When there's nothing you can do...

I began the hostile environment training at Centurion Risk Assessment Services today (for journalists and aid workers who are working in war zones). During the morning we covered basic first aid, and were given an outline of what the week would entail. It seemed pretty straight forward. I didn't understand what all the fuss was about (These courses have a really great reputation and cost somewhere around $3,000 for one week). One of the other students told me he had heard the practical work was very realistic, but I didn't think much of it.

After lunch, we were told we were going to take a tour of the campgrounds in which the course was taking place. The 10 of us students loaded into a van and were off. When we reached a gate about 10 minutes into the woods, the driver stopped until they opened the doors.

All of a sudden, gunfire broke out to the left of the van and men wearing black masks over their faces ran towards the van, pointing guns at us and screaming at us to get out. We all knew it was part of the training, but it was, as I had been warned, extreamely real. In fact, it was the realest simulation I have ever participated in.

They started pulling people out of the van and throwing them onto the pavement. I was further back in the van and had a bit more time to think. But I had no idea what to do. I considered hiding in the van, but figured they would find me and only beat me harder for disobeying. They grabbed me and knocked me down onto the pavement. "Heads down!" they screamed, as they covered our faces with black hoods, all of us lying face down on the ground.

Then they forced us up onto our feet, and marched us about 5 minutes away. I couldn't see a thing and was guided only by the person in front of me. I had a hard time keeping up with them because I was being pulled from behind by the next person in line. When eventually we stopped, they forced us all to kneel. The ground was wet and I could feel the mud through my jeans. Then one by one, we were pushed up against a cement wall, our hands up against it. They came by each one of us and searched our whole bodies for any valuables. They stole my ring and watch - that's all I had with me of any value. Then they got in the car and drove away.

I didn't know what to do or if they were truly gone, so I didn't move. I stayed there, with my palms against the cement wall, my breathing getting heavier and the black hood seemingly closing in on me more and more with every breath. Everyone was quiet. I wondered what the others were thinking, and what to do next. I tried to inch my hand over to see if I could reach the person next to me, but was scared to move it too far or too quickly.

Then I heard one of the others try to move - and immediately a gunshot. As I suspected, our captors hadn't yet left - at least not all of them. I tried to listen intently for any indicators of what was going on. I thought about what to do, what my options were. I couldn't think of anything. I couldn't see. I could barely breathe. I didn't know where I was or who was with me. And I didn't know how the captors would react to any movement. I knew it was all fake, but I kept thinking to myself, "if this was real right now, what would I do?" And my mind was blank. I thought of calling out to the captors - asking what they wanted. But I feared that too would result in death. So I just kept quiet and still.

It's crazy how quickly and easily we can be made to feel like little nothings. And it's crazy what the power of guns can do to people.

Slowly, the area around me got quieter and quieter. I heard people being taken away and by the end it seemed that I was all alone there. Then someone grabbed me from behind and led me along through the mud. A few minutes later, he forced me back onto my knees, pushed my head down and removed the hood. All the other participants - already free - were standing there waiting and smiling.

Back in the classroom, we debriefed. I had so many questions. What is someone supposed to do in that situation? Is it a good idea to comply, or should you try to escape? Should you communicate or stay silent?

We went through the whole scenario of abduction, from the surveillance you undergo before it happens all the way to the rescue, if there is one. We talked about the mental challenges of being in captivity and about the ways to avoid being abducted in the first place.

In the end, we were told the best opportunity for escape is in the first few moments of the capture, when there is confusion and lots going on. It's in those first few moments, when you do not yet realize what is happening, that you have to be most prepared and alert. Once you're hooded and tied, your chances of escape are slim to none. The instructors told us to co-operative completely. You should never give up and always pay attention to what is happening and opportunities to escape, but never give them any reason to be angry with you.

I have begun getting used to being completely at someone else's mercy. It's a weird feeling. You fight with yourself. At times you feel weak for complying so completely to their orders. At others you fear the slightest resistance could get you killed.

Of course, there is no right and wrong in these situations. Once you're in this position, there's not much you can do but try to stay calm. I think that's the most this type of training can do for you - it prepares you mentally for the possibility of this happening, so that if it does, the shock is smaller and your reaction better. That might be the only thing that keeps you alive...

The wonders of Bloomberg

Last month, I had been given a grant by the Rory Peck Trust to take a training course on being a journalist in hostile environments. These are very expensive, week-long courses offered to journalists and aid workers who work in war zones. Back then, given my work in Sudan, I thought it was high time I did such a course. The training was in London, England, and this grant - given to freelancers who can't afford the training themselves - covered most of the cost. So I signed up for it, only to have to leave Sudan a few weeks later. Still, I thought it would be a worthwhile thing to do because who knows where I will end up. So here I am in London! And I came a few days early in order to discover the city, meet some friends and take care of some business.

