TIA This Is Africa

Acknowledgements

For my children Elissa and Paul

With special thanks to my husband, Nick,

and my family and many friends

who have encouraged me over too many years

to make my dream a reality.

Prologue

Sudan is the largest country in Africa. Since time immemorial, hostilities have raged between the Muslim Arabs of the north and the Animist and Christian Africans of the south. A seventeen-year civil war ended in the 1972, however, the north coveted complete control over the vast oil and water reserves of the south, resulting in increasing clashes that heralded the second civil war breaking out in the early 1980s. Over the next two decades, two million people lost their lives and a further four million people displaced.

This story is set in 1986. The conflict was escalating with the emergence and rapid growth of the rebel forces, the SFF, which already controlled roughly half of Southern Sudan. Thousands of people had fled their farms and villages seeking shelter in refugee settlements.

Over the past decade, an international relief and development organisation, SudanAID, had initiated vital programs for the war-ravaged communities in many townships and villages across Southern Sudan. Over one hundred expatriate relief workers, recruited from fifteen countries around the world, developed projects in health, education, building, agriculture and administration.

Peggy Walker, with her husband and two children, arrived from Australia to work in the headquarters of SudanAID in Nairobi, Kenya.

Chapter 1

Koech crossed one leg over the other, flicked an imaginary speck off his trouser leg, tasted his tea, grimaced, and stirred in another heaped spoon of sugar. Pearly beads formed on his broad brown forehead. He's uncomfortable about something, I thought, wishing he would just say whatever he had come to tell us.

‘In our African culture, particularly when we need to address difficult issues, we find ways to skirt around the issue until we can reach a resolution. Having worked alongside expatriates for many years now, I appreciate that you like to get straight to the point. You like to call a spade a spade.’ He looked directly at me, his dark eyes asking the question, yes?

I nodded, wondering where all this was leading.

‘There seems to have been some misunderstanding.’

‘Oh! What’s that?’ Dave asked.

‘Actually ... well ... we were not aware that you were bringing children,’ Koech replied, obviously searching for the right words so as not to offend us.

‘What! You didn’t know about our children?’ I gasped incredulously, my voice just a shade on the shrill side.

‘But that’s impossible. You must have seen we had children on our application papers,’ Dave added, a frown worrying his forehead.

‘Unfortunately, this appointment came up without any forewarning,’ Koech explained. ‘As you know the couple that were here, and incidentally are in their sixties and have had a number of year’s experience working in Sudan, returned home because of serious health issues. We agreed verbally to your appointment on the recommendation of the Director of your sending agency, but your application papers only arrived on my desk this morning and, even if the children were not an issue, I’m not entirely sure you are suitable candidates for this job.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’ Dave interrupted. ‘Those people had to leave suddenly and the vacancy was listed as urgent. Our sending agency duly processed our application papers and put us through a number of intensive interviews in Australia before giving the go-ahead to come.’ Dave put his cup down. It clattered slightly on its saucer. ‘I don’t understand. All the formalities were completed. Why are you now saying that we are unsuitable for the job?

‘Hans, maybe you can explain our position a little clearer.’

Hans nodded, rhythmically tapping the outstretched tips of his fingers together. ‘Yes. Well firstly, we requested a more mature couple - retirees would be ideal. This position is incredibly demanding, not only the physical aspect, but the job also entails a lot of counseling for our workers, the majority of whom are young and single. They need the wisdom of an older couple, rather like parent figures, to support them through the many problems or traumas they may face working on the field. Preferably, the couple should also have some experience living in Africa and/or working in a war zone so they would, at the very least, have some understanding of what our workers are going through on a day-to-day basis.

‘Now, as you have only just arrived in Africa for the first time, how are you going to empathise with our people grappling every hour of the day with the stresses of living and working in Sudan? Something you know nothing about, let alone experienced. As far as I’m concerned, you are not suitable candidates for the job and should return to Australia immediately.’

He certainly doesn’t pull any punches, I reflected gloomily. I wonder what we did to give him such an adverse impression in such a short space of time. In Koech’s words, he certainly calls a spade a spade. Or a shovel. Maybe even a front-end loader?

Koech resumed the floor, mopping pearly beads of perspiration off his wide forehead, ‘the house has only seven guest rooms apart from the manager’s bedroom and bathroom. Every room is fully booked all year round, so having to set aside a bedroom to accommodate your children is simply not acceptable.’

