one of the other soldiers started gesturing at me, yelling in Arabic,

“Why is he okay? They should have shot that one!”

I’m shocked to hear the story. I’ve never been the subject of such hatred before.

***

The full story doesn’t come out until we start to debrief. We have a lot of those over the next few days. First off, we report back to the office managers what happened- myself, Emmanuel and the two drivers. Essam comes back from the hospital a little later after getting stitched up, and travels to Khartoum the next day.

After the first debrief, we report in to the Africa Union base commander. We thank him for sending his chopper to get us out and explain what happened. He’s a Nigerian soldier, thickset and short in stature and temper. He bawls out the office Manager for allowing us to be travelling on a road so unsafe that even his own armored personnel carriers won’t travel on- unfairly, as Abraham wasn’t in town that morning and it wasn’t his decision.

I’m checked out by the base medic, who washes my arm and examines the shrapnel punctures. He scolds me for spending the day covered in blood and reminds me that it’s a risk of infection, especially when I have open wounds of my own. To be honest I’d stopped noticing the stuff. The clothes I’m wearing are still caked in the stuff and I don’t really realise. When I get back to Melbourne I’ll need to have a blood test for Hepatitis and HIV, just to be safe, but I come back clean.

We walk out between the rows of prefab huts, past shirtless grunts kicking around a football in the post-dusk glow, and eventually past the sandbagged nests where sentries with 7.62mm machine-guns crouch outside the wire gates beneath their kevlar helmets. When we get back to the office, the light is fading and fast has broken, and there is a tranquility over the city as families share the start of the evening meal. Beside our gate, four men in off-white robes sit on a thatched mat and invite us to join them in a piece of shared flat-bread. We greet them and gracefully decline. The normalcy aches.

It’s not really until I hear the whole story first-hand from Issa and Essam, both of whom were awake throughout the assault, that I begin accepting what happened that morning, and even then it takes me a couple of days to release the last of the denial.

Details

I run it through again in my head.

The attack is brutal, without warning and, even now, without clear motive beyond banditry. Nobody in our vehicle sees the assailants in the bush, and no effort is made by the attackers to stop either vehicle peacefully.  The attack begins with murderous intent.

In the two or three seconds of that first attack, as far as we can surmise, the gunman squeezes off the better part of an entire clip through the moving vehicle. Looking at the shot-out windows, the number of holes in the fuselage, and the injuries suffered by the staff, we estimate no less than a dozen bullets travel through that tiny space, and possibly more. Each one of us is spared death by pure chance. Millimetres of change in the angle of the muzzle, fractions of seconds’ difference in the firing of the rounds, and any one of the three bullets that go into the strut behind my head could have gone through it instead; the bullet that embeds itself in Essam’s bicep may have gone through his chest- or simply torn out the artery in his upper arm and bled him out; the round that lodges in the sill above the driver’s window could have struck Issa directly; and either one of the slugs that strike Mohammed or Abdul could have killed them outright. In Mohammed’s case, two or three millimeters lower and his head would have blown open. In Abdul’s, a single millimeter lower, and the ensuing damage would kill him in minutes, if not instantaneously.

In those early seconds, Mohammed and Abdul are both knocked unconscious, the former landing beneath the latter. Essam, who immediately realises what’s happening, collapses into his seat and pretends to be dead throughout the entire episode, but concentrating intently on what’s happening. Only Issa and I interact with the gunmen. Essam makes no sign that he’s alive even as his body is roughly searched for valuables by the first attacker, and although he turns his radio down, he keeps it close to him. It’s Essam, listening to what happens next, who may well have saved all of us.

It’s after I’m back in the car, when I’m began to sense that something is really wrong, that things start to go badly. I hand over my money, while Issa stands helplessly by as the two gunmen start talking.

As I’m looking forward through the windshield, my hands still raised, the first gunman, who did all the shooting, raises his weapon and points it at me. According to Issa, he’s agitated and aggressive, highly nervous. Issa wonders whether he might be on drugs. The other guy seems far more frightened, and quieter.

The first gunman addresses Issa.

“Tell him,” he instructs, jerking the gun at me, “That I’m going to kill him.”

Issa, mercifully, does nothing of the kind. He stands there, helpless. I, in my ignorance of Arabic, have no awareness of the plans in store for me.

The gunman adjusts his grip on the gun where it’s levelled on my chest and, ten paces from where I’m sitting, pulls the trigger.

Both Issa and Essam hear the gun click.

The gunman, frustrated, turns to his companion, standing there watching events unfold.

“You finish them off,” he orders.

The other refuses. Issa says he appears reluctant.

“Okay,” says the first, irritated. “Give me your gun. I’ll do it.”

We’re still not entirely sure what happens next to change things. What we know is that Essam, playing dead in the back seat and listening to our murder being discussed, knows that there are few options left. He’s turned his radio back on and is crouched in the back seat, trying to raise the other vehicle. With the volume turned up, its his radio that now chatters to life as Emmanuel comes back to us over the net asking what’s happening.

Although we’ll never know, it’s very possible that the sound of the voice over the radio startles the two gunmen into realising that there are more of us out there, and that perhaps help is on its way. At any rate, without a further word, both men turn and walk off into the bush, leaving us alive. Issa bolts for the driver’s seat, and champion as he is, drives us the mile or two to our first stopping-point in a heavy four-wheel-drive on soft sand, with one of the tyres shot to hell.

We have a lot of heroes to thank that day.

***

We also learn about doings in Nyala. About the sheer panic in the office when the news first breaks that we’ve been attacked and that several of the team- it isn’t clear who or how seriously- are shot. Then about the rapid response that’s undertaken to get us home safe.

The message reaches Nyala about ten minutes after we get to Bul-Bul. They’re eventually able to make contact via cell-phone by standing on the top of a pickup truck. That means it’s not quite an hour since the shooting. From there, the office mobilise and contact the Africa Union. Within forty-five minutes of the news coming through, there’s a chopper on the apron in Nyala, fueled, with a crew and a medical staff, ready to lift off.

The Sudanese military takes three subsequent hours to give it official clearance to lift off and get us.

When I first hear that information I don’t have much energy left to respond emotionally to the news. Now, it makes my blood boil. I think how close Abdul came to dying on that table in the bush while we sat waiting for some piece of bureaucratic machinery to creak over- or worse, some malicious officer who would have been quite happy for some unwanted NGO worker to perish.

Aftermath

Abdul lives. Against all the odds.

We visit him that night in Nyala hospital. I remember the warmth of the evening air, and of families crowded into the hospital’s central courtyard around lamps, waiting for loved ones on the wards, bringing them food and themselves sharing the evening break-fast seated in circles on the ground, stew in coloured plastic pots and broth in copper kettles.

He lies on another guerney, under a fleece blanket and stripped to the waist, conscious but weak. We don’t spend long with him. We speak briefly with his brother, and there’s a draining concoction of gratefulness and concern. We pray for him that evening at that office, hoping he’ll make it through the night.

He does, and the next morning he’s flown to Khartoum, where his skull is x-rayed and it’s discovered that there are bone fragments piercing the brain, causing critical swelling. He undergoes emergency brain surgery to remove the shards and relieve the swelling, and by some miracle survives that too.

