My kingdom for a GPS
I got my South Sudanese license yesterday. A triumph – as readers of my past blogs will realize.
It means freedom for me here. Up till now, I’ve been relying on the drivers at work to get around. During the day this is fine, just a matter of negotiation with others going to the airport, delivering packages, and travelling into the field.
But it’s the two ends of the day that are problematic.
I live half an hour away from the office and the drivers picking me up have been erratic to say the least. My favourite, Amin, came at 8 o’clock on the dot, so I reached work by 8.30. Another took until 9.15, and only after many frustrated telephone calls.
At the end of the day, there’s a milk run home at 5.15pm. But my compound has only intermittent electricity and even rarer access to the internet. Working at home is difficult and the job tasks are piling up as a result.
I also need desperately to shop. When I bought some replacement jeans and shirts, the driver waited patiently and gave sage advice. But I can’t bring myself to ask him to take me to a lingerie store. I think, well, it’s just one step too far.
But there’s one other challenge I still have to overcome- learning my way around town.
Juba is not like other capitals. There are no street signs and very few paved roads. Mostly they’re made of packed dirt, flanked by buildings under construction and thatched mud huts.
The landmarks that do exist – mostly government and embassy offices, a university and school – aren’t on my route.
The lead driver took me on a test run but it was difficult to remember the way. I focussed more on dodging madmen on motorcycles, carrying girlfriends, bananas and even bedding. Drivers going the wrong way up the street didn’t help.
My first solo trip today has left me wringing wet with sweat and sobbing to my partner on skype.
I set out with a map from Google, but it didn’t reflect the terrain. After half an hour of driving, turning where signs seemed familiar, I realised I was hopelessly lost.
And terrified! I read a daily security briefing at work. And there are frequent reports of UN staff, mugged as they enter and exit their cars. The office manager had also warned me, whatever happens, not to stop and get out of the car.
But I needed help. Praying to God, the angels, and my missing travelling Buddha, I saw a nurse with a cross on her hat, entering a compound. I reasoned that anyone who’d taken the hypocratic oath surely wouldn’t break it just to filch a hundred bucks from a desperate aid worker.
I swerved my land-rover off the road, bumping down a steep incline, stopping inches short of a grass hut.
Plastering on my best, ‘I’m an ambassador from the Australia’ smile, I dipped under a line of washing and headed towards two tall men dressed in suits.
My compound has no address, so it was difficult to explain where I was heading. I showed them my google map and it was obvious, they too concluded it bore little relation to reality. With a flash of inspiration, I rang the lead driver, Frances, from work. He explained a nearby landmark in Arabic and the younger man took control.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll drive my van and you can follow me home.’
Narrowly scraping the grass hut on my way out, I waved manically at a group of grim-faced young men gathering nearby and bumped off behind my new white knight.
When we pulled up outside my compound, I thanked him profusely, tears splashing out from under my sunglasses and pouring onto my cheeks.
He tutted reassuringly and asked, ‘Where are you from?’ When I said, ‘Australia,’ he replied, like countless others from every city I’ve been: ‘I have cousins in Melbourne, you know’.
I learnt something today. It’s a small world, even in South Sudan. And no matter the reports, there are good Samaritans in every corner of it.
©Jean Di Marino 2012