One of my first stops was the Bloomberg office, to meet some editors and get registered in the Bloomberg system (There is no office in Sudan, and so, until I got to the small Cairo office, I had never met anyone that I worked with).

All I can say is WOW. The biggest newsroom in Canada doesn't even come close. I have never seen anything like this. When you walk in, it almost feels like a bar, it's so dimly-lit. Security guards wearing ear pieces and suits guard the front escalators. A woman sitting in front of a digital screen checks your identity. Once you get past the woman and the guards, you ride the escalators - lined with neon blue lights - up to the reception. They take a picture of you, print it on the spot, and make you a badge. To the left is a massive snack bar with all-you-can-eat chips, fruit, drinks and other treats for the employees. Red couches along the side make the place feel like a cool evening lounge. Then through a hallway into the newsroom area are three floors of journalists, all visible through the transparent glass walls, ceiling to floor. At each desk (ie. for one person) are between 2 and 4 computer screens. Each desk is also lined with a "Bloomberg" notepad, "Bloomberg" pencil and tons of coffee-stained paper "Bloomberg" cups. They have an incredible system of financial analysis - stats, graphs, calculators, analyst recommendations, contact numbers - all right there in the system. Financial reporters can just punch in whatever commodity or company they are looking at, and up comes a whole series of analysis and numbers - gold prices went up because of this, gas prices are 40% lower than yesterday, etc. etc. It's truly madness. It had been a long time since I was in any news room at all, and this one just blew my mind...

And more ...

It's been a bit weird being on this side of the fence...

Sudan expels reporter over Darfur, arms: US
(Reuters)

Journalist told to leave Sudan
(Public Radio International)

Canadian journalist recounts days leading to expulsion from Sudan
(SudanTribune.com)

"They asked me why I was asking about arms. Then they said they wantd me to leave the country"
(Reporters Without Borders)

Goodbye Sudan

By now most of you have heard the news.
I was kicked out of Sudan. National Security called me in for a meeting and told me I had two days to leave. They said it was because I was asking questions about the arms industry. Who knows what the real reason was. I am now in Cairo with family deciding what to do next.

Here are some articles about my expulsion:

From AFP

From the Christian Science Monitor

On the Road in Sudan

As you've all noticed, my blog has been a bit lacking lately. It's because: A - I'm so busy and B - I just don't know what to write about much of the time. My life here has lost much of its wonder. I've got satellite TV and air-conditioning; I eat museli, yogurt & fruit for breakfast and make shrimp curries for dinner; I play soccer a few times a week; and spend most of my work-time on my computer, and not in the field. So for all intents and purposes, it's not much different than my life in Canada - in fact sometimes better. But I've managed to scrape together a few stories, all having something to do with traveling.

I get internet here through a little thing about double the size of a flash disk that I stick in my USB drive. It connects to the mobile phone network and where ever I go, I get internet. So I can take my laptop and little USB thing to any coffee shop or friend's house in Khartoum and have internet! Sometimes I use it while I'm waiting at the airport, for example. It's like super wireless. Better than anything I've seen in North America. It's amazing that in the midst of all the underdevelopment here in Sudan, this sort of advanced technological feat exists.The other day, we were coming home from a press conference and the traffic was horrendous. So, as we were stuck in the jam, I pulled out my laptop, typed up my story and sent it in! As we drove along, I checked my e-mail, visited a few websites, and conversed back and forth with editors in South Africa. The efficiency and success of it all amazed me ...

Of course all good things come to an end. And efficiency and success in Sudan are certainly good things. Today, I went to the market with the reporters from Reuters and Agence France Presse, two of the world's largest news wires. Andrew, the Reuters reporter, always complained about the car. The windows, for example, don't roll down. They just down. We got to the market, parked in the sun, and walked around for a few hours. When we got back, we expected the car to be a sauna. We got in, turned it on - and low and behold - the air conditioning did not work. Imagine being in 40+ degree weather, in a car that had been sitting in the sun for hours, with no air conditioning and windows that don't roll down. We drove home in a mad rush, sweat dripping off our faces, and Guillaume, the AFP reporter, barely breathing! Every now and then, he or I would open our doors and drive with the door open, just to make sure we made it home alive. What an adventure that was. Andrew suspects the wires melted together or something...

