14 | The Daily Juba

03:30 In bed. 

Again? Why do I keep waking up in the middle of the night in this country? 

Is my door locked? Also: I really need to pee.

03:55 Still in bed. 

Dear brain, how about some sleep?

“Dear God, I promise I will go to devotions tomorrow morning, but please help me fall asleep. Amen.”

Unsuccessfully trying to kill the unbelievably annoying mosquito. Slowing falling back asleep.

06:45 Alarm goes off. 

What's that noise? Outside, it's pouring buckets. Right, rainy season, I forgot.

I get up, take a shower, brush my teeth. I close the buttons of my shirt, only to find out at the top that I skipped the first hole at the button. The second attempt is more successful. I remember how much I hate having to wear long trousers when it's above 30°C and humid. 

07:25 Devotion.

A colleague is handing out songbooks and starts singing — off tune and way too slow. 

Why do so many Christian songs sound so sad? Shouldn't we have the biggest reasons to celebrate? I am not the biggest fan of early-morning a cappella singing sessions, to be honest. Half of the people are barely awake, and we all know how voices sound a few minutes after getting up.

Thank God that's over, I think to myself — quickly taking that thought back, remembering that God is the reason we are doing this in the first place. 

Does God cover his ears when people sing off tune?

08:00 Office. 

With a bowl of cereal in front of me, I start the working day by checking emails.

Unnoticeably shaking my head at the email from a colleague sent at 01:36 in the morning. Seems like sometimes “walking the extra mile” gets confused with “working the extra hour”. 

“Good morning, Markus”, Imba gets up from his chair, reaching out for a handshake. “Good morning, Imba, how are you?” Imba is South Sudanese and lives in Juba. I spot a plastic bag on his desk. Hopefully he brought Mandazi* for the whole office again. I love Mandazi, especially with peanut butter. 

09:00 Internal meeting. 

We discuss strategy, how to best use the resources we have available, how to deal with logistics challenges, and receive updates from the different field locations across the country. 

Half of this meeting could have been an email. Speaking of emails, I still need to contact the Shelter Cluster** regarding a presentation about our Shelter Innovation Project.

12:30 Lunchtime. 

Goat. Again — seriously? I take some of the greasy deep-fried potato slices and put some ketchup on top. That will do for now. I could fry some eggs, that would be much nicer than just potatoes. 

Frying eggs. Remembering some recipes about how to cook ants. 

13:31 Back in the office. 

Emails, technical reviews, budgets, timelines, signatures.

13:50 The daily Juba diarrhoea hits. 

I know, quite an awkward topic. But being in Juba long enough, we all get used to quite openly talking about it. It becomes part of everyday life conversations. Someone randomly leaves a meeting — you know what's up. 

Diarrhoea is one of the most common health issues among humanitarians, especially in places where hygiene is not a thing (yet).

Much better now.

Rushing back to the office.

17:22 It's time to get out. 

We only get two to three hours between our working day and curfew to go out, get dinner, meet friends from other NGOs, and buy groceries.

I volunteer to drive. “We are taking car #43, can you put it on the board, please? Thank you, Stefan.”

17:43 We arrive at a restaurant. 

Beer? Pizza? Salad — worth the risk of severe food poisoning or a parasite? 

“So, what are we ordering?”, Stefan asks in his determined German yet friendly manner, making a silly face and looking at people around the table.

I am staring at the menu. Why am I even looking at this? Being here every week, I know this menu inside out. The only thing that keeps changing are the prices — in the wrong direction, needless to say. “Not sure. Doesn't matter what you order, does it? More often than not you'll get whatever they have available, rather than what you ordered, haha.”

“Yeah, but it's always worth a try. I'll have a BBQ chicken pizza and a Tusker***.”

The sun starts going down, it's getting dark.

19:53 On our way back, in the Land Cruiser.

A tall man with an AK-47**** around his shoulders raises his arm to signal that he wants us to stop. Oh come on, only seven minutes left before curfew. We slow down, and I ungracefully stop the big Land Cruiser.

People in the back of the car stop chatting and pay careful attention to everything happening around the car. The soldier seems calm, but serious and slightly disturbed. His hand motion is difficult to interpret, but it seems like he wanted to talk to me. I open the window just enough so we can exchange some words. 

“Good evening, Sir”, I start the conversation, trying hard to sound calm and friendly. Just let us go, we all know you are not supposed to stop NGO vehicles. We also know he couldn't care less. 

“Why are you out at this late hour?”, he mumbles. 

“Apologies, Sir. We are already on our way back. Our compound is just after the next roundabout. We are sorry.” Please don't ask for money, we don't have time for those kinds of games. He doesn't say anything. I don't like your gun, my friend. Can we go now? 

Even though he is clearly looking at me, he seems to have forgotten about the fact that he stopped us. I slowly get the Land Cruiser moving, carefully observing his reaction. Nothing. Yalla, let's go.

20:01 We arrive at the compound gate. I try to honk as friendly as possible to communicate to the guard that we are asking him to open the big gate. 

Is it even possible to honk in a friendly manner?

20:18 Stefan’s room. Gin & Tonic. Music. 

We are complaining about the fact that we have to be home at eight every day and the soldier who stopped us on our way back. Trying to laugh off the fact that not being able to go out, meet friends and enjoy some freedom is having significant impacts on our lives. 

I would have no idea how to survive in this place without good friends.

22:47 Bedtime. 

Trying not to overthink, yet seriously questioning some life decisions while brushing my teeth. Remembering that I am here by choice, which — in some strange way — is an unbelievable privilege. Many people around me are not here by choice. What does that mean?

Who knows — I'll take care of those questions tomorrow, I lie to myself and disappear under my blanket.