Rebecca Haque
Handicap International
Yei, South Sudan
Time does a funny thing in Yei. If I think of my time here as a whole, I feel overwhelmed with the pace with which it has passed me by. But individual moments stay with me, and if I isolate trains of thought to these moments, I’m surprised that my time here has been so short. As trite as it sounds, I think this is because I have learned something from every moment, and enjoyed most. As I keep telling those close to me, it feels strange to use the word “enjoy” considering the dire reality here. It is a strange reality, to have to be conscious of landmines while visiting people’s homes. It is a strange reality, to wake up to the sounds of low flying aircraft tracking LRA movements. Strange, to notice the impassivity with which a colleague announces the death of her sister in childbirth. More than anything, over the past 7 weeks I have realized the privilege of strangeness.
I have been told, on multiple occasions, that Yei is the best place to live in South Sudan. It has been described to me as “little London.” It is a historic nickname, used to highlight the cleanliness of Yei in contrast to the capital Juba, Yei being “clean like London.” The more modern connotations of the name, barring the consistent rain and grey skies during monsoon, include the rate at which Yei is growing as a trading center. The proximity to the border with Uganda is a contributor to its business activity.
To me, Yei is red earth, packed down on ridden roads when it rains, sinkable-soft in the ditches, and then dry red dust by afternoon. Not a hint of tarmac. Power from 7 am till midnight, which is more than the capital city can boast, and borehole water has proven to be pretty reliable too. The market is stocked, first with mangoes, and now passion fruit, and always, always avocado. My departure is definitely going to show in the books of the Ethiopian restaurant in town.
The project I am working in is a Victim Assistance project in its first stages. It is a style of project that HI has been implementing since its inception, and aims to aid the victims of landmines/ERW as well as people with disability. As there is no database of such victims, one of the first stages of this project is identification. Most days, I join a mobile team of three national staff who walk around communities and identify a person with a disability through word of mouth. This practice, of course, is a perfect one to observe given my research project: how people identify disability is a linguistic manifestation of their perception of what disability is.
Upon initial identification, the mobile team carries out a lengthy “general assessment” survey. These questions, relating to accessibility to health, livelihood, basic services assistive devices etc. then inform a “quality of life” score. The score also takes into account the psychosocial situation of the person with a disability: do they feel involved in the community? Are they happy with their role in the household? This is the main indicator for the project, meaning that through referrals to mental health services, livelihood service providers, as well as partnering with the county health department to set up rehabilitation spaces and train health staff in physical rehabilitation, HI is aiming to improve the quality of life of people with disabilities.
Needless to say, quality of life is a tricky measure, particularly in a place where answers to such questions are often just confounded by disability. Most people are in a high state of vulnerability, and on the best of days it is tricky to make the judgement on who the project can best help. On the worst, of course, it goes to a place of immorality and ethical unsoundness, that is ultimately helpful to no one.
My first few days with the project are documented in 13,000 words worth of notes, so I recognize a massive failure in just sitting down to complete a blog post now. I will be better! What is heartening to see, in this collapse of time, are the questions that I asked in the copious notes from those. Not all, but most of these questions, I find that I can answer now. Suddenly, inexplicably, I have just over two weeks left on my contract. Time does a funny thing, here.