by Dave Edlund
It would be so easy to come up with an endless list of reasons why he couldn’t do this, but who was he kidding? Ethan was running the debate in his mind. I can keep telling myself I want to do something, but words are cheap. Action is what really counts.
Ethan leaned toward Joe and whispered so as not to disturb the surrounding students listening to the speaker. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know—sounds like it’s hard work and the living conditions look pretty rough. Did she really say that they sleep in tents? On canvas cots in sleeping bags?”
“Yeah, so what? It would be like camping. Besides, what if we could help put in a well, or a solar panel and some batteries at a village so they at least have some electricity.”
Joe was skeptical. “So what? What can they do with one PV panel and a car battery?” he scoffed.
Joe’s dismissiveness irritated Ethan. “Lots, that’s what. How about powering a PC and a radio, maybe a small refrigerator to store vaccines and other medicines.”
At that moment, Ethan made up his mind. He was young, healthy, smart, and strong. Would there ever be a better time than now? He would help… he wanted to help.
“I’m in,” he said aloud still looking at Joe. The speaker, hearing him, smiled enthusiastically. “Fantastic! You’re doing a good thing.”
Joe frowned. If Ethan was going he had to also, or he’d never hear the end of it. “All right… me too.” Although the words were there, the enthusiasm was plainly lacking from his voice.
Leaning toward his buddy, Joe mumbled, “Remind me again why you’re my friend?”
There was a growing murmur amongst the student audience as more and more spoke up. “I’ll go, too. I’m in.”
The line to sign the registration sheet was long. Twenty-three young men and women had followed Ethan’s lead and signed up to travel to North Africa.
Exactly what they would do was presently unknown, but that didn’t matter. Somehow, they’d be able to make a difference. At this moment they were all united in their belief that soon they would each trade a few months of their lives for the betterment of people they didn’t know and most likely would never see again after this short tour of duty.
Chapter 3
Bend, Oregon
March 16
“You did what!” Peter shouted into the phone.
“Calm down, Dad. This is what you always said people should do—what I should do. I’m going to Africa to help refugees in Darfur. It’s only for three months, and I get academic credit for the quarter I’m not at the university.”
“I understand, son. And this is a very good thing you’re planning to do. It really and truly is. But Darfur? Why couldn’t you go someplace else—someplace where there isn’t so much violence?”
“Yeah, someplace where they don’t need our help? Is that what you really think, Dad? By U.N. estimates there are between one and two million refugees along the border with Chad—and every one of them needs help. Did you know that the so-called developed countries can’t even agree that genocide is happening in Darfur?”
“Look… I understand your feelings. But that’s a dangerous place. Do you understand what’s happening there?”
“Duh… Of course I do. I’ve spent some time researching the conflict. I know that more than 300,000 civilians have been killed as a result of the fighting since it officially began in 2003. I also know that there’s been tension between the ethnic African farmers and the nomadic Arabs going back at least several decades, probably longer. The American media has over-simplified this as an ethnic struggle between black Africans and lighter-skinned Arabs. But that’s not what’s at the heart of the struggle.”
“Really?” Peter was surprised by the veracity and depth of his son’s explanation.
“Yes, really. It’s about resources—food, water, minerals, oil. That’s exactly why those people need my help—our help. They’ve been abandoned by everyone else.” Ethan paused for a moment before continuing.
“Dad, surely you realize this.”
Peter was silent. He had always been too busy to help others at the magnitude of commitment that his son had just made. The list of reasons—excuses really—was long and, at the time, compelling. First there was college and completing his degree while working full time. Then he was fully occupied starting his career and a family. Later, it was the time needed to get his business established. Sure, Peter had always preached to his children the need to help others, and he had always donated generously to many charities. But deep inside he knew that it was far easier to give money and material than it was to give time, sweat, and knowledge.
In the innocence and naïveté of youth, Ethan had taken his preaching to heart, which had genuinely surprised and moved Peter. As a child growing up, Ethan was never very serious. He was always having fun goofing off and doing only a little better than average in school. He made friends very easily but didn’t show much interest in organized sports or, for that matter, any organized activity.
With this one phone call Peter’s image of his son abruptly changed. The carefree boy had a serious and deeply caring side that had been previously masked, hidden from view even for those closest to him. And now Peter’s only son was about to travel halfway around the world to a very dangerous place to provide assistance to people who sorely needed it.
“Okay, okay. You win. It’s just that I’m worried about your safety. You know I always have been… you and your sister. If anything happened to either of you, I don’t know what I would do.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad. We’re part of a large group sponsored by Uncle Sam. And I’ve checked out the situation there. For the last couple years the violence has been way down, and the French military has helped to stabilize the borders Sudan shares with Chad and C.A.R.”
“C.A.R?”
“The Central African Republic. There are lots of international aid groups on the ground and no one seems to be having any problems.”
“I hear you, son.” There was another pause as Peter choked back his emotion. His son had become a fine young man, and Peter was proud. “Your mother would be very proud of you; you know that.”
