Juba Vocabulary

There is a hilarious new vocabulary that truly reflects the melting pot of development and post-war culture in South Sudan, and Ayom Wol Dhal has been taking notes.

Here are some of my favourites:

baby beny (noun phrase) Mocking term for a younger close relative of a high-ranking member of government, who despite having no job is regularly seen driving/crashing cars with GOSS plates, living the high life and intimidating low-level service industry personnel with the phrase ‘do you know who I am?’. Usually expects to be accorded the security status, respect and in-service benefits which are rightfully held by the illustrious older relative. Although the term is part Dinka, it is applicable to people of all ethnicities who fit the bill.

Source: AW Dhal, Juba 2012

briefcase INGO (noun phrase) Pejorative term for an international NGO which retains such a high percentage of donor funds for its own staff and structures that this appears to be its core business. As in “an INGO that needs to come with a big briefcase, so that it can take away all the money”. The phrase is a riposte to the currently popular phrase ‘briefcase NGO’, meaning an NGO with no local constituency or actual programing, set up largely or solely to attract funding.

Source: local NGO member (name withheld to protect the little funding available), Bahr El Ghazal 2012

infant soldier (noun phrase) Mocking term for a young man, typically one trying to impress ignorant foreign girls, or a prospective rap star, who claims to have been a child soldier, despite the fact that he is much, much too young to have fought in the war. Often associated with a claim to be a ‘lost boy’, despite never having been involved in any of the tragic overland child exoduses which gave rise to the term.

Source: AW Dhal, Juba 2012

International Relationships, qualification in (noun phrase) Humorous term for the qualifications which might be said to be held by commercial sex workers, particularly those specializing in servicing the UN/INGO market. Can further be sub-divided to indicate the market level at which such workers function, eg: high school diploma in International Relationships (low-end worker, perhaps based in Jebel Market); first degree in International Relationships (mid-level worker, perhaps specializing in the hotel trade, may be ostensibly employed in another service industry, such as hospitality, which affords access to potential clients); Masters (or perhaps that should be Mistress?) degree in International Relationships (high-end worker who may be accommodated in an expensive hotel or apartment, or be the temporary ‘girlfriend’ of expatriate or wealthy local clients, may be ostensibly employed as an office worker or sales rep, occasionally graduates out of the sector altogether with the help of a visa and wedding ring). The sector is marked by extreme fluidity as talented students may readily upgrade their qualifications and those with personality or substance abuse issues may quickly regress to Jebel Market. Modules of such a qualification may include face-to-face marketing, manual dexterity and vehiclular services.

Source: unidentified commercial sex worker (and one clearly in the wrong job), Juba 2011

H/T: Maggie Fick

The Wait (guest post)

Remixed from: Inside Art New Orleans 

The Wait

Prologue: In this (completely fictional) scene from a Juba noir in the making, a private

detective who just survived a scuffle arrives to question South Sudan’s Minister of Finance on

the recent murder of the Minister of Wildlife and Animal Resources.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. There’s a Macy’s Day parade of pain marching through my head

and I’m barely floating.

The office manager’s pals stroll in, more tea is called for, hands are shook, the old, fat Dinka

ministry made men play with their ill-gotten iPhones, laugh and congratulate each other in

Arabic not on a job well done, but on jobs not done at all. Development purgatory.

The cold metal of the flask in my jacket bumps against my chest like an old friend and

I am relieved that for once they did not frisk me before letting me in—there are some

benefits to arriving to see the minster during tea time. Not that anyone has anything

against drink during work hours—it’s just that ever since the assassination there’s been an

acute aversion to unexpected concealed objects, particularly those with which I am most

intimately acquainted.

My thumb unscrews the lid and the whiskey washes over my mouth like Picasso coloring a

canvas. I might as well be wearing a leisure suit.

I know the minister is a busy man and I’m not like advisors who bustle in here expecting

him to rearrange his schedule like Moses parting the Red Sea. I never understood that

really—how this whole damn industry can profess to be there to support, to build, to

strengthen, but at the same time can’t stomach when counterparts don’t play nice, or don’t

play at all. We are here to empower you, as long as you remember your place.

Back in the golden age, the boss man was boss and what he said was the word. I’ve always

been convinced every development professional who takes his work seriously is at heart a

colonialist, or at least romanticizes the notion. After all consultants can only have so much

expertise, so much seniority, before it’s impossible for them to start marching into places

and expecting everyone to do what they say.

Blame it on the system, man. Aid to perpetuate a strategy, a strategy all about the

beneficiary except when it comes to what matters. Donor gets money. Donor spends

money. Consultant gets his danger pay. Counterpart scratches head, yawns. Tale as old as

time.

Seeing a donor designing an aid program is a bit like watching a mad scientist at work,

except without the science. The curtains are drawn, consultants live in a world of

whispers about what’s cooking, and the counterparts go about their business oblivious

and unengaged. Then five years later a small forest has been converted into reports, but

overall everyone is surprised how little is accomplished. But the best people to do the

jobs are not those with new ideas, but the ones who have already done it before with

outstanding mediocrity, so the donors put their heads together, the consultants insinuate

their own plans and personnel into the mix, and the result is another couple millions worth

of incestuous, bastardized programs reshuffling old work the counterpart does not give a

damn about.

Same circus, different clowns, but they don’t realize the joke’s on them. Because while no

one can touch the plan, the scarce resource isn’t dollars, it’s places to put them. Donors

spending and consultants earning, both to advance their careers. And the counterpart

is the prettiest girl at the ball, except instead of a tight, low cut dress what really gets

mouths watering is complete and utter lack of capacity. Counterpart willingness to address

problems is beside the point—you might as well be voting for prom queen based on

personality. The development pie gets baked and split up, and everyone eats except those

who are hungry. Where’s a cigarette when you need one?

