Go Beyond

   A Page from my Journal | 27 February 2005 | From Darfur to Khartoum

Our team with local doctors.

   Waking up early in the morning is not too difficult because I have not been able to sleep much. The heat and my thoughts have conspired to keep me awake every night I have been here — tossing and turning mixed with thinking and praying. After breakfast, we had a final visit with one of the local doctors and then made our way to the airport. We waited under the relative comfort of a covered area and then checked in for our flight. We met some UNICEF workers from Ireland and Morocco. Darfur has attracted relief workers from all over the world — each concerned about bringing some measure of help and relief to those who are suffering here. A few have lost their lives.

   It does not take long for the heat to intensify and to begin suffocating the life out of every living thing. When it was time to leave we walked across the sandy ground to our waiting de Havilland Dash 8 — the same United Nations plane that had brought us to Al-Fashir. We boarded the plane and I sat next to my friend Ray Raulston, a retired airline pilot, for the trip back to Khartoum. Our take off was amazingly smooth, especially given the fact that there is no tarmac at this airport. The landscape below is marked by dry wadis and shades of brown and death that give the ground a marbleized appearance. No signs of life anywhere among the burned-out remnants of villages below — villages whose inhabitants may never return to rebuild and to reestablish their lives.

   We stopped for fuel at El Obeid, one of the largest cities of Sudan, located in the western desert. What we expected to be a brief stop turned into a longer layover. Our flight was delayed because Omar Hassan Ahmad al-Bashir, the military dictator who became President of Sudan after a military coup, was boarding his helicopter and trumped our take-off. According to a recent article I read in the Parade magazine insert in the Dallas Morning News, Bashir is the worst dictator on the planet. From my window seat, I was able to see his entourage assembled on the tarmac. Guys like Bashir sure make it tempting to pray imprecatory prayers.

   Our team was tasked with assessing various aspects of the relief work. We will spend the next couple of days debriefing with those who serve here. Hopefully our observations and recommendations will result not only in lives saved, but in helping the beneficiaries of the aid offered by Christian NGOs understand that God loves them. No single individual or NGO can do everything that is necessary to help the displaced peoples living in Darfur. But the combined and cumulative contribution of each is resulting in lives saved. My friends and I will continue to speak for those who have no voice. I am leaving Darfur, but Darfur will never leave me.

   A Page from my Journal | 26 February 2005 | Zamzam IDP Camp

   Another night spent tossing and turning in the heat. Knowing that I will escape from all of this in a few days accentuates my feelings of guilt for my comfortable life. Those who live here have no place to go. This is where they escaped to from their burned out and pillaged villages. Life is desperate for them at best. Being at ease is something they do not know and indeed must not know in a place as difficult as this. Survival in Darfur requires constant vigilance — for safety and personal needs. I cannot imagine a lifetime in this place. Those here cannot imagine a lifetime away from this place.

   Breakfast is a fight against the flies. For some reason, flies appear in biblical proportions every morning. They cover everything in sight. However, in the evening they disappear, perhaps because they are exhausted from a full day of molesting humanity. There is no way to avoid eating food that has not already been tasted by the flies. Their little fly footprints are on everything edible. Just one of life’s little annoyances when you venture to the ends of the earth!

   After breakfast we returned to the local hospital. Rick, one of our team members, assessed the electrical condition and needs of the hospital, including their aging generators. As with many remote places, Al-Fashir has rolling blackouts to conserve power. The hospital is no exception. And, the hospital’s generators are old and unreliable. But somehow, the dedicated physicians here manage to do the best they can with what they have. They are truly remarkable and resourceful guys.

   We had fuul, a bean stew, for lunch. Afterwards we headed back to Zamzam to visit the school at the camp. As we approached, the children came running to meet us, all calling out the Arabic Sudanese word for foreigner which sounds like someone with a Brooklyn accent saying “how ah ya.” I have been very impressed with the openness and friendliness of the displaced peoples. They greet us with handshakes, smiles, and hugs. This is all the more amazing because they have every reason to behave otherwise.

   I especially love the children. They are absolutely beautiful. How sad that many children here progressively learn to hate. The soldiers who have been destroying villages, raping young girls, and murdering innocent civilians were all children at one time. Somehow these “once upon a time children turned soldiers” were shaped and influenced by a worldview that does not respect the sanctity of life. It’s hard to understand how people can so totally brutalize others, especially their own people.

Children at Zamzam School

   The school at Zamzam is a makeshift campus of tents bordered by a fence of dry and twisted sticks. The jute tarps are stamped with the UNICEF logo. A wind-shredded Sudanese flag flapped in the hot breeze as we surveyed the scene. The teachers we met with told us that they serve a student population of over 2,500. They do this with a shortage of books and supplies. The curriculum menu offers instruction in reading, writing, arithmetic, Arabic, and Islam. No school desks. Students sit on mats on the dusty ground. In spite of it all, kids here are eager to learn. We discussed avenues for aid with our hosts at our evening debriefing.

