Blue Nile State

I have left my comfortable home in the very south of Sudan for two weeks in another field site before my time here winds down. When I said goodbye to the friends I had made around the dominoes table they all asked me for things���scholarships for their studies, a cell phone, my pants���everyone except Moses. Moses just said ���until next time��� in his native Dinka. I am very fortunate to have met Moses and learned so much from him.

I am back along the hazy and contested line that divides the North from the South. Blue Nile State is one of the ���Three Areas��� that will have a referendum vote in 2011 to decide if it belongs to the North or the South. The curse of its location as well as its rich resources made it one of the worst areas during the war.

We made our usual landing on a solitary dirt strip cut into thick plants. This is the most beautiful place I���ve been in this country. It is lush with short trees and grass that is almost unrealistically green and bright. I had missed this shade of green since I was last this far north in the country. There are a few toothy hills connected by perfect flatness. It is already clear that I will be in for some more fun with critters and enormous insects. Maybe I���ll have another go at keeping a pet.

Mother Nature is cruelly deceiving in this part of the world. While beautiful and calm, this area suffered the worst mining during the war���children, livestock, and shepherds still suffer. Our compound shares a bamboo divider with a NGO that demines. Needless to say, we stay on the main paths. In addition, there is very little food here���often not enough to survive. The desperate struggle to gather enough for subsistence is increasingly interrupted by displaced neighbors and family members returning from refugee camps.

Driving into the village from the airstrip I tried to take in as much as I could. I guess I���ve made a habit of staring out windows since I was very little. Ten year old pastoralists welcomed me with waves and grins. Then, insensitively, an enormous UN compound surrounded in layers of tangled barbed wire was carved into the landscape. The compound is home to UN peacekeepers whose country of origin is obvious and announced with a large sign over the entrance: ���Camp Pakistan." But the lot is almost empty except for a few guards in elevated sandbag watchtowers due to the UN���s heightened security status. The looming ICC indictment doesn���t seem to have had too great of an impact here on the ground, but the UN is taking no risks after several peacekeepers were recently killed in Darfur. I am not near any of this violence. I heard the UN compound has ice cream (they are known to live well) so I think now is my chance to sneak in and burry my face in some cookies and cream.

My office now is a cement stoop in front of my tent with a gentle breeze that keeps the heat from adhering to my shoulders. I have a view of a low mountain range in Ethiopia to my left. Ahead of me is green forever. Behind me is a small hill that would be perfect to sit on top of if not for the threat of poisonous snakes and a mine or two. Between my tent and the hill is a large hole left by tractors scooping earth to repair the road. It has filled with murky water from the rains and I���m looking forward to watching bullfrogs swim. Right now there are little boys writing mud numbers on their backs like soccer jerseys, running and jumping into the pool, and loudly announcing their number in English. They must know I���m watching. When I close my eyes and take in the sounds of splashes and laughter I am not very far away from home and summertime.