Hans, placing his elbows on his knees, leaned forward and looked Dave in the eye. ‘To be perfectly frank, I personally feel that the Staffhouse is not a good environment for children to live in. Often times our workers arrive seriously ill or at the end of their tether. They need peace and quiet to recover. And, I stress, your undivided attention.

‘Being a family man myself, I am also thinking of the needs of your own family. Here in the Staffhouse, you will have up to twenty people living with you, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The heavy demands of this job will tax you to your limit. Finding the time, let alone the energy, to meet the needs of your children will be extremely difficult.’

Hans paused to drain his cup of tea. Dave and I did not bother to break the silence. I, for once, could not have uttered a word to save myself. I glanced at Dave. He was stroking his moustache, a gesture he often assumed when troubled or deep in thought. His hazel eyes focused on Koech again as he cleared his throat to continue the conversation.

‘So under the circumstances, I feel that you really are not suitable to take up this post. In fact, had I seen your papers earlier, I would not have accepted your application.’

‘And as the Field Director, responsible for the all round wellbeing of our staff, I have to agree with Koech,’ Hans added.

‘So what do you suggest we do now?’ asked Dave softly, always the quiet one in the midst of a crisis. ‘What do you want us to do? Just turn around and go back to Australia? We’ve given up everything to come, our house, jobs, family and friends.’

‘And after all we’ve been through to get here,’ my rebellious thoughts erupted, suddenly finding voice. ‘Surely we can’t go back to Australia before we’ve even unpacked our suitcases.’

‘I understand how disappointed you must be. I’m sorry, this must have come as a terrible shock and disappointment to you,’ Koech said, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll put a call through to your director in Sydney to discuss the matter this evening. I will let you know our decision tomorrow.’

Hans followed him out to his car. They had a brief discussion before Koech slammed the door and hurtled out of the gate.

I felt my knees buckle and I sank back into the sofa. ‘So what do we make of all that? I just can’t believe they didn’t know about Melody and Ben. Anyway, it’s not such a problem. They’ll be in boarding school and will only be here during holiday times. Surely we can work around that.’

‘I’m flabbergasted. Can’t seem to make any sense out of it,’ Dave said, flopping down beside me.

‘I feel like all the stuffing has been shaken out of me. The last few weeks have been so hectic: packing up our house, shopping for clothes and essentials and tying up all the loose ends. I’ve lost count of all the farewell dinners we’ve eaten with our friends and family over the past few weeks.’

‘As well as the innumerable meetings we had with our sending agency and all the people who have promised us their financial support,’ Dave added.

As volunteers, Dave and I had worked for our Australian sending agency for many years, raising money to sponsor a number of aid workers who had gone to various countries around Africa to use their expertise to initiate development programs and train national workers to take over the responsibility for managing their sustainability and growth into the future. We had set up the Queensland branch office in our home, doing all the administration work involved in promoting the cause – newsletters, speaking at various meetings and organising conferences.

Dave and I had expressed our desire and willingness to take up a position in Africa to Don Whittaker, our director in Sydney. However, as Dave came from a trade background and I had only done administration work at home, we knew our skills and experience fell far short of the criteria listed for selecting suitable candidates; most were doctors, agriculturists or teachers. We put these people high on a pedestal and looked up to them in awe. They were all university graduates, experts in their chosen fields and shared the vision of leaving the luxury of Australian life, and their potentially successful career paths, to work in a third world country.

Not thinking anything would ever come of it, we were surprised a few months later when Don rang one evening. An opportunity had arisen in Kenya because an English couple had to return home suddenly. Their jobs were vital to the administration of SudanAID and needed filling urgently. Would we consider going?

‘But we don’t have the experience or the skills necessary, surely,’ Dave argued.

Don passed on as much information as he had to hand – sketchy at best. He said the job did not require formal qualifications or experience and he felt quite confident we would be able to perform the role as competently as anyone else would.

‘Sleep on it and ring me back in the morning if you’re interested.’

Dave and I did not get much sleep, but by morning, we’d made up our minds to take up the challenge. We talked to the children about the possibility of leaving Brisbane and going to live in Kenya. The prospect of going to boarding school excited Melody; she and her other thirteen-year-old friends thought going to boarding school was the ultimate status symbol. However, ten-year-old Ben appeared to be a little apprehensive. He played goalie for his soccer team and his coach thought they stood a chance of winning the trophy that year. He didn’t want to miss out.

