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09/15/2003: "Kandahar Chronicles #10 - 14/09/2003"

We had a barbeque at the MSF compound last night and invited about thirty expats from the NGO community of Kandahar. The usual collection of friends and colleagues showed up. Good food, guitars, people singing out of tune, one of those nights where everybody needed to blow off some steam. It seems it’s been a tough couple of weeks for everybody and security has been tightened up lately due to several incidents in and around the city. I’ve worked driving trucks through the jungles of Africa, Asia and South America, dealt with elephants trashing a safari camp I managed and rescued panicky, novice scuba divers from getting into trouble they wouldn’t get out of. None of those jobs, however, seem to consistently generate the need to unwind like being a humanitarian aid worker.



My job as a logistician requires that I do, or oversee, quite a wide variety of tasks. Today was a fairly average day except that due to the night before I wasn’t especially chipper. I was up by seven and surveyed the scene where only a few hours before we’d howled at the moon. Over-turned tables, scattered tins, cigarette butts, cats gnawing on bones stolen off plates. Yuk. I tried half-heartedly to help with the cleaning up but was thankfully sent on my way by the cook and house cleaner. Breakfast and a shower and then it was into the cruiser for the hour drive west to the Zhare Dahst (Yellow Desert) IDP camp where MSF operates a Basic Health Unit (BHU) and two smaller Health Posts (HP). It would have been a good chance to nap except that we detoured to pick up a national staff doctor, who wasn’t there, and got a flat tire en route.

I arrived at the camp late for a meeting with several other NGOs and camp elders representing the various settlements. Unfortunately, communication had failed and there were no elders present, only five expats sitting around a table drinking chai looking tired. They weren’t howling at the moon now. I knocked back a quick chai, agreed to a rescheduling, and took off. I wasn’t in the mood for a meeting anyway. I jumped in a cruiser with my Project Coordinator (PC) and nurse and went for a visit to the new HP. It was quiet; most people visit the health centres early in the morning to avoid the heat. More chai with the staff to hear any issues they might have concerning supplies, shelter, general working conditions and how they might improve, anything non-medical really, and then over to say hello to the IDPs waitng to be seen by the doctor.

MSF is very big on proximity with the people we’re there to help. It’s actually one of the perks of the job to sit with these men and kids and talk. Unfortunately, as a male, I’m not able to interact with the women because of cultural restraints but our team doctor and nurse are both female and look after that side of things. There was a unhappy little boy in the waiting area with a suspected broken arm so he was taken quickly with his father to the doctors’ tent. The other men were in a friendly, talkative mood and through an interpreter I talked about the weather here and in Canada as well as other lighthearted topics. The fun for all of us was just in the interaction rather than solving the problems of the world. Still, except for changing a flat tire I hadn’t really done any work yet and I was ready to go.

The little boy got my pen on the way out and we started to head home. We had an interesting stop at a peanut oil factory outside of the camp set up by UNHCR and staffed by men from the settlements. Seven hour days shelling peanuts, fifteen days on then replaced by another 500 men for fifteen days. They are happy for any work available. A cheerful foreman who looked like he could shell stones with his bare hands escorted us around. He was from the north and lived in the camp. He had first been displaced in 1984 when the Russians had blasted his village off the map while hunting Mujahadeen. No matter how many of these stories I hear I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them.

The rest of the day deteriorated into a series of headaches. Kandahar is presently experiencing power supply problems and my generator, as well as everything from inverters to computers, is suffering. There won’t be any strolling around chatting with the locals tomorrow. I think a day spent up to my elbows in generator/compound wiring is more likely but that’s okay. One of the more interesting aspects of my job is reacting to countless, unforseen situations ranging from technical to supply to security issues. Initially in MSF, the medics did all the logistical duties themselves, therefore consuming time that could have been spent treating patients. Logisticians help them concentrate on fixing people rather than generators, as well as freeing up a few hours so that they can find time to release some of the pressure they put themselves under.

Replies: 1 Comment

It's great to hear that you're able to communicate casually with the people that you're helping. It must really be a good experience, as you say.

Chris Chien said @ 09/15/2003 07:29 PM EST