   When we returned to our lodging late in the evening, we discovered that the owner of the house where we are staying had secured a generator. We fired up the generator and conversed late into the night under the hot breeze of a couple of fans. However, when it was time to go to bed we turned off the noisy generator. As soon as we did, the heat assaulted us like a merciless thug in the night. I was able to get a signal and call home tonight on our satellite phone. That phone call connected me with my family half a world away, living in the relative safety of America. I am going to bed this evening with my heart filled with gratitude for my home and in pain for Darfur.

   A Page from my Journal | 25 February 2005 | Zamzam IDP Camp

   Sleep does not come easily to me in Darfur. The unbearable heat alone is enough to keep me awake at night. However, it’s the troubling visions of the day that replay over and over again in my mind that are most effective at driving away sleep. At night I see the faces of the children whose childhood has been defined by unimaginable horrors. I see the mothers at the wells, pumping water into plastic jugs while the babies strapped to their backs bake in the heat. I see the elderly sitting quietly in the dust, displaced from homes they will never see again and separated from loved ones they will never hold again. I see the signature of despair everywhere I look. I welcomed the morning.

   We were all a little more quiet and reserved at breakfast, subdued by a combination of emotion, fatigue, and anger over what we have seen. Our time together in morning devotions seemed even more significant than yesterday. The time in the Scriptures and in prayer keep us tethered to hope. We are among the least of these in the worst of places. We are here because we love God and love those for whom Jesus came to die. Darfur is an object lesson in the power of worldviews to either destroy life or to affirm its value. We are here to affirm its value.

   We drove to the hospital after breakfast. Dr. Tom Dickey, Chief of Pathology at Baylor Irving Hospital, and Dr. Jerry Squyres, our team leader, spent the day making rounds with the physicians there. The rest of us secured permission to travel south to Zamzam, an IDP camp named for the well that Islamic tradition says was revealed by Allah to Hagar while she wandered in the desert with Ishmael. The road south is dangerous. A relief worker was killed along this road prior to our arrival. We passed several military checkpoints along the way and received permission to continue on our way. The final checkpoint boasted a tripod mounted machine gun atop the only hill in the area — a sobering reminder of the continuing instability of the area.

   My impression is that Zamzam appeared more desperate than Abu Shouk. I spoke with one man who has been in the camp for almost a year. When his village was attacked by the Janjaweed, he managed to escape with a few of his animals. However, his animals all died along the way as he traveled the long distance from his home to Zamzam. Another young lady told me that she and her mother had been in the camp for three months. These people and tens of thousands of others are now living in houses made of sticks and covered with sheets of plastic donated by NGOs. Somehow, these displaced peoples have managed to build their new community with the barest of essentials.

   We found the women queued up at the wells around the camp, as in Abu Shouk. The children have somehow found ways to entertain themselves. They clamor about in ragged clothes, some even smiling and laughing. One little girl was clutching a broken doll, the only toy I have seen and an ironic symbol of the many broken lives residing in these camps. My heart aches most for the children.

   We made our way back to the hospital in Al-Fashir to pick up Jerry and Dr. Dickey. We then headed north to Abu Shouk to visit the clinic there but were denied permission to enter. In the evening we debriefed and talked late into the night. We will return to Zamzam tomorrow to meet with the school teachers there. I am tired and need to sleep but know that I face another restless night.

   A Page from my Journal | 24 February 2005 | Abu Shouk IDP Camp

   I awoke a few minutes after 5:00 AM and spent some time alone with God before starting the day. Breakfast this morning consisted of hard-boiled eggs, bread, and coffee. After breakfast, Dr. Jerry Squyres, our team leader, led our morning devotion and prayer time. We also are all grateful to have so many at home who are praying daily for us and for the displaced people living in Darfur. One friend told me before we left that he would pray but that he wanted for me to understand that prayer may not stop a bullet. I told him that I don’t have a death-wish but I do believe that I am safe until God is through with me.

   Today we will visit Abu Shouk, one of the largest camps for internally displaced people in Darfur. This is the camp that Colin Powell, Secretary of State for the Bush administration, visited. Powell told the Senate Foreign Relations Committee: “We concluded — I concluded — that genocide has been committed in Darfur and that the government of Sudan and the Janjaweed bear responsibility — and genocide may still be occurring.” Kofi Annan, Secretary General of the United Nations also visited Abu Shook.

   Our first order of business was to get permission from the local authorities to travel to Abu Shouk. Authorities here monitor the activity of foreigners very carefully because the area is still dangerous and several foreign workers have been killed here in the past year. It took a while for our paperwork to be processed, but we were granted permission to visit Abu Shouk. We drove from the police station through unpaved roads hemmed in by mud-plastered fences toward the IDP camp. Once outside of Al-Fashir we followed a winding road across treeless vistas to Abu Shouk — home to over eighty-five thousand individuals displaced by the conflict.

   As we drove into the camp, children ran up to meet our vehicle. They were so happy to see us and greeted us with smiles. Our vehicle was quickly surrounded by children who reached out to touch us, to make a connection. I could not help but pray that these children will not be tipped from innocence to hatred by what is happening here. We have already seen enough teenagers with guns in our short time here.