I spend several more days in Nyala, debriefing with the team, floaing through a strange sense of the surreal. My experience is at once intensely tangible and seared onto my brain in visceral clarity, and yet has left me oddly emotionally calm. I feel no grief, I sleep well, my appetite is not diminished. Although I get a little anxious retelling the story of what happened, the psychologist who is flown in to counsel us informs me I’m healthy and that I shouldn’t expect to experience any symptoms of psychological harm as a result of the experience. She’s right, and I don’t.

I leave Khartoum on an Emirates flight, in business class which the insurance company has agreed to pay for because my itinerary has had to be changed, and these are the only available seats; I’m very glad that we have an emergency travel policy.

The day I leave, I visit Essam and Mohammed. They’re both staying at our team-house in Khartoum for a few days before returning to Nyala. We’re glad to see each other, and as we re-tell our stories- with Mohammed for the first time- both men shed tears. Later I visit Abdul in hospital. He is happy to see me. He’s there with his family, about eight of them living out of a dingy room, but thankfully he’s got privacy from the rest of the hospital.

He doesn’t get up, which doesn’t surprise me, but it’s only later I realise it’s because the injury to his brain has left him paralysed down one side of his body. Although he regains some of his movement and the pain diminishes, he still hasn’t made a full recovery. He still works for the same organisation, but is confined to desk work, and walks with a cane. His is the one sad legacy from an experience that is otherwise miraculous- but even here, his survival is in the face of overwhelming odds.

The same is true for all of us. This particular set of circumstances could have been rolled on cosmic dice a hundred times, and in ninety-nine of those cases, not all of us would have lived.

The flight is delayed a little out of Khartoum. I wait in the business-class lounge with growing anxiety, and in my mind I recall that same sense of foreboding I had waiting for the helicopter to evacuate us from Bul-Bul, but thirty minutes behind schedule I’m shown through to a brand new business-class seat that goes completely flat. It’s going to take me twenty hours to get back to Melbourne and I know I should sleep. But it’s way too nice a berth for me to waste time unconscious, and I sit awake for several hours, sip white wine, and watch movies.

The constant hum of the engines eventually lulls me to sleep.

End

Images:

1. Untitled, from http://www.operationbrokensilence.com: ‘Rebuilding Darfur: How do we do it?’ (link embedded in photo)

2. From http://www.time.com: ‘Darfur Descends into Chaos’ (link embedded in photo)

Note: This is the second in a three-part account of a security incident I was involved with in late 2007, in Sudan’s war-torn Darfur region.  Click here to read the first part.  I’m sharing this story for World Humanitarian Day (19 August), which honours aid workers, and remembers those killed and injured in the line of duty.

Please note that the story contains an account of violence that readers who have been exposed to critical incidents themselves may find disturbing.

Flight

“Stop the car!” I yell, looking back at the three wounded men behind me. “I need to help them.”

We’re twenty yards from the scene of the shooting. Issa is wrestling with the wheel, trying to steer the Land Cruiser in deep sand with one tyre shot out. He gives me a single look that says, You’re crazy, white man, forget it, and I instantly see the logic in his decision and I feel foolish. In a day during which I reckon I did a fair job of keeping my cool, this was the one moment where I definitely said something stupid.

I’m a Wilderness First Responder, and the sight of my three colleagues, injured and worse, makes me anxious to do something.

“Give me my first aid kits,” I tell Essam instead. I have two. He rifles through my pack and passes them to me. Unzipping one I pull out a pair of surgical gloves. The first one I try to pull onto my sweating hands tears, and I throw it away in frustration before unsatisfactorily fumbling two more on. It’s a simple gesture, a selfish (and ultimately futile) act to protect me from whatever bodily fluids I’m about to deal with when I finally get my hands onto my patients. It’s Mohammed who later tells me that this is the point when he starts to feel like they are going to be okay, that somebody with them knows how to help.

I wish for his confidence.

We bounce through the bush, the car banging loudly around the dusty potholes. The first vehicle starts rolling before we reach it, and the two of us lurch off in convoy again, as fast as we can over the broken terrain. As I look helplessly at the heavily-bleeding Abdul, I continue to pull items from my first-aid kit I think might be useful- spare gloves, a variety of bandages and gauze.

We pull up and stop. The first vehicle is waiting for us in a sandy clearing. We haven’t come far, just a couple of minutes. I guess maybe a kilometre, not more than two. It feels uncomfortably vulnerable, but I’m now thinking of the three shot men in the back and how to stop them from getting worse.

We yank open the back doors and start to manhandle Abdul out of the vehicle. Both Essam and Mohammed can walk unassisted. I try to tell them both not to help with the carrying because I don’t want them exacerbating any wounds they might have. They don’t listen, and anyway, Abdul is too heavy. I guess he’s at least a hundred kilos, and we need the hands on.

I try to explain to them how to carry him without twisting his spine as I’ve been taught, but now we’re having language difficulties. I’m speaking loudly and quickly without realising it, the adrenaline still coursing through my arteries, and I’m barely making sense to myself, let alone the rest of them who are Arabic mother-tongue. I try to support his head as best I can while they lug his limp body out of the back and set him in the sand. Within seconds I’m soaked in his blood. It’s smeared all down my front and my gloves are wet with the stuff.

Abdul is bleeding heavily and he’s my main focus, but I’m aware that I have two other men, both also wounded, one of whom looks really bad. My attention can only go one way at a time however and I focus on Abdul’s head-wound. It’s nasty. The bullet seems to have skipped off his cranium and it’s torn the scalp apart into three large flaps. I can see the pink-white of his skull where everything else has been ripped away. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this before.

The blood is dribbling past my fingers. I squeeze the pieces of scalp back into place then press it tight in an effort to stop the fluid loss. My gloves are slick and I have to ask Essam to open a pack of gauze for me because my digits can’t get purchase on the plastic wrapping. I clamp that into place over the wounds and keep the pressure on. The pad is soaked through in moments. The blood is curious- it is warm when it splashes onto my hands, but then quickly cools in the Sahelian breeze. Through the microfibrous gloves I can feel the texture of Adbul’s scalp beneath my fingertips. It is wet and spongy, the tight curls of his hair now sticky.

I press hard and watch dark beads of fluid gather in the sand as they form a dirty puddle. Essam is crouching beside him, trying to talk to his friend. Abdul is conscious but it’s hard to communicate with him. We’re all having a hard time hearing, our ears still ringing from the impact of the gunshots. Abdul is shocky and not able to understand everything that’s said to him. I’m talking too fast and Essam is having trouble interpreting my requests. I’m trying to gauge Abdul’s level of consciousness, but I can’t get through all the questions before something else happens. I try and take his pulse, but my fingers are throbbing in the aftermath of the surging adrenaline.

I look at Essam and at the bullet-hole in his arm. There’s blood wetting down the front of his sleeve and the material is torn, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Every time I ask him about it he dismisses it and returns his attention to Abdul. I’m worried in that wounds can be deceptive to those who receive them, but he’s showing no signs of shock or internal blood-loss, and the fluids leaking out of him aren’t prolific either. I do my informal triage and move on.

Mohammed scares me more. He’s standing a little to one side, looking a fragile but oddly calm as he watches on. I’ve never seen so much blood on one person before. There’s a slick stringy substance all down his chest and I’m terrified he’s taken a bullet through the lungs but can’t feel it courtesy of shock. He tells me he’s fine, but I don’t trust him until he’s taken his shirt off and turned around for me while I watch him, still kneeling at Abdul’s head and clamping off the bleeding.