As we were the first people sent by our sending agency to work in Kenya, information about what to expect, or even take with us, was almost non-existent. Our preparations consisted of looking up Kenya in Ben’s atlas to find Nairobi and talking to a few people who had passed through, but had never lived in Kenya. Dave and I went to see the movie Out of Africa, which scared the living daylights out of me, even though there was not a cannibal or cooking pot in sight.

Now it seemed as if our new world had tumbled upside down. We faced the prospect of going home without the opportunity to fulfill our dreams and expectations. Being Aussies we just wanted a fair go.

Chapter 2

My family had arrived in Nairobi, Kenya that morning. Me, my husband, Dave and our children, Melody and Ben. As we descended the steps of the 747, a bubble rose from deep in my nether regions and exploded like fireworks through my body. I tingled all over. In a few moments, I would metamorphose from a mediocre mother-cum-housewife in Australia to the manager of a guesthouse for expatriate workers in Kenya. On this day, the 13 August 1986, I had no idea what the future would hold; I only knew I was embarking on the most exciting adventure of my life thus far.

Back then, Nairobi International Airport did not have any elongated elephant trunks that suck up weary passengers at the door of the aircraft and disgorge them into the terminal, so we trekked towards the entrance of the two-storey terminal building.

‘Look at all those people up on the roof,’ Ben said, pointing to the large crowd of dark-skinned and fuzzy-haired onlookers who were waving and shouting greetings to their family and friends trudging across the tarmac, weighed down with more bags and parcels that easily doubled their allotted carry on luggage. I would later discover a sign near the Arrivals Hall that read: This Way to the Waving Deck. 2/-. I chuckled every time I passed by.

‘Our feet are finally touching African soil, Dave. Do you think I should take a leaf out of the Pope’s book and plant a kiss on the tarmac?’

‘Only if you want to acquire a muddy moustache.’

After the relative calm of clearing Customs and Immigration, entering the Arrivals Hall seemed as though we had been launched on a heaving ocean swell of black humanity. A wave of taxi drivers broke over us, intent on taking possession of our bags, hoping to transport us into town in their dilapidated vehicles.

However, before we were completely swamped, rescue came in the form of a well-upholstered African man, wearing a brightly coloured tie-dyed and embroidered shirt, a dazzling smile and a distinct aura of authority.

‘You must be David Walker,’ he said, grasping Dave’s hand and pumping his arm up and down vigorously. ‘Karibu! Welcome, welcome.’

His beaming face split in two displaying a set of perfect pearly-whites, broken by a small gap between his two front teeth. ‘My name is Koech, Director of SudanAID,’ he said.

‘Thank you for meeting us,’ responded Dave, experiencing some difficulty freeing his hand. ‘It’s great to be here at last. This is my wife, Peggy,’ he said, pointing his finger at me. For some unknown reason my insides always squirmed when Dave introduced me this way.

‘Welcome to Kenya, Peggy,’ Koech smiled his particular brand of sunshine down on me and I experienced my first hand-crunching African greeting.

‘And these are our children, Melody and Ben,’ Dave said, placing his hands on the tops of their heads.

Did I detect a look of surprise cross Koech’s face when Dave introduced the kids? I could not be sure because another smile, which did not quite make it to his eyes, quickly masked it. Koech shook their hands in turn. ‘Karibu. Karibu.’ Melody smiled shyly at him, but Ben’s cheeky grin suggested Koech had already won his approval.

Looking at the few pieces of hand luggage we were clutching to our chests, fearful of losing our hand baggage to one of the taxi drivers who hovered around us like vultures at a lion’s dinner, Koech asked, ‘Is this all you have? Usually you expats think it necessary to bring enough baggage to fill a shipping container.'

Dave explained that mechanical problems had held our plane up in Sydney for several hours. ‘We thought we would miss our connecting flight in Bombay altogether … ’

‘But when we got there a little Indian man with a red turban on his head was waiting for us at the door of the plane,’ Ben interrupted.

‘He asked Dad if we were the Walker family,’ Melody added. ‘He grabbed Mum’s handbag and rushed us to Security at the other end of the terminal …’

‘And they even frisked us before we were allowed to go on the plane,’ Ben chimed in. ‘Mum and Melody had to go behind a curtain with a lady wearing a sari and … ’

‘So you see our suitcases remained on the plane and subsequently went on to Rome,’ Dave retrieved the conversation, ‘but I’ve been assured it should arrive here tomorrow.’