   Abu Shouk is a sobering sight that brought the reality of what is happening in Darfur into sharp focus. It is a vast community of tiny mud-brick homes, straw homes, and occasional blue tarps formed into tents accenting the dusty brown plain outside of Al-Fashir. Not a shade tree in sight. Mothers holding children were lined up at every water well, waiting their turn to fill plastic jugs with the water that keeps them tenuously tethered to life here. The lines at every well were long and snaked out in every direction. This is job number one for mothers and older children. Families have to have a representative at the well at all times. Water and shade is the only ammunition the people have to fight off the strangulating heat.

   We also visited the hospital in Al-Fashir today. Part of our purpose here is to meet with the few doctors responsible for providing medical care in this part of Darfur. Our team assessed both the practical medical needs of the hospital as well as the condition of the compressors that provide the electricity needed by the hospital. Abysmal is the best rating our professionals could give. We saw several people wounded in the conflict, including one little girl. The doctors told us that when there is any kind of fighting, they are inundated with wounded people. This is like having only one hospital with eight doctors to handle all of the emergencies in Dallas and Fort Worth.

   We had an extended meeting with several of the local doctors in the evening. Their dedication is truly inspiring. They do an amazing work with the few scant resources at their disposal. We were able to make recommendations regarding practical ways to improve sanitation, the condition of their compressors, and more. Fortunately, the NGO we represent will follow-up on our recommendations and is committed to digging additional wells in and around Abu Shouk. When things are as desperate as they are here, every act of kindness results in lives saved.

   Once again, today has been an eye-opening and emotional day. There is so much to process. I am writing these notes in my journal late at night. It’s hard to sleep, not only because of the heat but because of what I have seen and heard. I have no right to complain about anything. I don’t have to stand in the heat all day to fill up a plastic jug with water. I have access to the world’s best medical care. I can go to any of a dozen grocery stores in my community and shop in air-conditioned comfort. Being on site has given me new insight that will inform my prayers tonight.

   A Page from my Journal | 23 February 2005 | From Khartoum to Darfur

   We arrived in Khartoum last night via London and Dubai. I have wanted to travel to Sudan for years, especially since first learning that Sudan has topped the list of the top ten countries that persecute Christians. The treatment of Christians who live in the southern part of the country by Muslims who live in the north accounts in part for the fact that more Christians were martyred in the twentieth-century than in the previous nineteen centuries combined.

   After a quick night’s sleep, we awoke early this morning and headed to the airport for our 8:00 AM flight to Darfur. The NGO we are working with was able to book seats aboard a twin-prop United Nations flight to Al-Fashir, the capital city of North Darfur. We quickly ascended to our modest cruising altitude above the barren, brown landscape below. The absence of anything green served as a sobering reminder that the odds are stacked against anything or anyone wanting to stake a claim on life here. I could see the burned-out remains of what once were villages whose inhabitants are either dead or struggling to survive in the displacement camps we will soon visit. As we started our descent, the intimidating landscape below came into sharper focus. We landed with a single bounce and rolled to a stop. No tarmac. When our pilot stepped into the cabin and opened the door, the searing heat of Darfur rushed in to greet us.

   No modern airport here. We claimed our bags next to the plane and then walked in the searing dry heat to meet our hosts. We shoved our backpacks into their Range Rover and headed to our lodging — a simple house with no electricity or running water. After a quick orientation we attended a meeting with some UNICEF folks who briefed us on the desperate need for water in Darfur. We learned that a single well can service between 200 and 400 people. However, given the current humanitarian crisis and the influx of multiplied thousands of internally displaced peoples, there are not enough wells to meet the demand.

Dr. Tom Dickey reviews stats.

   Our next briefing was with the local health director. At present, many NGO’s are in Darfur and providing much-needed medical care. Again, the need for water is great. Many people in Darfur, especially children, are dying of common diarrhea because they do not have enough water to rehydrate. And, many others are dying of “man-made” malaria in this place that is anything but tropical. Mosquitoes are breeding in water pots left uncovered and then infecting the people. The local hospital, which we are scheduled to visit during our time here, has only eight doctors to service a population almost as great as that in the Dallas–Fort Worth metroplex.

   In addition to much-needed medical care, there is a need for psychological care. One Sudanese doctor said that if we were to give any child crayons and paper they would draw scenes of war and death because that is all they have ever known. Children whose parents have been killed remain vulnerable. Some are adopted and others are conscripted into the army. Girls of all ages are vulnerable to rape as they search the barren landscape outside the displacement camps for firewood. Life here is unimaginably hard.

   It’s been a long and emotional day. The temperatures today soared to over one-hundred and twenty degrees. Thankfully, night ushered in cooler temperatures — in the nineties. We sat outside our modest little lodging and ate a stew of local beans and talked late into the night as the constellation of Orion kept vigil overhead. Tonight, Darfur is no longer just a place on a map. It’s always been a place on God’s heart and now has a place in my heart as well. My prayers for Darfur will never be the same.