Sudan Conflict: A View from the Brink

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 2^nd 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 2^nd 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.

Where is the Criticism of Kenya’s Invasion of Somalia?

About three weeks ago, Kenya’s military launched Operation Linda Nchi (Protect the Country). Some 3,000 ground troops, supported by armour, airpower, and apparently naval forces, crossed the porous border between north-eastern Kenya and southern Somalia. At the time, the Kenyan government claimed the assault was in response to the kidnapping of two foreign aid workers from Dadaab refugee camp, whose abduction it blamed on al Shabab militants. The kidnapping was the fourth in a month, starting with the kidnapping of an NGO driver from the same camp in September, the abduction of a British tourist and the murder of her husband on the coastline near Lamu, and shortly afterwards, the kidnapping of a French national from the same region, who later died in captivity. The Kenyan government stated it was in hot pursuit of the kidnappers.

That Harakat al-Shabab al-Mujahideen (HSM) was behind any of the attacks is dubious. The insurgency group is the latest iteration of hardline Islamicist militia fighters who have held sway in various forms over parts of southern Somalia since the ousting of then-President Siad Biarre in 1991. Since 2006 and the ousting of the Islamic Courts Union (ICU) it has been the dominant unifying armed group in opposition to the western-backed and inherently fragile Transitional Federal Government (TFG), which holds tenuous control over most of Mogadishu, and little else. For much of the last few years it has engaged in warfare with the TFG and allied forces, including Somali clans, the Africa Union peacekeeping mission AMISOM, and the Ethiopian military. Its recent draw-back from some Mogadishu suburbs was heralded as a military ‘defeat’ for the group, but analysts observed that it more likely marked a transition from more conventional warfare tactics, which were unsustainable, to more assymetric tactics better suited to the group’s less formal military structure. A number of attacks over the last few weeks bear this out, including a massive truck-bomb explosion in central Mogadishu, and an assault on AMISOM troops that left as many as 60 Burundian soldiers dead.

Al Shabab, which aligns itself with al Qaeda’s global mission- and recently hosted an aid mission by alleged al Qaeda operatives– is reported to raise up to USD 100 million a year, according to a recent UN report- largely by taxing shipping through the port of Kismayo, extortion, and other endeavours. While kidnapping expatriates for ransom has become big business in Somalia, as in other war-affected regions such as western Sudan, Iraq and Afghanistan, it is hard to see what al Shabab would have to gain by kidnapping foreign tourists and aid workers. The going price for a hostage is measured in the hundreds of thousands of dollars, perhaps a bit over a million in, give or take, so against an annual income of a hundred million, it’s quite slim pickings. Slim pickings, for a lot of extra work- hostage abductions are costly and risky ventures. Hostages die easily (at which point they become largely worthless), and have to be fed, sheltered, transported and given medical attention. They also generate a lot of attention. Media attention, to be sure- and in some cases, such as the early abductions in the Iraq war, this was a major motivation for targeting expatriates- but this is less the case now. It also garners the attention of special forces rescue operations, rival groups, and military forces, which are usually less welcome.

Kidnap-for-ransom activities tend to be favoured by smaller groups, who are generally prepared to weather the high risks of the operation for the high payoff should it work out. For larger organizations, the cash return is simply not worth the political and military fallout they’re likely to engender- though they may play some supporting role in the operation, such as facilitating handovers between groups, or acting as intermediaries. As hostage-taking becomes more of an industry, it’s also increasingly being run by organizations specialising in this type of endeavour. Securing a ransom requires an element of trust. If you’re an established player in the market, with a track record of returning your hostage once the ransom is paid, you’re far more likely to get paid the next time you snatch someone and there’s an established go-between, and some confidence you’ll follow through on your promises. If you’re just some qat-jived hick with a gun, people are going to be more wary.