Koech chuckled, throwing us a look that said what more could one expect. ‘We have a Swahili saying here, hakuna matata, which means no problem. I’ll organise the logistics boys in the office to bring you back tomorrow to pick up your luggage. Let me get you to the Staffhouse now. I’m sure you are in need of some rest after your long journey from Australia. Just follow me.’

Koech led the way out of the terminal to the car park, forcing his way through the crowd. He’s like a surfboat shooting the breakers at Bondi Beach, I thought as we trudged wearily in his wake. Once on the highway leading towards the city, he drove as if all of hell’s angels had him in their sights. Dave sat in the front passenger seat and fired question after question at his new boss, completely unaware of the speed, frequent near misses and complete lack of consideration Koech had for any other vehicle on the road. The kids and I huddled speechless in the back seat. Traffic lights turned from green to amber. The car shot through the intersection as amber turned to red, but Koech did not reduce his speed.

‘Red lights mean proceed with caution,’ he threw over his shoulder at me. I hoped the grin on his face meant he was only joking. I’d soon learn that he was not.

Arriving at the Staffhouse, surprisingly in one piece, we were met by an elderly dark-skinned man, dressed in a faded blue safari suit partially covered by an equally faded blue apron.

‘This is Babu,’ Koech said, by way of introduction. ‘Babu is the Staffhouse cook and houseman. I will leave you in his good hands for now. I’m sure he has a pot of tea, chai as we say here in Kenya, already brewing on the stove for you. I must get back to the office now. Have a few hours rest. I’ll come back to see how you are settling in after lunch.’

Babu smiled a grin that dazzled against skin so black it had a bluish sheen. ‘Karibu, Karibu,’ he welcomed us, shaking our hands. He took my handbag and Melody’s backpack and led us down the hall, rubber thongs flip-flopping on the polished floor, to a large bedroom furnished with a double bed and double bunks. The open windows overlooked the drenched garden; it smelt moist and pungent. I glimpsed a shower cubical and loo through a door off to the right. Heaven.

‘I bags the top bunk,’ Melody shouted, throwing her bag up to take possession.

‘Mum,’ Ben wailed. ‘It’s not fair. She always gets the top bunk just cause she’s the biggest.’

Babu laughed. He knew kids even if he didn’t understand much English. ‘Wanja, she bring a pot of chai. Welcome for one o’clock lunch. I ring bell.’

I vividly remember entering the dining room for lunch: the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the dust mites dancing in the sunrays streaming through the open window and the birds chitter-chattering in the trees outside.

Two men sat at the dining table. The middle-aged man, his sparse salt and pepper hair brushed back from a deeply lined forehead, rose from his chair at the head of the table. ‘Ah, you must be the Walkers, yes?’ He spoke in a heavy Dutch accent. ‘Unfortunately, I was not around when you arrived this morning to welcome you. Did you have a good flight? I imagine flying from Australia to Kenya is a long and extremely tiring journey.'

‘Yes we did, thanks, but feel more human now we’ve had a few hours rest,’ Dave replied.

‘I’m Hans Van Holten,’ he said shaking Dave’s hand. Field Director of SudanAID, second in charge to Koech and based at our field headquarters at Kareri in Southern Sudan. And you must be Peggy?’

‘That’s me.’ I said, returning his firm handshake. ‘And these are our children. Melody and Ben.’

Once again, I detected the strange look, quickly concealed, but this time in the eyes of Hans. He shook their hands. ‘And welcome to you both.’

‘Thank you,’ the kids chorused.

‘Let me introduce you to Charles Falkner, ex-fighter pilot, did a stint doing stunts for Hollywood before clocking up thousands of hours flying missions for the Red Cross in Somalia and Rwanda, and now flying for SudanAID.’

‘Everyone calls me Chuck,’ the young American pilot drawled, rising to shake Dave’s hand. I bet all the girls think he’s quite a hunk, I thought, with his craggy looks and windswept hair partly hidden under a baseball cap. I never did see Chuck minus his cap; and the way he placed it on his head accurately reflected the mood he happened to be in at the time.

