"This is Africa"

So... I'm back in Kenya and committed, for the next little while, to stay on top of my blog. I feel totally disconnected from all of you and want to make a better effort to make you informed of my life and be informed of yours.

So, basically, I'm living in Kenya now. Every day, I go jogging in the morning (I get the funny stares from everyone, because running is huge here - but seemingly only for men). Then I ride bus no. 46 to work (I pay 40 Kenyan shillings, or about 50 cents). I work out of Bloomberg's office here, mostly continuing to cover Sudan. (I do analysis, or call people by phone, etc). But I've become increasingly frustrated with not doing any work in the field, and I'm trying to engage myself a little more with my surroundings - ie. to actually feel that I am in Africa and not just sitting in front of a computer screen. Then I ride the bus home again in horrible traffic, pick up groceries from the supermarket and make dinner. Pretty normal life really.

But there are always reminders.

The other day I was reading the newspaper on the way to work and found a tiny article, hidden on page 6, about the murder of a politician. He had been on way his home at 10pm one day, when a car drove by, shot his tires flat, and then kept driving. He got out of his car to ask for help, and the same car drove by and shot him in the head four times, again driving away, without stealing anything.

I was shocked. It was a two-paragraph story on page 6 !!! I showed it to my Kenyan colleague when I got to work. He hadn't even noticed the story. The Kenyan capital Nairobi is known to have high crime, but not like this! He said the politician must have been mixed up in some shady business and this was payback. Then he went back to his desk as if it was nothing.

"This is Africa," he said.

p.s. For those of you who are now freaking out, Kenya is overall a very good place to live. There are no wars, and quite a bit of development - a step up from Sudan anyway! But the next day, the newspaper showed the pictures of 26 men who had been killed in execution-style killings in the last two months alone. I expressed some concern about this to my colleague, and he said, as long as you're straight in your dealings, you'll have no problems. Let's hope so!

Bumps, Bribes and Baboons

I'm back in Kenya for a short trip. Last time I came here, I wrote about how it felt like Europe: the men in suits, the skyscrapers, etc. This time, I'm getting more exposure to its African identify.

First, on the way home from the airport, I saw a zebra standing on the side of the main tarmack road. A zebra!

Then I went to Nairobi National Park, where I got to see a selection of zebras (they much fatter butts than I expected), giraffes (beautiful), water buffalos, baboons, gazelles, and a lion, among other animals whose names have escaped me. This park is just a few kilometres outside of town, but is as close to the Kenyan savana as you can get in the city. It's amazing. You can see wild animals in their natural habitat, with skyscrapers in the background! Plus the park isn't fenced, allowing animals to pass through during their migration. No wonder a zebra had wandered onto the road!



The next day, I headed with a friend to Mount Longonot, 2776 above sea level, for a little hike. On the way there, we were pulled over at a regular checkpoint by Kenyan police officers who noticed I wasn't wearing a seatbelt and immediately said "We are going to arrest you." ha. Of course, what they really wanted was money. If it wasn't the seatbelt, it would have been the car regisration or the lights or they would have found something to pick on. They said I would have to stay in jail for two days until the matter could be sorted out. Again, ha. Of course, we knew better. So, we proposed to settle the matter "locally and amicably" ie. pay a bribe. Some $25 later, we were on our way. "Have fun at Mount Longonot," the police officers called out, as we drove away, pissed off. Reportedly, they make $300 a day in bribes. I can tell you there was a long lineup of cars pulled over behind us!

Turns out we had taken the wrong road and the journey to Longonot, which should have been a smooth ride on a tarmack rode, turned into an adventure on small, bumpy dirt roads in a car that really shouldn't have been put to such a test.



Eventually, we did make it, and were appointed a guide, Anne-Paul. I asked her how long the hike would take. She said she does it in 40 minutes, but people "who spend all day in the office" were slower. The book had said the whole thing would take 6 hours, so I wondered just what we were in for and whether I was one of the lazy office people.

It turned out to be quite a challenge, with some parts really quite steep. Dad, you would have loved it. The climb to the rim of the volcanic crater lasted, as Anne-Paul had promised, somewhere around an hour. But from there, the path around the 2-km wide crater and to the summit, was another story.

We made it to the unremarkable summit eventually, covered in dust from the volcanic ashes. Along the way, we saw, again, plenty of zebras and giraffes. But most remarkable was the view, on the edge of a huge crater, overlooking the Rift Valley that crosses much of East Africa. At times I felt I was walking in the clouds.

Coming down was almost worse. Terrified I would slip and fall down the mountain in the midst of the unstable earth beneath me, I took one baby-step at a time, until I gave up fear and just started running down the mountain like a crazy person on speed!

I hadn't exercised like that in a while and it felt good...And also reminded me that as developed as Kenya was, it was still home to plenty of bumps, bribes and baboons!

My work

I always get questions from you guys about what I'm writing. So I've put together a separate blog where I will post all my work. I've tried to update it up to now, with a selection of stories from Sudan. I hope you get something out of it!

http://hebajournalism.blogspot.com/

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