“Yeah, I know. Look, this is what you and Mom always said people should do. I want to do this; I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will. Now, tell me all about this expedition you’re about to embark upon.”
Although the sound of dread had vanished from Peter’s voice, he could not vanquish his anxiety. He had simply pushed his fears to a far corner of his consciousness. They would arise later, mostly in the dead of night, to haunt him. He knew that; he had experienced it when Maggie was in the hospital following the car accident.
For days the doctors had been brutally honest—his loving wife, the mother of their children, had suffered irreparable damage to her brain. There was no hope to be offered by modern medicine. Without sustaining life-support machines, her body would cease to function.
For five whole days, Peter refused to accept the truth. Every time he felt himself sliding into a restless sleep, he was haunted by Maggie’s image—laughing and running through the mountain meadows with Ethan and their daughter, Joanna. Peter hardly slept for those five days. He would will himself to put aside the fear that she was gone, to believe that there was hope she would recover. But each time he closed his eyes the logical portion of his mind told him that she was gone and that he needed to let go. After days of holding onto false hope, Peter had finally agreed to execute Maggie’s advance directive and instructed her physicians to terminate life support. Maggie perished that night, and with her so went part of Peter’s soul.
“Well, I don’t have all the details yet. I just signed up two days ago. But we’ll fly out a day or two after finals week. I think we’re flying from Portland to New York, and then on to Paris, then to… I’m not sure. But the final leg is by truck—that I do remember. We can bring one duffle bag and a backpack with personal gear, that’s all.”
“And I suspect that you will
have far more in that one duffle bag than any of the refugees you’ll be helping.”
“You’re probably right. I’m going to load up with candy and chewing gum for the children. The aid groups are providing everything we need other than our personal gear.”
“Do you know what projects you and the others in the group will be taking on?”
“We talked a little bit about that during the orientation meeting yesterday. The group leader—her name is Samantha Ward, but she goes by Sam—said that we would do a lot of teaching, maybe help to install a water treatment system on at least one community well, and assist with medical checkups.” Ethan sounded very excited. There was no trace of fear or apprehension in his voice.
“I didn’t know you had any medical training,” Peter quipped, trying to inject some humor into the conversation.
“Oh, I know a little first aid. But we would only be assisting trained doctors. You know, Doctors Without Borders? I think our job will be to comfort the patients and try to teach them about preventive care. Sam said we would have to go through training on the local diseases and common injuries. Oh, and I’ll need to get a bunch of vaccinations before I go, for illnesses I’ve never heard of!”
“And make sure you do!” Peter replied in as stern a voice as he could muster.
“Trust me, Dad. I don’t want to get a rare illness and become the subject of a research article in some medical journal. I’ll get every vaccination they recommend.”
“And you’ll take your cell phone so we can talk periodically, right?” As soon as Peter asked the question he realized he was treating Ethan like a child rather than the man he had become.
“Of course I will! When have you ever known me to be without my phone? But, Sam says that electricity is scarce and you can’t count on having a socket to plug into. I think we’ll be out in the country somewhere near the border with Chad.”
“Well, that makes sense if you’re in a refugee camp. I would guess those camps are rather primitive, and they probably don’t all have diesel generators for electric power. I’d guess it’s like a primitive RV park.”
“That’s what it looked like in the slide show they showed us. We’ll wash our clothes by hand in a communal water trough. And sleep on cots in tents with kerosene lanterns for light. I’m planning to bring several paperbacks to pass the time when we aren’t working.”
“If you’re out in the country away from cities, will you even get cell coverage?” asked Peter.
“Sam says we will. I guess even the most distant locations in western Sudan are being connected. Anyway, I’ll bring spare batteries and a solar charger, and my camera too.”
“Why not just use your phone for pictures?”
“Not enough memory. I plan to take loads of photos to share with everyone when I come back home.”
“It sounds like you’re well on your way to getting it all figured out.”
Ethan laughed. He knew this was hard for his father.
Peter continued, “Promise me that you will come over to Bend for a family dinner before you leave. I’ll check with your sister; I’m sure she’ll want to see you off as well.”
“Only if you promise to barbeque steaks!
“Tell Sis I said hello.”
“I’ll let her know. You take care now, okay? And do well on your finals—I want to see solid grades.”
“Sure, Dad. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.” As Peter hung up the phone he could not dismiss the growing feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.
Chapter 4
Land of the Fur
June 5
The succession of plane flights separated by endless waiting in airport terminals had taken a toll on the young Peace Corps Reserve volunteers. Ethan and his new friends were exhausted despite the excitement.
Riding in the back of a UN-blue, covered cargo truck, sitting on metal bench seats with their duffle bags at their feet, no one could see the surrounding country as the truck bounced along on the final leg of their journey. The two-hour ride was uncomfortable, and Ethan’s buttocks and lower back ached. Soon, they were told, the truck would arrive at the refugee camp and they could rest for the remainder of the day. It was late morning, and the volunteers would have their mid-day meal upon arriving at the camp.