I end my travel section on an upbeat. I was taking a cab home the other day. I knew it should cost about 7 pounds (about $3). The cabbies always start at 10, but you should be able to negotiate down to 7. Lately, they've been sticking to their price though. (The Sudanese are much less willing to negotiate than other Africans I've met. In Senegal, I could spend half an hour negotiating with someone over 50 cents, and eventually we'd come to some agreement. You pretend to walk away, they call you back, etc. etc. It's a silly game, I know, but here's it's too far in the other extreme. Sometimes they say 10, you say no 7, and they say no, and just drive away. They don't even try to convince you. I still haven't figured out whether they're just not business savy or whether the Senegalese were just so desperate they would take whatever money they could get). In any case, so the taxi insisted on 10, and I refused and he drove away. The next one I pulled over saw this. He tried for 8 but accepted 7 quite easily. I got in and he said 'How much did the other cabbie ask you for?' I said 10. And he said something to the effect of 'Well if 7's all you've got then I can't not accept it, now can I?' I thought it was the sweetest thing ever ... I think he also said that meters were evil ... haha

On a non-travel note, I went to a restaurant today called Carnivore, named after the same restaurant in Kenya. Basically, it's an all-you-can-eat meat place. The waiter comes by with chicken, beef, lamb, crocodile, ostridge, camel, etc. and keeps coming around (dim sum style) until you can't take anymore. Today there was no camel, but I did try the crocodile. It tasted fishy but thicker and chewier. Interesting, but not quite something I'd eat everyday. Anyways, if you're ever in Nairobi, go to Carnivore restaurant - quite the experience.

Sorry for the randomness of this posting.

Sudan through new eyes

I woke up jet-lagged today, but stepped out into the heat of Khartoum and felt refreshed. I am happy to be back. Vacation in Canada was great - and I am so grateful for the wonderful time spent with friends and family - but it was also lots of running around. It's nice to settle down again. But my happiness is about more than that. Being in Canada, being one step - well thousands i guess - removed from the details of daily news reporting, helped me gain a lot of perspective. People asked me questions that forced me to think - 'So what is your conclusion?', 'Are things getting better or worse in Sudan?', etc. etc. - and those questions reminded me of how important it is for me to be here. I think I lost track of that along the way.

I've decided to make a real effort to connect with Sudan this time around. To say hi to strangers on the street more often. To go to cultural events. To go to people's homes. To really understand this country... and to smile more! To see the beautiful sides of this place and to live more happily here.

This morning I went to exchange money, get a new sim card, and renew my internet subscription. Everything went so smoothly and I thought... maybe things can work in this country! Maybe I can build a life here after all...(temporarily anyway)

The Nightmares of Flying

In less than two months I have been on 14 flights. Yes, 14. I counted yesterday, while I sat bored out of my mind, yet too tired to read, at the gate, waiting to board my flight - one of 4 I had to take to get back to Sudan. And it seems every flight is worse than the one that preceded it. Service is dead. Punctuality is dead. Efficiency is dead. Competency long buried. In the good old days, a delay or baggage loss was the exception. These days, it seems that it’s impossible to fly problem-free. On my way to Vancouver to visit my mom, we sat in the airplane on the runway for 3.5 hours before taking off for some de-icing exercise – apparently the West Coast doesn’t understand how to handle snow. On the way back, I was delayed I don’t know how many hours, then my bags didn’t show up.

When I booked my ticket to return to Khartoum, I was amazed at how smooth it appeared. Ottawa – Toronto – Frankfurt – Khartoum. No more than 2 hour layover in both stops. Less than 20 hours flying time. Perfect. Well… until the Toronto flight was delayed 2.5 hours and I missed my Frankfurt connection. Then I had to wait in a line for God knows how long, before being directed to another line, where I was told the next ticket wouldn’t get me there until 2:20am … instead of 5:40pm. Ugh. At this point it was 5am Ottawa time, I hadn’t slept, and I wasn’t in the mood. The only available flight was through Istanbul, adding another leg to the journey – which, with two heavy carry-ons, is never fun.

‘Is there any compensation?’ I asked. ‘We can give you a meal voucher, but that’s about all I can do for you here. You can send a fax to this number though…” This is crap, I thought to myself. But I took the voucher anyway. I wasn’t hungry – not one iota. But I wanted Lufthansa to lose as much money as possible. So I stood in line at McDonald’s and ordered 10 euros worth of stuff. (Frankfurt fries are not quite as crispy, but the sundaes are quite good!)

If before, only certain airlines were known to be poor – now even the best ones are inconsistent at best. But what to do? With this work, I have no choice but to submit to their ridiculousness.

The only plus of this journey – if you could call it that – is that the Finnish World Junior Hockey Championship team was on my flight from Toronto – a bunch of lads who couldn’t speak English getting drunk and causing havoc. It was quite entertaining.