Mohammed’s only wound appears to be the one to his head, and that’s now nearly stopped bleeding. The rest has come, he says, from Abdul, who fell on top of him. I later learn that both he and Abdul were knocked unconscious in that first barrage of shooting when both were struck in the head, and he has no recollection of the rest of the ambush.

I look over and I see the two drivers gathered around a jack. I think to myself, What are they doing changing a tyre at a time like this? I don’t learn about the shot wheel until later in the day, and to this day still have no recollection of the additional rounds fired into the vehicle. I find the process disturbing, however, as I’m starting to feel very exposed. We’ve been out here for several minutes, and I’m starting to have images of the gunmen re-emerging from the bush and reneging on their decision to let us walk.

Abdul is plunging into shock. In my limited experience with patients I’ve never come across anything like it, although I know exactly what’s happening. His skin temperature plummets and he sweats hard. He’s in a great deal of pain and his eyes are rolling around a lot. He and Essam are talking as best they can. It’s taken mere minutes, but he’s cold to the touch and his colour is a sickly purple hue. After a couple of minutes, he retches. We roll him onto his side and let him vomit bile into the sand. It’s Ramadan, and none of the men have eaten or drunk anything. This realisation and its implications for patient care hit me immediately.

I look up, and Issa is sweeping the mat of broken glass and congealing blood out of the back of the vehicle, where it clumps into the sand. I feel a burst of desperate irritation. I just want us moving. I don’t know where we’re moving to, because we’re only getting further away from Nyala, but I know we can’t stay here. But the ex-policeman is, once again, right.

I again give poor directions to the guys as we load Abdul head-first back onto the floor of the four-wheel-drive. I control his head and try and position him as comfortably as possible. I manouevre him into the recovery position so that he can keep throwing up as needed. He tells me his head hurts. He’s in a lot of pain. In moving him the bleeding has started up again and I try and get it back under control, while keeping his body in position and protecting his head and spine. I crouch on the balls of my feet beside him on the floor of the vehicle and it’s awkward.

We drive. The journey is hell. I don’t know where we’re going, I don’t know how long we’ll take to get there. I do know that the closest thing to medical care is in the other direction, and between us and it is the ambush site. We have no option but to press on into the bush.

Physically, it’s tortuous for me. I can’t begin to think what it is for Abdul. The car pitches and jolts across the back-country terrain. I’m locked into a crouch, holding a heavy man on his side, trying to stop him from rolling back, trying to protect his head from banging each time we yaw into a pit, trying to keep him from bleeding out. Every couple of minutes he vomits again, bringing up more bile, or just dry retching. Before long my legs and back are screaming with the pain of the position I’m holding.

The fear is worse. Because I’m not longer really doing anything, this is the first time I’ve really had a chance to be scared. In some ways this seems odd, because the rest of us appear to be out of danger, but then we’re still in a war-zone, and we have no idea what lies ahead. There could be another ambush. My imagination spins. I wonder what will happen if we’re stopped and they find that everything of value has already been taken? Maybe they’ll just execute us on the spot. I look down at Abdul and I know he’s in mortal danger. I wonder whether he’s going to die in my arms. When I look at Essam and Mohammed, crouched in the back with me, I see the same fear.

We pray, Muslim and Christian together. I to Jesus, they to Allah. I in English, they in Arabic. We agree with each others’ words. I punctuate my agreements with al-Hamdulillah: Thanks be to God. Crouched over our mortally wounded friend, there’s no religion. Only faith.

I don’t know how long we travel for, but in hindsight I guess it’s somewhere shy of half an hour. Then we reach Bul-Bul.

Bul-Bul

I don’t really get a chance to see it as we arrive, and my memory is one of a tremendous sense of relief as I learn that we’re pulling up to a police checkpoint. After the journey we’ve just had, it feels for the first time that I can breathe normally again. My concentration is still on Abdul, but I’m briefly overwhelmed by a sense of lightness.

Emmanuel and the driver in the first vehicle begin to explain our situation to the soldiers at the checkpoint. No sooner is the sense of relief over me than I feel a pang of irritation. We’ve got a guy who could be dying here, I scream in my mind. Stop messing us around.

Curious faces appear at the window. I glower at them. Their expressions visibly yaw as they take in the four of us in the back, dressed in macabre crimson robes, then wave us hurriedly on with orders to go straight to the health hut.

We pull up outside the little compound. The village is classic Sahel. It’s open and set amidst a cleared area in the grassland. Round mud-walled huts with dry reeds for roofing- I know them as Tukuls- are dotted around at generous intervals. Some properties are walled with cracked-mud walls. There are patches of grass, and patches where the grass has been trodden into hard-packed ground.

The health-hut is a simple two-roomed mud-brick clinic staffed by a small grey-haired man who I learn is a trained nurse. We look around for something to use as a stretcher and eventually settle on a bench that we load Abdul onto and manouevre inside, setting it on the poured-concrete floor. The nurse immediately puts a drip into the man- an act I have no doubt saved his life- while I find more gauze and set about stopping the bleeding that has once more resumed.

People are moving everywhere. Things are still frenetic. Emmanuel explains to the officials what has happened, then he goes to try and raise Nyala. The two vehicles have both had CODAN HF radios fitted in the past, but both are defunct. Our Motorollas don’t have the range on them to reach the city, and there’s no cell network out here. There are rumours of a landline telephone and he and the driver disappear in an effort to find it.

With Abdul temporarily stabilised, the nurse and I turn our attention to Essam and Mohammed for the first time. Essam’s wound looks relatively minor. A bullet or significant portion of one has pierced his right bicep, a clean entry wound like a pair of pursed lips and no exit; we guess the slug is resting close to the bone. He still has movement (I can’t get him to stop moving it) and the bleeding has stopped. He refuses any fuss over the thing and quickly steps out to help Emmanuel arrange our evac. Ordinarily gracious with a quiet tone and manner, he seems to be smouldering this afternoon, and I sense a fierce anger in him that he none the less keeps to himself. Later, the word I find wraps itself around him with ease is ‘stoic’.

Mohammed is cheerful but a little weak. His loss of consciousness coupled with poor food and fluid intake means he’s fragile, and the nurse takes him to the other room and puts him on a drip too. Later he gets his head bandaged. In a while, when Abdul’s wound finally stops bleeding, I go in to see him where he rests on a guerney. He smiles sadly but his words are encouraging, and he assures me he’s fine. We have a discussion as to whether or not God will frown on him for having a drip when he’s supposed to be fasting. I’m humbled. Later, he sleeps.

Outside, Essam and Emmanuel are trying to get the news through to Nyala that there’s been a security incident and we need an emergency evacuation. It’s that, or drive back the way we came, and that doesn’t appeal as an option.

I only hear Emmanuel’s side of the story much later. How when they hear the gunshots they move forward a safe distance, then wait for us to come. How they try to reach us on the radio they get nothing back. Then a garbled message saying we’re on our way, and to go quickly.

Emmanuel tells me without shame how when the vehicles first stop and Abdul is carried semi-conscious from the back of the truck, he sees us all covered in blood and he’s so stunned he can do nothing but stand there and stare. How when he reaches Bul-Bul he stays in the car for ten minutes talking to the police officers and explaining what happened, not because he doesn’t want to get out and do anything else, but because his legs are shaking so hard he can’t physically stand. I think of my own fingers, throbbing with adrenaline, and I understand fully.