Excellent map from WhiteAfrican.com

Various pirate groups operate with a large degree of impunity up and down the Somali coastline, taking advantage of stateless anarchy to run operating bases and set up holding areas for ships and hostages alike. It’s a huge business, and pockets of Somalia have economies largely dependant on it. The combination of a failed economy, the lack of any state support, and even overfishing that has reduced the profit margins of Somalia’s fishing industry have all contributed to the rise of piracy over the past decade. World governments and shipping companies, frustrated by the trend, have increasingly protected their vessels travelling through Somali waters, with the British government the latest to authorize armed guards on ships. Analysts observing this trend warned that with the infrastructure already in place supporting piracy operations, and the dependency of the local economy, the likelihood was for these gangs to look for easier targets- particularly, inland. While increase in activity by Puntland authorities is trying to tackle this, the authorities are not strong enough to crush it.

The most recent abduction of foreigners– an American and a Dane from the Danish Demining Group taken from Galkacyo last week- evidenced this. Snatched from deep within Puntland- there is very little al Shabab operational capacity here- they were taken coastward to an area known as a pirate holding zone. A few days after the abduction, rival pirate gangs even fought a battle over the possession of the hostages, who remained fortunately unharmed following the incident. There was no way to pin this one on al Shabab.

In fact, the groundswell of opinion suggesting al Shabab were behind the abductions from northern Kenya is waning, too. Interestingly, when al Shabab took control of the pirate haven of Kismayo a couple of years back, piracy operations were largely displaced to other, non-Shabab-controlled areas further north and in Puntland, where the most activity is now seen. Most global sources quote Kenya’s initial claim with some doubt, also referencing al Shabab’s denial that it had anything to do with the abductions (this from a group not shy to admit to its activities). What they don’t seem to pick up on quite as often is that Kenya pretty much withdrew its claims that the invasion was as a result of the kidnapping. Kenya’s own military have admitted that they’d been planning the invasion for months, and that the kidnapping was just a convenient springboard to launch their operations, succinctly explained in this New York Times article:

When Kenya sent troops storming across Somalia’s border on Oct. 16, government officials initially said that they were chasing kidnappers who had recently abducted four Westerners inside Kenya, two from beachside bungalows, and that Kenya had to defend its tourism industry.

But on Wednesday, Alfred Mutua, the Kenyan government’s chief spokesman, revised this rationale, saying the kidnappings were more of a “good launchpad.”

A nation using an inflammitary topic to galvanize its people in support of a foreign invasion, then later changing tack? Where have we heard this before?

So where is the international outcry? Where the governments calling for an immediate withdrawl of Kenyan troops, the public protests decrying an illegal occupation, or the papers full of headlines claiming the invasion to be unjust (as opposed to just incompetent, which a few manage)?

Well, in fact the overwhelming western response seems to be one of tacit, if quiet, approval.

In the early days of the response, rumours abounded of French and US involvement. The former nation’s navy allegedly provided naval artillery support and rumoured aerial support. It subsequently denied any involvement to date, but did say it would provide support to the operation. Meanwhile, murmurs of US drone strikes strategically timed to support the Kenyan invasion also surfaced. A number were even reported in somewhat neutrality-questionable sources in Iran and Pakistan. The US denied that it had launched any strikes recently, or that it was supporting the Kenyan operation other than through an “overt way through the Kenya navy, army and air force“. It even went so far as to claim it had no knowledge at all of the Kenyan invasion- a statement difficult to believe, given Kenya’s status as an ally in the Global War on Terror and the US’s well-established clandestine intelligence presence in Somalia and the region.

Prior to the Kenyan military invasion- the nation’s first- it took a different tack. Much of north eastern Kenya is ethnically Somali, the border long and hard to patrol in a remote area of desert. Dadaab refugee camp has played host to over a hundred thousand refugees since the early 1990s (around half a million today), with more hosted in communities. There is also a large Somali population in Nairobi. The risk of insurgency activity and domestic terrorism has been a priority in Kenya’s domestic and foreign security policy for many years, but specifically since the 1998 embassy bombing that killed two hundred Kenyans and injured a thousand more. That attack, linked to al Qaeda operatives, also had ties to Somalia and al Shabab, with one of the operation’s ringleaders killed at a checkpoint earlier this year. One of its key defensive strategies therefore was to fund allied militias along the border to fight a proxy war and create a buffer between Kenya and al Shabab. That operation did not reap much success, but did manage to fund and arm a number of bloody warlords. The current strategy looks to be a new incarnation of the same drive: to create a buffer.