The truck’s brakes squealed a greeting as the vehicle slowed and came to a stop. A cloud of reddish-tan dust engulfed the truck as the driver walked to the back and dropped the tailgate. Then he placed a stool on the ground at the back of the truck so that the student volunteers could more easily exit the bed onto the dusty ground.
The volunteers exited single file; Ethan was the last to step out into the bright sunlight. Looking around, he took in the refugee camp. There were a few large tents nearby with the sides rolled up to allow what little breeze there was to flow through the walls of insect netting. The tents were old and battered, and several cloth patches were evident on the netting and the canvas roofs. It was already hot, and there didn’t appear to be much shade other than what the tents offered.
Stretched out in wavy rows were hundreds of smaller walled tents, each about the size of a four-man tent that Ethan was familiar with. They were all faded on top to a bleached gray-green color while closer to the ground the canvas was stained reddish-tan from the dirt. None of these tents had insect netting or walls that could be opened to allow cooling ventilation. As he surveyed the camp, he saw a woman and six children leave one of the nearest tents. Then a man followed them out.
“How many people are living in each tent?” Ethan asked of no one in particular.
From behind him a voice answered, “Initially we assigned one tent per family. That meant there were about four to eight persons in each tent.” Ethan turned around. It was Sam who had answered him. She must have arrived earlier.
“About two weeks ago a new group of refugees started to wander in, and we don’t have enough shelter for all of them. Many of the young men have chosen to sleep outside. Since it’s so dry there are no worries about getting rained on. But the insects can be a problem. We’ve issued mosquito netting and that helps, but there isn’t enough to go around. We had to begin doubling up in the tents that were sheltering smaller families.”
“How do so many fit in those small tents?”
Sam shrugged. “The refugees are still streaming in every day. The population in the camp has risen 30 percent to about 2,000. I’m glad you’ve all arrived—there’s a lot that needs to be done beginning with basic sanitation and food preparation.”
Samantha Ward looked over the group of volunteers. It had been almost three months since she had spoken to the students at the University of Oregon, and she remembered not only the faces but also the names of those who signed up. She scanned the motley bunch of men and women standing before her.
Slowly she went from face to face, naming each person. “Trent… Wendy… Susan… Brad… Ethan… Joe… Matthew… James. Welcome. I know you’re tired and have lots of questions. But first, please follow Bob.” She pointed to their native driver. “He’ll show you to your tent. I’m sorry but you will all have to share one tent since space is in short supply. Just drop your bags off and then meet me at the mess tent, which is over there.” Sam pointed to the nearest of the large tents with an assortment of bench tables.
Ethan picked up his duffle bag and walked with Joe. “It’s hard to imagine how these people survive,” he said.
Joe nodded and looked at a group of small children playing in the dust. “I suspect we’re going to learn firsthand.” They completed the walk to their tent in silence. Whether it was fatigue or the grim reality of the refugee camp beginning to sink in, everyone was solemn.
The tent was set up with eight cots—four to a side with a narrow isle between them. Duffle bags had to be stored beneath each cot; there was no other space. A flap opening was at each opposite end of the tent; the flaps were presently tied back, and the two other canvas walls were rolled up. Still it must have been 20 degrees hotter inside
the tent than it was outside. Ethan could feel the heat radiating down from the fabric roof like an oven. Each person selected a cot and placed their bag on it before walking out the opposite opening and sauntering over to the mess tent.
Sam was waiting for the new arrivals. After everyone seated themselves on the benches running along either side of the table, she began with a brief orientation. While she was speaking, two middle-aged women—refugees recruited to help prepare meals—brought bottled water, a broth soup, and bowls of rice to the table.
“This is a typical mid-day meal,” explained Sam. “The staff and volunteers eat the same food as the refugees. We don’t always have bottled water; it depends what supplies are delivered. The well-water is safe—it just doesn’t taste as good; kind of a soapy taste from the dissolved minerals.”
Ethan pulled a bowl of rice toward him and began to eat. It was very bland. He guessed salt and pepper were also in short supply and he thought how wonderful it would be to add a few dashes of his favorite hot sauce to the rice. He took a sip of the hot, thin soup. It had an unusual flavor but reminded him of beef broth. He decided not to ask what it was made from.
“The evening meal is served at dusk… about 6:00 p.m. Don’t expect it to cool much at night. The temperature only falls 15, maybe 20, degrees. The breeze helps, and after a while you get acclimated.”
Wendy spoke softly, but still loud enough to be heard. “A shower sure would feel good.” Ethan glanced her way and smiled.
“Sorry, Wendy… no showers. The well is already taxed to provide enough water for drinking and cooking. A new well is being dug about 300 yards west of the main well, but it will be another three or four weeks before it’s finished.”
“Four weeks without showering? I can’t do that!” said Wendy very seriously.
Sam smiled. “Sure you can. Look around you and you’ll see 2,000 people who haven’t had a shower in the last six weeks, maybe longer for many. Use your washcloth and take a sponge bath. Occasionally we also get baby wipes with the humanitarian aid.”