***

I stay with Abdul. My training says I should continue to care for my patient until I hand him over to somebody more qualified to look after him. Ordinarily a nurse would suffice, but I have no idea how well trained or experienced this one is.  I can’t speak to him, and I doubt he’s been prepped to deal with gunshot wounds. Drip aside, he’s certainly not paying much attention to Abdul, save to periodically check his heart-rate, which he doesn’t write down and doesn’t share with me. I’m worried, because I want to monitor his vitals, but I’ve lost my translator and can’t communicate with the nurse to see what he thinks. I try to take Abdul’s pulse myself, but my own fingers are still trembling and all I can feel is my own heartbeat racing through them. This won’t change for the rest of the afternoon.

Curious villagers come to see the commotion. Women, weeping tears of sympathy, gather around Abdul’s bed and coo. Then the soldiers barge in. They’re local militia, government-allied troops there to maintain safety. On the one hand I’m kind of pleased to have them nearby because it gives me hope we won’t be attacked in the next few hours. But they’ve come into the small cell out of morbid curiosity. They quickly fill the space, jostling around shoulder-to-shoulder to see the injured man. I grow tense when one inadvertently pokes my face with the muzzle of his Kalashnikov assault-rifle as he manouevres for a view. A little too close to recent events for comfort. I start to shoo them outside, and then we barricade the doors with a bench to stop more intruders.

I start to feel exhausted. It’s now early afternoon, a couple of hours since the attack. Abdul is in and out of consciousness. He speaks, but is having a hard time hearing. He tells me often in broken English that his head hurts. We wrap him in a blanket to counteract the chills of shock, and eventually move him onto a table so the warm draft can’t get at him from underneath. Then he complains he’s too hot. We strip off the blanket and I wet his fingers and fan them to cool his bloodstream. He still vomits periodically. One time he brings up some pink blood in his bile, and I have a pang of panic, but reassure myself that he’s probably ruptured a vessel in his gut from all the retching. Flies buzz. It doesn’t smell great in here.

I use my walkie-talkie to find out what’s going on from the others who have spread out in the village, but news is vague. They’ve managed to contact HQ who have been in touch with the Africa Union peackeeping base in Nyala. A chopper is being despatched. It’ll be here very soon. Maybe in the next half an hour. But half an hour passes. Then another. And a third. I start to feel very, very tired. Somebody brings me a bottle of water. I look at Abdul. He’s not cold any more, but I’m worried about him. I know he’s lost a lot of blood, and I don’t know enough about drips to know what effect they have, or whether he needs another one. I’m concerned about decompensatory shock, but because I can’t access his vitals I can’t tell what’s going on. I only know that he’s disoriented and showing signs of head injury, which is a bit of a no-brainer really, as he’s been shot in the head.

I take a walk outside to get fresh air and clear my head. I greet some women sitting in the courtyard and they look at me with wide eyes, returning ‘Salaam Aleikum‘ with hesitation. I realise I look horrible. I am drenched in drying blood. It’s splattered on my cap, it’s on my face, it’s soaked into my vest and into my pant-legs, it’s all over my boots and it’s caked solidly up to my elbows. I’m directed to a lightless side-room where there’s a plastic jug with a stopcock on it. I scrub at my hands and the water flows from my fingers pink. I discover that I’ve been cut by shrapnel and flying glass. There’s a thin cut running up my elbow from where my hand rested along the seat-back when the first blasts blew out the windows. Later I’ll find several bullet splinters embedded in the flesh of my upper arm.

Out in the courtyard there’s a debate going on. I see two olive-colored pickup trucks with a bunch of uniformed gunmen in them. One has a fifty-cal machine-gun mounted onto the cab. Elsewhere it’d be called a ‘Technical‘. Emmanuel and Essam are discussing what to do next. The soldiers have offered to escort us back up the road to Nyala with their guns. We still have no confirmation as to when- or even if- a chopper is really inbound. What do I think?

I consider driving back through the ambush site and my stomach clenches. I recall the roar of gunfire pounding through the Land Cruiser. In my mind I imagine what a stray burst of bullets would do fired out of the bush as we pass by once more, and I have all the fodder I need. I think it’s truly terrifying. Then I think back to the journey away from the attack site, crouching holding Abdul’s body. I think of the pain in my own body. I think of the way his head slammed against the floor and against the bulkhead each time the car hit a rut. I know there’s no way I can manage him for over an hour back to Nyala like that, and I’m pretty dubious about his chances of survival in his fragile state. I tell them as much, pointing out I can’t guarantee that he’ll make it back home if we do that. They nod, take my counsel on board, and to my great relief, agree that they’ll wait for the chopper for now.

The thought of spending the night out here with Abdul slowly waning doesn’t fill me with hope, but selfishly it’s still infinitely preferable to riding back along that road.

I wander with Essam and Issa to our Land Cruiser. It’s the first time I’ve seen it properly. It’s a grounding sight. Glass in most of the side-windows on both sides of the truck has been shot out. There are bullet holes in the fuselage. One above the driver’s door a couple of inches above the man’s head.

I don’t really do the maths until later. It’s funny what sticks in your head. For some utterly illogical reason I assumed just three shots were fired, because I heard three loud bangs. This fit with the three bullet wounds that my colleagues had. Seeing the car for the first time, I begin to realise this is far from the case. More likely, the gunman just squeezed off whatever was in his magazine.

I climb inside. Blood is dried everywhere. Splashed on the seats and pooled on the floor. Dribbled down the inside walls. I think of photos I’ve seen from the Middle East after militants are assassinated in their vehicles- broken glass, bullet-holes, dark red-brown stains.

I look forward. The strut behind my seat has taken rounds. Two dark holes are torn into the frame, inches behind my back, between myself and Essam. A third has gone straight through the bolt mounting the shoulder-strap of my safety-belt into the vehicle, right behind my head. I take the information in with considerable detachment. It doesn’t really compute just yet, but it explains why I’m still having a hard time hearing anything out of my right ear.

I try again to find out what’s going on with the chopper. It’s now mid-afternoon, but I have the same response. They’ve been told the chopper will be coming soon. But nobody knows whether it’s actually left Nyala yet, or if we’re being told something by somebody who doesn’t know anything.

I go back inside to sit with Abdul. He’s in and out of consciousness and when he’s with it, he tries to smile and tell me he’s okay, but he’s in a lot of pain. I can’t possibly know it right now, but the impact of the bullet slamming into his head has fractured his skull and shoved two splinters of bone into his brain tissue. He’s paralyzed on one side of his body, and his blood-pressure is becoming critically low.

I wander to the window that looks out over fields and the bush at the back of the village, and in my mind’s eye I see hordes of Janjawid fighters hurtling towards us. I really, badly want to be gone from this place.

Part 3: Evac, next

Images:

1. Stuart Price/African Union Mission in the Sudan, via Reuters, from http://www.david-kilgour.com: ‘Despite Aid, Malnutrition in Darfur Rises’ (link embedded in photo)

2. Uncredited, from http://www.studentsoftheworld.info (link embedded in photo)

Tommorrow, August 19, is World Humanitarian Day. As I shared with you last year, it exists to commemorate the lives of the tens of thousands of people who work in disasters and emergencies in an effort to help people affected by tragedy and hardship. Held for the first time last year, it also remembers those who lay down their lives in the line of such work. On August 19, 2004, a truck-bomb was driven into the compound being used as the UN headquarters in Baghdad. 22 people, including the UN’s top humanitarian worker in Iraq, were killed in the aftermath.