The plan is horribly flawed. Kenya’s military, while trained and equipped, has little experience of combat operations. The initial invasion force appears to include some 3,000 soldiers, a woefully small number to hold any territory. The aim of the invasion appears to be to take the towns of Afmadow and Kismayo, but to what end is not entirely clear. Does Kenya hope that, once displaced, Kenya-friendly Somali clan leaders will fill the leadership vacuum? Does it anticipate that TFG and AMISOM forces will rush in at their tails to take control? Given the Somali government’s somewhat frosty reception to the invasion (though note the backpedalling here), it’s unlikely Kenya has any aims of actually annexing the region and governing directly. But then, with 3,000 troops, it couldn’t hope to. If there’s a lesson well illustrated in Afghanistan and Iraq, it’s that huge numbers of troops are required to control relatively small areas of territory when insurgents are in operation- that, and pitching conventional troops against organizations skilled in asymmetric warfare does not lead to a quick, easy or decisive victory. And if there’s a lesson well illustrated in Somalia, it’s that power vacuums don’t lead to good leaders stepping in and taking charge, just years of anarchy. A lesson the Ethiopian invasion of 2006 wrote with much blood.

Kenya’s motivations, to shore up its borders and provide some economic security, are obvious. But why does the West seem so slow to condemn Kenya for invading its neighbour- certainly in breach of international agreements, and possibly in breach of international law as well, following the bombing of a relief camp? Well, sitting at this level, we don’t know the finer ins and outs of the diplomacy happening behind the scenes. It’s possible- probable, even- that some envoys are working for a way to enable Kenya to beat a face-saving withdrawl. But, quite frankly, it’s too late for that. Al Shabab has already called for large-scale terror attacks on Nairobi and has said the Kenyan populace will suffer for the actions of its government. A withdrawl will only fuel a notion of victory for the insurgents, and likely embolden them, not diffuse their anger. The chances of a major terrorist attack being attempted in Nairobi over the next few months are pretty high.

The West, however, appears to be playing the same risky game that Kenya did a few years ago, albeit one step removed. Allow a proxy force to go in and do the dirty work. With the significant weakening of al Qaeda Central’s strategic capability since the killing of bin Laden and a number of other key operatives, increasing focus has been placed on al Shabab territory as a breeding ground for al Qaeda operatives and operational capacity, among other festive hotspots such as Yemen. The US’s operational presence in Somalia is increasingly well attested-to, but it is none the less a small and somewhat clandestine operation, primarily involving intelligence support, training, and surgical drone strikes. The likelihood of the US gaining any domestic support for even a relatively small operation (such as the recently-announced Special Operations force to help  in the hunt for the LRA’s Joseph Kony) is minimal, with the wounds inflicted by the 1993 Battle of the Black Sea (of Black Hawk Down fame) still smarting. But having an allied force putting its troops on the front line in occupying al Shabab is a perfectly acceptable solution.

It’s hard to know exactly what conversations are going on behind the scenes. Kenya was quick to announce US and French support for the invasion, only to have to withdraw it after both nations denied the action. Still, it seems unlikely that the Kenyans would come out and speak confidently and officially of such support if it hadn’t been inferred at some point in the conversation. Nor does it seem believable that intelligence services knew nothing of the military manouevre that led to the invasion proper. Much more probable is that western governments are perfectly happy for Kenyan troops to fight and die against a perceived enemy in the GWOT, will offer their support and approval behind closed doors, but will maintain a veneer of plausible deniability to limit both domestic backlash and the risk of increased targeted agitation by extremists who can now vent their rage against the more local and accessible Kenyans who are the immediate aggressor. Keep them busy close to their own home fronts, and they’re far less likely to be able to launch attacks further afield.

And never mind the 750,000 Somalis at risk of death from famine, who will certainly be further isolated by this new phase of warfare.

Sudan: A Beginner’s Guide

On the 9^th 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

The Ambush (Part 3 of 3): Evac

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)

World Humanitarian Day 2010: The Ambush (Part I of 3)

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)