Inside their compound was a whole different world, isolated from the rest of Juba. I had already had plenty of experience of the hotels and NGOs in Juba – but the UNMIS (United Nations Mission in Sudan) compound was different. Despite having many of the same features its sheer size and separation from the city made it seem removed in a way that I had not experienced before.
Take one step outside of the Quality Hotel and you are straight into the heart of Hai Cinema, you can walk across the street to a local cafe where young men congregate to play pool and watch Western TV in the evenings. Take a few steps down the road and you are at the local shops where the store owner I see every day speaks only “small” English. Just outside are several boda-bodas, anytime of day or night.
And just around the corner is the chapatti stand where I buy my lunch each day. An omelette wrapped in chapatti and cut up, known as a “rolex” costs just two Sudanese pounds – a great value meal in ordinarily expensive Juba. Sitting under a makeshift cover that provides some welcome shade, I eat off plastic stools that are improvised as tables. In this setting I am greeted by school children and catch snippets of conversations about local life. One time I listened with interest to the Ugandan boys complaining about the difficulty of getting a Sudanese girlfriend, blaming it on their poverty.
While this area is surrounded by NGOs and is undoubtedly shaped by that presence there is no obvious sense of being set apart from the rest of Juba. White faces are rare. In contrast UNMIS was a town of its own; a cosmopolitan town, with Europeans, Americans, Africans and Asians. The gate to the UNMIS compound is at the end of a long dirt road, and although it is close to the airport there is a feeling that it stands alone. It took me several minutes to walk to the main road and find a boda-boda after I left. Most of the UN wouldn’t make that walk. They venture out only in their marked cars with giant, almost comical, antenna that are used to track their location.
The compound itself is vast, like a college campus. With row upon row of small prefab units that house the UNMIS staff in Spartan fashion, with shared bathroom facilities. There are stores, a restaurant and bar on the compound. It felt like a military base from which excursions could be made into South Sudan – which I suppose is not far from what it was.
Any visitors to Juba live in a parallel world. Even the NGO staff who have lived here for years exist in a different world from most of the local people. And in any case, within a city groups of people live very separate lives, based on social status, geography and other demographics. I have no reason to believe the UN don’t engage with the people here. For most, their jobs take them out of the compound all of the time, and probably to see more of the country than I will while I am here. However, I couldn’t help but be struck by the physicality of UNMIS’ isolation, the sense of enclosure, like a little expatriate bubble nestled on the edge of Juba.
Take one step outside of the Quality Hotel and you are straight into the heart of Hai Cinema, you can walk across the street to a local cafe where young men congregate to play pool and watch Western TV in the evenings. Take a few steps down the road and you are at the local shops where the store owner I see every day speaks only “small” English. Just outside are several boda-bodas, anytime of day or night.
And just around the corner is the chapatti stand where I buy my lunch each day. An omelette wrapped in chapatti and cut up, known as a “rolex” costs just two Sudanese pounds – a great value meal in ordinarily expensive Juba. Sitting under a makeshift cover that provides some welcome shade, I eat off plastic stools that are improvised as tables. In this setting I am greeted by school children and catch snippets of conversations about local life. One time I listened with interest to the Ugandan boys complaining about the difficulty of getting a Sudanese girlfriend, blaming it on their poverty.
While this area is surrounded by NGOs and is undoubtedly shaped by that presence there is no obvious sense of being set apart from the rest of Juba. White faces are rare. In contrast UNMIS was a town of its own; a cosmopolitan town, with Europeans, Americans, Africans and Asians. The gate to the UNMIS compound is at the end of a long dirt road, and although it is close to the airport there is a feeling that it stands alone. It took me several minutes to walk to the main road and find a boda-boda after I left. Most of the UN wouldn’t make that walk. They venture out only in their marked cars with giant, almost comical, antenna that are used to track their location.
The compound itself is vast, like a college campus. With row upon row of small prefab units that house the UNMIS staff in Spartan fashion, with shared bathroom facilities. There are stores, a restaurant and bar on the compound. It felt like a military base from which excursions could be made into South Sudan – which I suppose is not far from what it was.
Any visitors to Juba live in a parallel world. Even the NGO staff who have lived here for years exist in a different world from most of the local people. And in any case, within a city groups of people live very separate lives, based on social status, geography and other demographics. I have no reason to believe the UN don’t engage with the people here. For most, their jobs take them out of the compound all of the time, and probably to see more of the country than I will while I am here. However, I couldn’t help but be struck by the physicality of UNMIS’ isolation, the sense of enclosure, like a little expatriate bubble nestled on the edge of Juba.
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