Darfur Survival Campaign
Sudan Journal
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Arriving in Khartoum
Day 1: Thursday, July 13
After two years of trying to get here, I finally arrive in Khartoum. In my head, I've been in this place a thousand times. The map on my office wall in Cambridge and photos on my computer, not to mention the daily e-mails and news reports, have brought the tragedy of this land close on virtually a daily basis. This time, we cannot say we did not know, we did not realize that thousands of villages have been emptied out by violence, their population forced into a punishing desert, where survival is impossible without outside assistance. If we choose to know, we can connect to Sudan and Darfur from anywhere on the planet…and the voices there keep crying out for help. We are here with a small PHR team and partner groups to deliver a small measure of help to our colleagues in Khartoum and Darfur. A capacity building effort in training on documentation of torture and rape, but also a message of solidarity, of moral support from afar and hopefully this time, from near or alongside.
Flying overhead, the plane swoops down through the dense cloud cover and below is a thick haze. Through the plane window, you can see the heat and feel the legendary arid climate. The ground is desert orange—sand with blotches of shrubs for miles around the city. The pilot reminds the passengers that use of cameras of any kind in or around the airport is strictly forbidden. Stepping out of the plane, I feel the intensity of the hot breeze, almost suffocating. I try to feel relaxed about the passport control. Passing through, I am conscious of all the material I am carrying about torture and sexual violence, but I assume that since we have been permitted to conduct this training, and there is official support for the effort to communicate and train on international standards, there should be no objection. I walk through without incident and proceed straight through customs to the exit, where dozens of people await relatives and friends. I borrow a phone from a Dutch man whose daughter works here for the World Food Program. This program is feeding up to 6 million people in Darfur right now. Another westerner approaches to borrow the phone or hitch a ride. He's with UNDP, arriving for the first time. Moments later, a jovial middle-aged man with a big, confident stride and broad smile approaches and I know instantly that this is Dr. Nagib, director of the Amel Centre for Treatment and Rehabilitation of Victims of Torture.
Only five days earlier, Dr. Nagib was arrested in the early morning and detained until dusk without being able to contact lawyers or family. He was questioned about reports by London-based SOAT, following summary trials of hundreds of persons in southern Sudan during protests in the aftermath of the sudden death of their leader, Dr. John Garang. Garang had become first Vice President in the context of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement, ending a twenty year conflict between northern and southern Sudan.
Nagib's car is a well-worn Mercedes. Presumably, it has a long track-record as a human rights activist, just like its owner. As I start to put on my seat belt, Nagib stops me, laughs, and says, "don't bother, we don't use these here." I gently chide him for being a doctor and not endorsing this basic life-saving prevention. With so much out of one's control here, minimizing the high volume of traffic accidents might be something partially within one's power. On the other hand, he might be thinking, "You crazy American, worrying about your little seat belt when we live every day with far greater dangers."
After initial pleasantries, I ask Nagib about his recent detention. "Oh, he says, this is routine. If three months go by and I'm not arrested, I start to worry that something is wrong." More seriously, he acknowledges that by harassing people like him, a prominent human rights physician, the government is sending a warning to others on the limits of activism. This is the first of many warnings about the unwritten no-go areas in this country.
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