The bombing of the Canal Hotel marked a shift in the aid context, after which humanitarian workers were increasingly seen as targets by people who- in contravention of international law- chose to attack them, whether for ideological, political or financial motivation.

It would be nice to be able to say that this trend is decreasing. However last year (as I’ve written previously) a higher portion of humanitarian workers were violently killed, injured or abducted than UN Peacekeeping soldiers. Earlier this year, seven staff working for the international NGO World Vision were corralled by extremists into their office in northern Pakistan and murdered with guns and grenades. Two weeks ago today, ten staff with the long-standing and highly-respected International Assistance Mission in Afghanistan were stopped on the road and executed, an attack claimed by the Taliban. There are many other incidents that happen each year, which get little notice globally, beyond the small community of international humanitarian workers.

In this vein I want to share with you a story that happened to several colleagues and I with the organisation I was working for at the time, during a field visit in Sudan’s volatile Darfur region. Those of you familiar with Darfur in late 2007 may recall details of the incident itself. The story is not a light one, and for those of you reading this who may have been exposed to violent situations yourselves, I’d ask you to exercise some discretion in deciding whether you want to keep reading.

In any critical incident it’s natural that memories of what happened differ slightly among various witnesses. During several rounds of debrief, both official and informal, several of us, including the three of us who were able to recall the whole incident, told our stories repeatedly, and they came up remarkably similar. The story below is my own perspective, but it matches closely enough to those of the others that discrepancies are insignificant, and gives a coherent and pretty accurate overview of what happened.

This is the first time in nearly three years that I’ve succeeded in writing out this account in its entirety, although I’ve told the story multiple times face-to-face, including to the Herald Sun who ran an article on it in early October 2007. I’ll share this over three consecutive posts, as it’s quite long (in true MoreAltitude style- would you expect anything less?).

Background

For those of you not familiar with Darfur, it’s a large and highly impoverished region in the west of northern Sudan. Roughly the size of France, it has a population of a little over 6 million people. Due to a complicated array of factors- including political disenfranchisement, social marginalization, religious colonialism, disputes over mineral resource rights, and tensions over natural resources such as water points and pasture land for cattle- a civil revolt took place in 2003 against the Khartoum-based government. Several rebel groups were involved, the largest and most significant being the Sudan Liberation Army (SLA) and the Justice and Equality Movement (JEM).

Khartoum responded by sending in conventional forces, and also armed a militia group, the Janjawid, with interests in the area (allegedly populating some of its ranks with released prisoners). A brutal put-down ensued in which the civilian population bore the brunt of the violence. Thousands were killed, and up to three hundred thousand reportedly died from the knock-on effects of the war (displacement, disease, malnutrition). Villages were burned to the ground. A quarter of a million people fled to the deserts of eastern Chad, and two to three million fled to displaced persons camps in sites around the region.


The situation remained fluid and complex. The government lost control of the Janjawid, and the rebels split after various members signed different agreements with the government. Pre-existing ethnic tensions and resource disagreements created new lines of conflict in an area that was largely anarchic. Peacekeepers, under-resourced, without a clear mandate, and further crippled by Khartoum’s meddling, were unable to cover the vast, roadless terrain, and for the most part remained bunkered down behind wire fences in their bases.

By late 2007, the warfighting had broken down into a highly complex series of sub-conflicts with shifting battlefronts and alliances that changed weekly. There were at least twenty-seven different warring factions, and that number was changing. Banditry was rife. NGOs, habitually unarmed, made easy targets from which radios, vehicles and money could be pilfered with little risk or resistance. Between 4 and 5 million of Darfur’s population were considered ‘war-affected’, and at least half that number were reliant on UN and NGO support in some way.

I travelled to Darfur in September of that year on a brief support mission, to check in on some of the projects my office was funding in Darfur, and to spend time with our office in Nyala (capital of South Darfur) to see how they were doing, and what could be done to support them better. About a week into my trip, I went on what was planned to be a multi-day field visit south and west of Nyala, towards an area called Rehed-al-Birdi. I was with six colleagues, travelling in a pair of clearly-marked NGO Land Cruisers. We anticipated it would take us about four hours to reach our destination for the day.

Part I: Ambush

After the shooting stops, what I notice most is the silence. It is humming, tangible, pressing itself with force into my ears like some wrapped cloak protecting me from reality. But any sense of protection must be an illusion.

There’s no crying. No shouts of pain. Nobody yelling ‘Get Down!‘ Just that pressurised whine inside my head telling me something’s wrong.

I’m lying across the bench-seat at the front of the four-by-four, head towards Issa the driver who’s down here with me. My nose is inches from the dials of the heater and tape-deck. Black, plastic, slightly rimed with dust. The image of this mundane feature of the dashboard is seared onto my brain with crystal clarity even years later, so intensely is my brain seizing data.

Beads of safety glass have exploded across the inside of the vehicle. They’re sharp-edged little gems of crystalline aqua-marine and they’ve doused the foot-wells, blanketed the front seat, accumulated like blown sand in the creases in my utility vest.

The first conscious thought that goes through my head I hear with startling clarity: This is it. It’s really happening. It’s not a drill this time.

It’s followed moments later by a prayer, shot flare-like skywards in a moment of desperate faith: Jesus, I put this situation into your hands right now and trust you to get us out of here.

I stay very, very still and realise with a curious detachment that these may be my last moments alive.

It will be hours before I realise just how close I am to being right.

Earlier

The confluence of tiny decisions and circumstances that lead to the resolution of an event of magnitude can seem almost fickle. So minute are the influences that you’re left with a stark choice as, in truly human fashion, you build a narrative around them: either chance is supreme, without mercy or interest, and any coincidence is at best the random interaction of a million events preceding it or some outworking of chaos principles to which people are programmed to ascribe motive; or there is indeed some being we call God, whose fingerprints we find on those spectacular moments that define our lives, and by inference, the mundane and profane happenstance of our daily existence as well.

I recall the prickling sensation I have on the back of my neck standing at the checkout counter while replenishing my first-aid kit from a local pharmacy a week before leaving Australia; an odd sense I’m aware of even then that I’ll be needing the supplies.

I remember, today taking due note of irony, the fervour with which I wrestle my visa from the hands of the hostile bureaucracy of the Sudanese Embassy in London, and the relief I feel reaching Heathrow Airport with just forty minutes to spare before my flight.

I see myself sitting on the British Airways jetliner between Amman and Khartoum, dark in the middle of the night, a flight so empty that there are more flight attendants than passengers, and I am the only person sitting between bulkheads, musing on why nobody would want to be going to Sudan right now.

The entire trip to Darfur almost unravels when, upon reaching Khartoum, I discover that the local admin staff have failed to lodge my travel papers, and I spend a frantic three days unspooling red tape just so I can escape the capital. Speeding myself towards events of which I have no awareness.

***

Then the minutae of that morning, leaving Nyala. Events that don’t seem relevant in any way in the moment, and yet ultimately give rise to the fractions of seconds and tiny angles of trajectory that mean the difference between death and survival for five of us. Forgetting my travel documents in the compound so that we waste forty minutes going back to collect them. Waiting even longer on the edge of a dusty wadi at the end of town for Abdul. He isn’t meant to be in our vehicle at all but is hitching a ride down to Rehed to see his mother on his week off.

