Bittersweet

Saturdays is usually shaky regarding transport between the camps as the drivers want to get finished early and as a result it can be difficult to obtain transport after 2 unless you are important enough to have transport arranged for you own private need - which I am not. So I asked the driver if he will return or if I need to take the bus now to return to DMO. He said that he will return at 5, and then go to DMO. This was unusual, as there is usually no buses after 430. I questioned again for a confirmation, and he said Yes, 5.
So I went on with my work.
I returned at 4:50 and waited.
No driver.
Waited.
No driver.
At 530 I called my the boss at Save The Children and asked if they had a truck in the area as I was stuck at camp Dagahaley. She called CARE Security who said they will send a car to get me. Now this is a big deal as Dagahaley is about 45 minutes from DMO and transit requires a military police escort.
Long story short, I was stuck there until 7 (sunset was 6, there is no electricity in the camps and its pitch black outside), when I was about to give up and make arrangements to stay there. They sent the same driver that lied to me. I think that is why it took so long, because it was his fault that I was stuck.
So he shows up honking the horn, putting on this big show that he is simply "running late." He also seemed to be under the impression that I am a rather important person, as somebody told me that this is the first time that a special car and escort has ever been sent to Dagahaley after curfew to get someone, and he seemed rather uncomfortable when I tried to speak to him, like I was going to fire him myself.
Anyway, we drove back through the bush in the darkness. At this point, I was highly irritated, because this is not a safe place to be driving at night.

And yet, it was absolutely incredible...seeing crowds of dark bodies and faces fluttering over the sand in the moonlight, the brilliant glare of their white teeth contrasting with the shadows of their clothes as they rise and sink into the foliage and sand. Driving through the village filled me with romantic memories of the Tibetan refugees in the Himalayas, seeing crowds of families packed into little huts together, sitting about candles, sharing a meal or stories.  There is an intimacy in these streets, and while the circumstances were poor, I feel fortunate to have seen life here beyond the compound gates when the bustle of local commerce and the security of family life is illuminated by bonfires and candlelight.
In many ways i am fortunate, as no other muzingo (white man) ever gets to see life outside after curfew. I am probably one of less than 10 in the 16 years that this camp has existed. It was truly beautiful and insightful.

It is  frustrating when you depend on others to do their job and they do not, I'm sure we all understand that - yet is worse when your own personal security is at risk. I do not like to write about security issues, but if people choose to work in a conflict zone, then they should act like it. In the time that I've been here I've seen the consequences of those who have made poor decisions and am very angry that my own safety was jeopardized by some mans laziness. Regardless, it is unlikely that this situation will occur again, and if it does, I am now better prepared to resolve the issue in a more expedient manner.

...And yet I can only say, I was quite fortunate to have experienced this event, as I really believe I have learned a great deal about refugee life now that I have seen it after 5. In all, I consider today and aggravating success.