Just as my headache’s getting to be too much the minister’s door swings open like the

pearly gates in all their heavenly glamour, and a consultant shakes hands goodbye

unctuously, homage paid by another castrated colonialist.

The minister is the Big Man, the Earth Mother, the end and the beginning. I take one more

long, hard draw, and force myself into a toothy smile.

...............................

Yes, a new capital.

Suck my decadence (photo credit: David Adams)

(Update 15/9/11: See comments for my fail)

Sorry for the absence but apparently I have greater access to the internet in Juba than I do in my current location.....also, I had not come across anything that enraged me enough to encourage me to write........

So the Government of South Sudan has somewhat recently announced that it is planning to move the capital to a state-neutral area called Ramciel. This is not the first time GoSS has made this announcement and there seems to be just as much criticism to the idea this time around. Some Smug faced Guardian newspaper journalists has so kindly shared his view on the matter based on his "lightning visit" of Juba. The legend that is John Ashworth has so succinctly explained in the comments section

"A lightning visit" sums up the international media's understanding of South Sudan.

It is evident in reading the article and its romanticised description of Juba as some wild west town that the writer is missing some pretty important arguments as to why GoSS has come to this decision. You can find some more elaborate explanations in the comments section written by some South Sudanese, but here is my summary:

• As the article suggests, Juba is growing very rapidly. However, the land around it does not belong to the government. As the South Sudan Land Act 2009 indicates, land is primarily owned by the "community". The land that surrounds Juba is owned by the Bari community, who are not particularly happy with Juba expanding anymore than it already has. So they can pretty much charge whatever they want for the land, and are very much motivated to charge ridiculous prices to discourage any further expansion. Therefore moving to newer cheaper land may be just as cost effective as staying (I am merely speculating and will not be doing the calculations for this).

• Starting from scratch will mean that the government is able to plan out the new city much better to allow for infrastructure to be developed much more efficiently. For example, the current water supply system in Juba are rather small pipes that have been barely submerged in the ground. When ever it rained, the pipe near where I lived would be exposed, punctured and would turn the road into a river. Wasting treated water as well as making it a bitch for me to get home. 

• Actually, screw this.....the article says "For outsiders, the decision [of moving the city] seems baffling", then fine, be baffled. People on the inside are just as baffled as to how the Guardian would publish such poorly researched articles. I've heard South Sudanese primary school children come out with more intelligence on development issues than this garbage. 

Although one point I would like to make that is independent of the Guardian article is that I worry about the motivation of selecting the location for the new capital. While it is great that the government is trying to keep everyone happy*, I fear that always making concessions to all parties as opposed to making decisions based on actual merits may be a shot in the foot in the long term. Nothing can make everyone happy all the time.  

To my friends still working in Juba, the capital city moving away simply means that you can still be based in Juba with all its bars and swimming pools while having the bonus 'badass points' of saying your living in the field.

* even though the Ramciel, while straddling multiple states is in fact very much Dinka country. Credit goes to Chagai  in the comments section of the Guardian article for this one. 

Really Bored in post-conflict

OH MY GOD I AM SO BORED

This holiday season really emphasises the title of the blog. Juba is currently dead.......
As a result I have been feeling especially uninspired

However, I am going to make up for it, right...........now:

So here is a few Juba updates:

• Juba Police have recently received some new sexy wheels. Several sedan/saloon cars with Police painted on its side and the flashy lights have been parked at every major roundabout in town, where police have been keeping a strong presence all through the night. The reasoning is unclear, but it has worked wonderfully as a social facilitation where drivers are now driving a lot less like wankers and a bit more like fearfully law-abiding citizens. Also, the police (non-traffic) are now rocking their new uniforms - a strange colour of brown camo. I'm still unclear as to why the police need to be able to blend into dust and dirt in an urban setting, but they seem happy. I'm sure once the military mentality slowly washes away they will suit up once again. Finally, mad respect going out to all those traffic cops who have been working really hard in conducting traffic while showing no sign of a resurgence of everyday corruption......I no longer fear the sound of the whistle, and instead feel much safer driving around with police present.
  
• The SPLA has been a very happy and excited as Santa brings them some new helicopters. They spent all day yesterday flying them all around town in, once again...terribly selected camouflage colours and patterns. These helicopters didn't seem like the Mi-17 Kazan Helicopters that were reported to have been purchased, but rather a smaller model....maybe the Mi-38.
• There is a new GIANT billboard in town by the Petronas roundabout that simply tells people to vote for secession, with a reminder of the days left until the referendum (might I add that this was not in sync with the days left on the countdown clock at Juba roundabout - i think that's fixed now though).
• Stim apple drink is now rather difficult to find in town as supplies from the north begin decreasing either due to fear of war or maybe just a holiday thing.
• UNDP DDR is in trouble with this little gem of news. Victory point to GoSS for what may be more funding for their own DDR projects.
  
• OH - it rained.....twice. In one week.

See, I told you it was boring. That is all for now. I will try and get some posts up soon to cover the northern opposition insurgency, why Salva Kiir is a cool cat and the unsettling (and sometimes stressful) ties between civil society organisations and politicians.

p.s. sorry i couldn't get photos of some of this stuff but my camera is dead. If you would like some photos, feel free to give me a camera.

Development as.........Party!!!

Juba's very first monthly event. Imported DJ from Uganda playing those awsome tracks that your neighbour likes to play to prevent you from getting any sleep on week nights. Seriously though, if an event's poster has my face on it, you know its going to be good (inside joke - sorry).

Anyways, you'll find me in the VIP section looking pimp.....please don't make eye contact with me......I'm better than you.