Before leaving the team house that morning, I go back to my room to put more money in my pockets. Just in case we’re stopped and robbed, I tell myself. It’s a principle we’re taught in security training.

I never hear about the local staff member who, walking through the Nyala market that morning, overhears rumours that there’s hostile activity on the road we’re going to be travelling. He deigns to tell his superiors that little gem of a factoid, and our mission is cleared to depart.

***

We stop beyond the second police checkpoint with the other vehicle, just as we hit the bush, and the four of us with walkie-talkies do a quick radio-check. We switch from the town channel to the one we can use out in the field and make sure we can all talk to one another. After just one week out here the Motorolla VHF handset already feels natural on my hip.

Then we’re traveling across the Sahel, all brown dust and long white grass and knots of leafy thorn bushes. The road is an unsealed vehicle track, double-rutted and sloughed with sand. We’re passing goat herders who show no signs of alarm. Emptied villages. Dry river-beds which we slow down to ford. A transport, passengers waving to us as they come towards us. No signs of danger. We’re all looking.

We’re the second vehicle. In the first is Ghanaian Emmanuel, the team leader, with a driver. We keep a distance from them. Two days ago we had two vehicles involved in an ambush on a road north of here. Because they were riding too closely together, both were snatched in one go. We don’t want that happening to us.

Behind me, back to the glass on the ambulance-style bench-seats, sits Essam- tall, gentle and quiet, with large hands. Opposite him is media man Mohammed, a warm, charming Sudanese man with a voice soft like a plush carpet. Next to Mohammed is Abdul- rotund, cheerful, loudly spoken. He speaks little English and although I’ve just met him we’ve been exchanging spurts of dialogue in our shoddy representations of each others’ tongues. I’ve recently learned Mafi Mushkila. Loosely translated, it means No Worries. I say it, and everybody laughs. Then I lapse into silence and watch the bush slip by.

They’re the last words I have any recollection of before the ambush.

None of us sees the uniformed gunman hiding in the bush to the left of the track as we slow to pass through a tight copse of woody brush. We know nothing of his stance as he raises the AKM assault rifle, whether he fires from the hip or whether the butt is ensconced in his shoulder. We never see his expression, and we can only guess vaguely at his thoughts as he pulls the trigger and rakes the weapon in a single burst from tail to nose, at head-height through the windows of our passing Toyota.

I hear an ugly noise like the roar of machinery, and for a split second my reaction is one of annoyance as I’m catapulted from my private thoughts. I hear three very loud, distinct, bangs, as though a body-builder is driving a sledge-hammer against a steel box, with myself on the inside. I think, for just an instant, that Issa has struck an overhanging branch.

And then, I don’t really remember how, I’m on my side, staring at the tape deck and covered with shattered glass.

Held

Long seconds ooze by. The vehicle is stationary, idling. Issa and I don’t move. I hear nothing from behind us. I sense our attacker is still there. I’m waiting for a face to appear at the driver’s side window, for a burst of gunfire to hose us down while we lie there, but there’s nothing.

So I raise my hands.

Gradually, cautiously. I inch my fingertips up above the level of the dash, keeping my head low. If they start shooting again, and I feel they might, I want to be able to get down in a hurry. I feel spectacularly vulnerable, and almost as though I’m slowly immersing my fingers into molten steel. But there’s no more gunfire yet. So with a feeling of considerable disbelief, I raise my head, first brow, then eyes, then finally face visible.

I see a second gunman, one I didn’t know about, standing in front of the vehicle about twenty paces away beside the bush he’d been concealed behind. His rifle is pointing at me through the windshield. I keep my hands up and my movements slothful. I don’t know it yet, but the reason Issa has had to stop the vehicle is that this guy put two rounds into the front tyre, inches from my knee-cap.

Issa’s up now as well. The first gunman, the one who did all the shooting, is at his window. Words are spoken. Issa opens his door and gets out. There’s urgency in his movements. I allow a slight turn of my head to watch what’s happening without making it look like I’m staring. I catch a glimpse of the back seat. I can tell there are people lying down. Nobody’s moving and nobody’s making any sound. There’s blood everywhere, but I can’t tell what’s going on, and now isn’t the time. I keep my hands raised. In a distant place I’m aware of a slight burning sensation along the skin of my left elbow but it’s not a concern right now.

Now Issa’s around to my side of the car. There are words spoken. The gunmen are angsty.

My radio chatters to life. It’s the first car. Emmanuel. They’ve heard the shots and have stopped a couple of hundred yards ahead in the bush, out of sight. They want to know if we’re okay.

One of the gunmen says something.

“Turn it off,” Issa orders. The driver is a former policeman, I later learn. His cool responsiveness and obedient attitude, as well as his ability to translate for me, doubtless save our lives.

I do as I’m told.

“Should I get out?” I ask. Issa nods.

“Get out,” he tells me.

I move slowly, keeping one hand up, using fingers to unlatch the door. I step out onto the tuft of thick grass beside the four-by-four, and there I anchor myself. In the ambush two days ago, the attackers were interrupted by another vehicle on the road and fled. At the time they were in the process of leading our team at gunpoint into the bush, purpose unknown. The memory sticks. I have no intention of discovering for myself.

I’m focused now. There’s no sensation that you could describe as ‘fear’, only a very intense concentration on staying alive. I know that I can’t actually stop these guys killing me if they want to. I already have a pretty good idea that they’re capable of it. I don’t know what’s happened behind me, only that our clearly-marked vehicle has been fired on, and that now there are bodies lying in the back, bloodied and not moving. But if I can avoid doing anything to actually encourage them to shoot me, then I’m going to make it my mission over the next few minutes to make damn sure I do just that. I concentrate on my security training.

I’m wearing sunglasses. I’m conscious that in a situation like this you shouldn’t wear sunnies. It can appear arrogant, and angry men with guns can get the impression you’re staring them down- something you don’t want. The rule of thumb in surviving a hostage situation is to be invisible. Be polite and obedient without being subservient. You want to maintain your personal dignity and present yourself like a human being, because if you start to weep or beg or make yourself ‘less’ you make it easier for a gunman to see you as detached from humanity and easier to put down. Likewise you don’t want to challenge your assailant.

As I stand there, I seek that middle ground like my life depends on it- because it may well. I tilt my head slightly downwards so that they won’t think I’m eyeballing. And I stand straight, shoulders back, maintaining my personal space and making it clear I’m still in control of my posture. My lips are closed and straight. I breathe slowly and deeply through my nostrils.

Behind me, I don’t know this, but the first gunman is going systematically around each of the shot-out windows, reaching in, and robbing the three warm bodies lying back there.

I’m still looking down, taking in the black boots of the second gunman, ten paces from me not moving and his weapon still locked on me. When the first approaches me, I don’t look up. I see his woodland-camouflage uniform, and the muzzle of his AKM assault rifle as it presses into the folds of my utility vest where my solar-plexus is.

Hands go through my pockets. They find a Swiss Army knife. It’s tossed into the long grass and I don’t see it again. Then I’m left alone.