‘You will no doubt hear about Chuck’s famous exploits. Legend has it that he sits on a bulletproof vest when he flies over the hotspots in Sudan,’ Hans said.

‘Don’t believe everything you hear about me, folks, but I guess most of it is probably pretty close to the truth. Peggy, I will be your number one star boarder. I’m now based in Nairobi and live in one of the cottages out the back, but I’m a lousy cook, so I eat all my meals over here.’

Hans directed us to our places at the polished timber table. I felt like I’d been bumped into another time dimension, the bygone days of the colonial era: silver cutlery, linen serviettes rolled through carved wooden holders and an arrangement of delicate curls of butter on a saucer ringed with roses.

Babu quietly moved around serving everyone with slices of cold meat and indicated we help ourselves to the salad. He uttered few words, but his twinkling black eyes and huge smile made us feel very welcome.

Hans rested his knife and fork on his plate. ‘I’ll give you a brief update on what’s been happening with the civil war and SudanAID in particular.’

‘That would be great, Hans. We know very little about the situation here.’

‘Until recently, we have been able to continue our activities countrywide, but as the rebel army, the SFF, gradually gains more territory, running the projects in the rural areas has become increasingly difficult. The fighting became so intense around Wadi that we were forced to close down our operations and evacuate our workers for their own safety. The last few weeks have been extremely busy and stressful, however we managed to get everyone out of Sudan in one piece and most have returned to their home countries.’

‘Then in the middle of all this chaos,’ Chuck took up the story, ‘the couple managing the office and Staffhouse here in Nairobi, had to drop everything and return to England for urgent medical treatment.’

‘So that’s why the position here had to be filled urgently,’ I said. ‘How have you been managing, Hans?’

‘Fortunately, a young couple, Greg and Sue Lawrie, made themselves available to manage the Staffhouse and the office until we could find replacements. They have accepted redeployment to Visinga; Greg will take up his new position as Operations Manager and Sue will teach in the primary school. I sent them off for a few days R & R down the coast. They'll be back tomorrow.’

‘Any other guests staying?’

Hans poured himself another glass of water. ‘Yes. Henry Boyd. He flatly refused to leave and is now waiting to take up his new responsibilities in Rondo. Henry has gone to Mombassa for a bit of R & R for a few days.’

‘By the way, we should tell you that Henry and the Lawries are your fellow Aussies,’ said Chuck. ‘Henry is quite a character. He celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday the other day, and loves spending his retirement knee-deep in sawdust and gearbox oil in the workshops.’

‘I’m so looking forward to meeting everybody,’ I said, rolling up my napkin and threading it through the holder as Babu materialised and stood quietly beside Hans.

‘Coffee is ready.’

‘Let’s have it in the sitting room, shall we,’ Hans said, leading the way into the adjoining room.

Overflowing bookshelves and a couple of sheepskin rugs scattered over the highly polished parquet floor and a motley collection of comfortable lounge chairs, strategically placed facing the fireplace, gave the room a casual relaxed atmosphere. The most important feature in the room was the timber tea trolley; its two shelves groaning under the makings for tea and coffee, stacks of mugs and a tin of biscuits.

‘Please help yourselves,’ Hans said. ‘But if you don’t mind I will take my coffee back to my cottage. I have to ring Koech about … er … something urgent that has come up. We’ll catch up again later in the day.’

‘Do you get the feeling that something’s not quite right?’ I asked Dave when he had gone. ‘Nothing I can put my finger on.’

‘You and your intuitions, Peggy. Just put it down to jetlag.’

Before Dave and I settled into a strange bed in a strange country that night, we held an impromptu board meeting.

'So you wrote off my intuitions to jetlag, huh? So what are you thinking about our situation here now, Dave?

'I really think the whole project is very worthwhile, Peggy. If we are able to stay, knowing we would be making a valuable contribution to the work of the organisation would certainly give us a lot of personal satisfaction.’

‘But from what Hans has been telling us, our responsibilities seem to be much bigger than what we were led to believe. I’m feeling a bit daunted. Do we have what it takes to manage it all? We’re just an ordinary couple without much experience or expertise. I’m finding it so difficult to take in the enormity of what we are expected to do here.’

‘If we do get the go ahead to stay, we’ll just tackle it one step at a time, Peg. I know it’s a big ask, but I’m quietly confident we’re up to the job.’ Dave gave me a hug. ‘Koech and Don are probably on the