11 days of Sudan
By Randy Olson Posted Jul 1 2003
Even though this was a physically and mentally challenging assignment (for National Geographic magazine), it was one of a handful of assignments you get in a lifetime that is really worth doing.
The reasons for doing this story are many. Sudan is the largest country in Africa. Two and a half million people have died in a civil war, which has basically run my entire lifetime and has resulted in the most casualties of any war since WWII. It is an insidious conflict.
Every newspaper and magazine article on the Sudan I've read basically frames it as a simplistic war of ideology; The Islamic North vs. Christian Animist South. Ideology is clearly a component, but I think it is more accurate to say it is primarily a war about resources — human lives for material goods. The story is reported poorly.
And it needs to be told.
Monday, March 18, 2002
Today our charter plane, which is made up of a French body, Cessna controls and American engines, lands around noon after we fly over dust for three hours. I make sure there is a case of water and the satellite phone has charged batteries in case we have a forced landing. We end up circling the ancient coral port city of Suakin. The pilot gets a call from the control tower and is told to return immediately. I watch the perfect light I just paid $5,000 for from the tarmac.
Wednesday, March 20, 2002
In the middle of the night, Kamal, an English professor and my tour guide, walks into the room and says, “Oh … Randy. I am sorry, but the men from security are here, and they want to take all of your cameras and films.” I've been asleep for three or four hours, and this just seems like a bad dream. I don't believe him at first, so I don't make any motions to crawl out of my bug net cocoon. Once out of the cocoon, it's cold. One third of the total film I've shot so far, which includes $5,000 in aerials, not to mention expensive camera equipment in the hands of security goons.
They take the stuff after a veiled threat about taking us to jail. The booming guy says, “take it easy; this is life,” as he leaves with my case in his right hand. (The equipment was later retrieved through governmental contacts.)
Friday, March 29, 2002
We are now at the Nyala airport waiting area. Only one of the 10 plugs works, and I've made coffee for everyone. I sit away from the crowd. This is my cup of coffee, a part of my routine, my world; I want to completely disassociate myself just for the time it takes to drink this. Everything else in my world can change but this cup of coffee. These few minutes are always the same. It's a way to hold on to just a little of my wonderful life in this screwed-up country.
Tuesday, April 2, 2002
This is our first time in a small-town local hotel. I don't expect a towel or anything here because the shower doesn't work. The squat toilet doesn't flush, so it is full of the last occupant's feces. The bathroom door is closed and locked, and there is a clanging exhaust fan that doesn't keep the cockroaches from coming under the door.
Sunday, April 7, 2002
I took a couple days off and just slept in the air conditioning of the only decent hotel in this entire country. It was 130 degrees today and even after dark, it is still well over 100. What the hell am I doing here? How has my existence been reduced to this?
Saturday, April 20, 2002
This place has been so difficult to work, but what I've gone through is only significant in that people who are trying to bring food, clean water, and education are going through the same harangue. I still can't believe many of the people in parliament can't read or write in any language, and they are deciding the fate of this country.
Wednesday, May 1, 2002
We arrived at dawn at a scorched piece of earth with thousands of cattle bones. Five people were killed and buried here so their bones aren't spread across this savanna. The government of Sudan bombs livestock because they know people live among the animals. If they kill the animals, they kill people as well. They know the animals are the one last resource for the people. The government of Sudan has no problem bombing civilians to move them out of its oil expansion areas. If aid flights don't come back, people will be forced into government towns. Now they only have leaves and waterlily to eat.
Tuesday, May 7, 2002
I've had three months of little sleep, and last night was no exception. I was sweating profusely in my bug bag until about 3 a.m. There is the constant barking of dogs, goats moving around eating the flowers as they fall from the trees, roosters and radios. It really can't be called sleep. You just get to rest your eyes for a while. The radios in the morning are full of news from Ramallah. There are agreements to evacuate a church in Palestine, 17 dead in Ramallah blares all day long in this little village. And yet just north of here, there were 50,000 people killed on a remote runway, and no one in our country even knows. I guess our media just figures these are poor black people in huts and no one will care.
Wednesday, May 8, 2002
This is my last day … the light is bad … what else is new …
The plane will land in an hour, and I will start staging out of Africa. Then from there, I fly to Loki, to Nairobi, to Amsterdam, to the states. I am not going to miss this place, but I am in awe of it.