There’s quiet. Things are very tense. There’s a tangible malice in the air. I’ve only felt it a couple of times in my life and it’s a very unpleasant feeling. Being watched, by something that wants to do you harm. In my minds eye I have detached from myself, and I’m looking down as if from above. I see myself, standing by the open door of the Land Cruiser. I see the two gunmen, one at my twelve o’clock, ten paces out, and the other at my ten o’clock, five paces out. Issa is standing close by as well. I can feel the guns on me, both of them, as though little dotted lines are running from their muzzles straight to my torso; it makes my skin tingle. I’m experiencing very little emotion, but considerable discomfort, like something is terribly, terribly wrong.

I have the distinct thought, if they’re going to shoot me I hope they don’t do it in the gut. The same mind’s eye is projecting an image of me, lying curled in a ball beside the wheel of the Land Cruiser, dying slowly and alone. I still have no fear, but the thought is an unpleasant one regardless.

The sense of malice lingers. I’m worried now. They’ve shot us up, and now they’ve robbed us. Why aren’t they leaving? Why are they still here?

I make a decision to do something. If I keep standing here in the open I’m worried they might decide to take me with them, just by default.  I look at Issa.

“Can I get back in the car?”

“Yes, get back in.”

I ease my way back into the front seat under watching eyes. I keep my hands visible, always slow.

Then I hear conversation. It is slightly agitated. I hear the English word ‘Money‘.

“Do you want money?” I ask. “I have money.”

Issa confirms this is what they’re asking for. I reach into my top pocket and find the stuffed banknotes. There’s about one-fifty in USD, another fifty in local currency. I hold these out, and they’re taken from my hand.

Still they linger.

I’m really uncomfortable now. I don’t know what’s going on, but they’re talking among themselves. This is taking a long time. Issa is listening. I keep my hands up and try not to make it seem like I’m staring. I want this to be done now. It’s probably only a few minutes- two or three at the most- since the first shots were fired, but it feels like hours. It doesn’t make sense that they’re still here.

Behind me, a walkie-talkie squawks. It’s the first vehicle again. I find out later it’s Essam’s radio.

Then, with no further word or warning, the two gunmen turn and head into the bush. Issa darts for the driver’s door.

I turn in my seat and see that Essam is sitting upright behind me. He’s been shot in the arm. Kneeling in the well, Mohammed is upright too, but he looks horrible. His shirt is shiny, his entire torso saturated with wet crimson. There’s blood running in star-like limbs from the crown of his head where a bullet has cut his scalp. In his arms, he’s holding Abdul. The big man is hanging limp, facing downwards. I can see the top of his head is open, and there’s blood dribbling from the wound in a steady thread of bright red, like a tap that hasn’t been turned off.

“Is he alive?” I ask. Mohammed nods. His face is grim. Then Issa is gunning the engine, and the car is sliding in the soft sand, and we lurch away from the ambush-site and onward into the bush.

Part II: Flight, tomorrow

Images:

1. Unsourced, taken from World Prout Assembly: ‘In Darfur, Terror from the Air’ (link embedded in photo)

2. Lynsey Addario for the New York Times, from blog jdasovic.com: ‘Janjawid Militia Renews Scorched-Earth Policy in Darfur’ (link embedded in photo)

A Guide by Omar al-Bashir and Mahinda Rajapakse

Given the respective experience of our two countries working around the International Community, we thought we’d share some hot tips for any other consolidating dictators interested in suppressing unwanted ethnic groups without having to deal with all those annoying international human rights types who keep harping on about abuses and tribunals.  We hope those is useful for you.

A. The Big Picture

1. Make sure your country isn’t in the Western spotlight. Having a bubbling civil war means you’re less likely to attract lots of tourists who develop emotional attachments to a place, and so long as you don’t have too many valuable trade opportunities or natural resources, the west won’t be as interested.

Omar says: If you DO have resources, expect the west to get involved, but try and keep the slaughter away from the biggest resource fields- that way they’re much less likely to try and invade. Saddam was good enough to share this lesson with us.

2. Wait for a time when the West has its attention and military resources tied up elsewhere. A good war in the middle east or central asia is sure to make sure that western troops and political will are being expended somewhere else. The voting public won’t want to see more troops embroiled in some other little war-zone, and the supporting resources- helicopters, communications equipment and battle-trained coordinating officers- simply won’t be available. They still haven’t forgotten Mogadishu.

3. It helps if you can paint the ethnicity you’re wanting to get rid of in as confusing a light as possible. Call them ‘terrorists’ if you can. If not, then ‘rebels’. Whatever happens, they are not an ethnic minority. They are an uprising. Call it a civil war. Western donors hate getting involved with civil wars.

B. Access- Administration

1. Make sure journalists don’t get in. Western sympathies are fueled by news feed. Keep them in the capital for as long as you can. If you’re planning an offensive, tighten travel restrictions. The longer you can hold them back from the front lines, the more the story will dry up. Westerners have a very short attention-span- too much MTV and Twitter. Three or four days after an event and they’re already bored and moving on to something else. If the story hasn’t materialised, if journalists don’t have pictures, their editors will redeploy them somewhere else.

Mahinda says: Stories will always get out. Even annoying rebel groups have access to the internet. If you can vilify and demonize them enough, however, the west won’t know who to believe. Muddying the waters is a great tactic here.

2. Block expatriates. Make it hard for them to get into your country. This is your legal right under international law! Make them fill out eight different forms in triplicate, sent to four different consulates before being returned with a comment that the background to their visa photo is the wrong shade of grey. This will frustrate them. They may lose interest. Or so much time may pass that without staff on the ground they won’t be able to raise any funds and won’t be able to come in the first place. If you’re really lucky, they’ll mouth off and criticize you, at which point you have every right to ban them from your country altogether- and maybe even kick their organization out.

3. Block expatriates (part B). (Because we think this is an important one: expatriates always cause trouble.) Once they’re in the country, stop them getting to the conflict area. Domestic red tape is a beautiful thing. Ensure they have to get special passes to access the affected areas, and let your administrators know to take their time granting them. Make sure that all your police and soldiers stop westerners and check their paperwork at any given opportunity. If they get caught without their paperwork, get them into trouble. This tactic works great if you’ve got a lot of checkpoints already set up- it can take them HOURS to get anywhere. After a while, they’ll stop trying. And it’ll take so long to get anything done, and be so expensive, that their donors will get tired of giving them money, and they’ll just go home again.

Omar says: When I established the HAC, this battle was pretty much won. We just made sure there were so many hoops to jump through that we exhausted half the agencies’ capacity just getting the right filing done. Then, once they began to understand the system, we went and changed it on them again! I suggest changing your administrative requirements at least once every three to six months, just to keep them on their toes. Nothing annoys an aid worker more than to get all their papers in order, get on a plane, then get sent back to the capital because they missed form 417C.

4. Balance! Don’t overdo this one. You need to make sure that getting administrative permissions takes enough time to frustrate and cost, but is just doable enough to keep them dangling on. If you don’t have the UN and NGOs in your country, you can’t monitor their activities, you can’t infiltrate them with spies, and they just sit outside your borders, barking about how terrible you are and all the horrible things that are happening. This is where you end up with things like sanctions, ICC warrants, and the like. And this is what you don’t want. No, what you want is lots of toothless NGOs in your country, ideally frustrated, ideally wasting donor funding, ideally scared and ideally believing that they are perennially on the cusp of being turfed out of your country. No matter what happens, this is what they really don’t want- it looks bad in the press, it wastes donor money and it really pisses off their constituents. They have this thing called the Humanitarian Imperative and so long as you keep dangling it in front of them, they’ll stick at it.

Omar says: It’s a good idea to pick a couple of particularly troublesome NGOs and kick them out of your country. The others will get the message and fall into line. If you’re lucky they’ll be so excited to get the extra caseload left behind by the departing agency that they won’t want to complain.

Mahinda says: I’ve always found that kicking out the odd UN official reminds everybody who’s in charge.

C. Access- Security

1. This one often takes care of itself, but the good news is, aid workers don’t like to be shot at. They’re pretty soft targets, so if you can get a really nasty little war happening, it’ll automatically keep them at bay. This is tricky, because if you start the war, then you get blamed for it and this makes you look bad. It’s always good if you can make it clear that the rebels started shooting first. After all, you are the government, and you are the ones trying to keep control. The good news is, usually the proximate factors contributing to these sorts of conflicts are so convoluted and confusing that it takes NGOs months and months to figure out who’s who and what’s going on. They don’t have time to communicate all this to their donors, so they sell it as a black-and-white issue. Of course, pretty soon facts start contradicting each other and people realise it’s all kinds of muddy, and then donors start losing interest. Don’t worry too much about the media- they only ever work with 30-second sound-bites and can never explain what’s really happening, so people just get confused. Forget about shows like Horizon, Panorama and 60 Minutes which try and take the time to explain what’s happening- nobody of any consequence watches them anyway.

Omar says: If you really don’t want to cop the blame for starting a war, try and get some proxy force to do it. I found that using the Janjawid was a great tactic. Firstly, it confused everybody. Secondly, there was no way to show I was in any way responsible for what they were doing. Thirdly, because they were all released from prison, they were perfectly happy to be violent, which worked great from the perspective of restricting access!

2. Try killing the odd aid-worker. Nothing forces an NGO pull-out like a dead staff member- and they can’t blame it on you, because it’s the conflict’s fault. This obviously works best when they’re killed by the rebels, but you can’t always make that happen. Where it’s your side that does the killing, it’s important to point out it was their fault for being in a dangerous place. If you can claim that they were working with the rebels when they were killed, that probably works best.

Omar says: You don’t want to kill too many, or all the NGOs pull out and they send in the peacekeepers. A few a year will keep people on their toes. Kidnappings work almost as well.

Mahinda says: If you’re frightened that killing expatriates might attract too much media attention, kill some national staff. Nobody pays much attention to them.

3. Maintain insecurity over time. The more time and money NGOs have to spend investing in security staff, ballistics vests, convoys and protocols, the more money they waste and the less time they can spend seeing what’s going on in the field, leaving you free rein. Remember this little tip: NGOs hate working with the military- even peacekeepers. This is in your favour. If you can keep the conflict simmering just low enough that NGOs feel they can manage the situation themselves without military support, they’ll be wanting to keep the idea of UN peacekeepers as far from themselves as possible.

Mahinda says: Landmines are a fantastic excuse to keep NGO workers away from an area. I suggest leaving them in place for as long as possible. If you can slow demining efforts down, do it!

D. Consolidate Power

1. Control the media. International media will always tear you apart because that’s how they sell papers- but just wait them out. After a few days they’ll lose interest and start bitching about Hugo or Robert again. Those guys are great for diffusing the heat. Where you really want to focus is on your domestic media. If you can keep them onside, you’ll consolidate your power-base. If they get out of line, shoot the odd editor or bomb a printing press. They’ll fall in.

Mahinda says: Be careful of some of these media types though. They’re tricky buggers. Some of them will even have a go at you from beyond the grave!

2. Develop a national rhetoric. You’re not in a civil war, you’re in a war on terror. The West use this language all the time so they can’t condemn you for it. Remember, you’re liberating your people from the clutches of evil.

3. Condemn NGOs. Let’s face it, they’re always making mistakes, so it should be easy to dig up some dirt on them, show everyone where they did a bad job in the past, and generally undermine their credibility. Nothing makes an aid worker want to go home more than the country they’re risking their lives in telling them they’re not welcome. If you can break their corporate spirit, they’ll get very submissive.

Omar says: I love those Christian NGOs. They’re always distributing Bibles. Don’t these guys ever learn?

Mahinda says: Try setting up a national hotline. Concerned citizens can call in if they hear an expatriate badmouthing the government, and you can then kick them out of the country. It’s a great way to get people to toe the line.

4. Don’t put up with dissention. Remember this is all about holding on to power. You want to crush your military opposition, and any domestic political opposition at the same time. Military victory is obviously going to make you look good, but it can take a while. In the meantime, you need to hold on to power. Providing a little targeted persecution of political rivals will polarize them and make them much easier targets in the eyes of your domestic media. If you’re stuck in a ‘democratic’ country, make sure you ‘invest’ appropriately in the election process.

Omar says: I always find giving my political rivals some high-sounding political post with no real authority is the best way to bring them onside without actually conceding any power.

Mahinda says: If you like, you can always invent some trumped-up charges and throw them in prison. I know it’s been done before, but it works great- especially if they’re about to show up before a war-crimes tribunal. And it’s SO MUCH FUN!

E. Final Tips

1. Divide and Conquer. The UN and NGOs are useless at coordination. They all have their own agendas. They’ll want to work through your ministries because that’s what they’re supposed to do. Make sure you give different information to difference organizations so they can’t coordinate. Ensure that processes to get government staff into their projects are onerous and expensive. Ensure there are hefty reporting requirements to hold them to account.

Mahinda says: If in doubt, just disband the UN Cluster system and set your own up in its place. It throws them into disarray and gives you full control.

2. Handling Peacekeepers. If all else fails and the UN do arrive, it’s a tricky situation but all is not lost. Be very clear that any troops who arrive without your permission will be considered an act of war. Dictate very clearly which countries can send troops and which countries are allowed to support the mission. Negotiate. Break them down and wait them out. Rather than saying ‘no’, say ‘maybe’. Give them a little bit, then wait a while. If they want 20,000 peacekeepers, say yes, but then only let them push through a few thousand at a time. They’ll get bored, and distracted, and soon enough somebody else will do something to get their attention. Keep the red-tape pressure up. Make them get permission from your military for every helicopter-flight they want to launch, and make it a slow process. It comes back to that balancing game- give them just enough to keep them interested, so they don’t push too hard. The last thing you want is for them to come in with a Chapter VII mandate, so don’t give them the excuse!

Omar says: Peacekeepers aren’t really in it for the fighting. In fact, the death rate for peacekeepers is lower than that for NGO workers. That should tell you how much they don’t want to get shot at. If you can arrange to get a few missions shot at, this will help keep them all in their bases and behind barricades, where you want them. Remember, peacekeeping missions are inevitably toothless and underfunded, so play to their weaknesses.

At the end of the day, if there’s a take-away lesson for you from all this, it’s that the International Community is mired in its own systems and is therefore both predictable and exploitable.  A world organization isn’t a stand-alone force to be reckoned with, but is made up by its constituent states with all their divided opinions and internal politics and systems.  If you can get a handle on this, it’s easy to get them to fall into line.  Our piece of advice: Tease them.  Give them just enough to think they’re going to get their way, then mire them down in paperwork without actually making any real concessions.  They’ll stall, and you’ll get to play the game however you want to, sans consequence.  Look at us- we’re doing just fine thanks very much.  Take our advice, and ethnic slaughter with impunity is yours for the taking.