LinkedIn isn’t a web service that I generally use — I remember signing up for it a few years ago and, since then, just give a cursory glance to the newsletters that appear in my in box. So-and-so has changed jobs and so-and-so is now linked to someone else.  Never really gave it much more thought that making sure these notes didn’t get tossed as spam.  However, about six months ago, I went to login and found a bright red message appear after hitting “enter” once I provided my credentials.  The messages indicated that “This Account has been Suspended”.

Naturally, I assumed that my password was incorrect since it had been so long since I had logged in before, however, even after resetting the password, the messages remained the same.  “This Account has been suspended”

So, now it was on to customer support.  After three attempts to email customer service (since my first two attempts at contact went unreplied to), I finally received a message as to what was going on.  I was told:

The U.S. Government has in place export control and economic sanctions laws and regulations, which prohibit U.S. companies, like LinkedIn, from engaging in certain transactions with persons from several designated countries, including Sudan.

It is LinkedIn’s corporate policy to comply with laws and regulations of the United States and other countries where we do business. Failure to comply with U.S. export control and economic sanctions laws and regulations can result in criminal and civil fines and penalties, for both the Company and any individuals involved.

Now, this is nothing really new to me. While in Khartoum, I had found a number of US-based websites had similar restrictions when the country of Sudan is involved: one can’t download Google programs like Google Earth (but you can use it if it hadn’t been previously installed), certain video content sites can’t be accessed (like Hulu), and so on.

But, consider this. I live in Southern Sudan which does not have an in-country internet infrastructure (unlike the North of the Sudan like Khartoum). What this means, is that almost all internet is provided by outside companys that give you a satellite dish and then provide connectivity from another country’s allotment of IP addresses. So, while I am at work, it appears to the world that I am connecting from Kenya and when at my “house” it appears I am connecting from Uganda. So, why does LinkedIn think I am in the Sudan?

The only think I could think of is that I may have indicated in my job profile that I worked for a company that is based in Sudan (which is true – our DC-based company opened a “branch” in Sudan so that we could operated legally here).  In an effort to explain this to the customer service people at LinkedIn, I sent a lengthy explanation of how development companies work in places like Sudan, that I am an American citizen and that I am often not in Sudan (which, is a bit of a stretch, but not really since I head out for an R&R every 4 months or so).  I even sent a copy of my passport and birth certificate (yes, I keep copies on hand.  As we all should).

Their reply?  Classic:

Thank you for your reply. Once you have left Sudan, you will be able to use your account. Please message us at privacy@linkedin.com when you have changed location.

If you have further questions, please feel free to reply to this message.

Honestly, I just don’t get it.  So, all I have to do is tell them “I’m not in Sudan” and I can get my access back?  Does this make sense to anyone?  It really makes me wonder how 1) they determine that I am IN Sudan and then 2) when I am NOT IN Sudan.

Quite honestly, I don’t think this LinkedIn thing is really worth the aggravation.  If anyone reading this article can give me some reasons why I shouldn’t just leave this service, it would be greatly appreciated.  Otherwise, I’m in the mood where I am willing to say, thanks, but no thanks.  Your rules make no sense and I don’t want to trust my career path to a organization that can’t even figure out where I am.

Well, it’s Christmas Day again and I find myself still in Juba.  It’s a bit concerning as after last years’ Christmas, I swore I would not be in Juba again for the holidays.  But, here I am.

Of course, this years celebration was far more comfortable than last year (when I was stuck in a little apartment connected to my office with only a generator for company).  This year, the management of The Jebel Lodge (where I now reside) put on a pretty good show for Christmas Eve dinner.  The menu included pâté, a lovely roast turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce, and mini mince meat pies.  There were even Christmas crackers to play with, complete with a small toy inside and the traditional bad joke (although the Christmas crowns and traditional “popping” sound were sadly missing).

The Jebel Lodge Pool

Today, it seems that it’s a good day to hang out by the pool — the Russian pilots from UNMIS (United Nation Mission in Sudan) are here, frolicking around in their speedos and playing unsafe games in the pool, the Jebel Lodge management and friends are enjoying some Bloody Marys and throwing each other in the pool and I, introvert that I am, am sitting in the dining hall just enjoying the breeze and what I call “Juba TV” (the madness that is in the pool).

As I write, another group of Jubites just walked in the main gate (they look like another group of roughnecks that make up the humanitarian aid community).  This should be an interesting day.

I have been visited by one Christmas elf already — our Deputy Chief of Party, Stefanie, has been baking since early this morning making chocolate chip cookies and Christmas shortbread cookies that are complete with frosting to make pretty snowman, Santas, stars and other yuletide icons.  Stefanie even slipped me some uncooked cookie dough which I have been gobbling up and making me very happy!

Next year, I really hope to be around family and friends, much like the rest of the world.  But, as these holidays go, this one hasn’t been too bad at all!  My best wishes for a wonderful holiday season to all who may read this post…

The other day I was escorting a small group of USAID people to meet with the Minister of Telecommunications and Postal Services. The reason why doesn’t really matter; rather, what we found happening in the parking lot was really more of interest. Spying a group of about 15 men that were all circled around something, I decided to wander over and become part of the grouping.

I have long since discovered it’s not really useful to pre-suppose I know what is going on — so often my Western sensibilities are wrong here (after all, I still can quite figure out how one is supposed to determine how many cows one needs for a wife).  What I found was a lot of excitement surrounding the butchering of… well… a giant lizard.  I recognized the beast from my days of volunteering at the National Zoo.  This was a Nile monitor – and not the “alligator” that I was told it was (though, to be fair, how many Sudanese have to translate that word?!)  I was a little sad since I had cared for these creatures at various points in my life, and my good friend Sheri was particularly fond of these beasts.  But, since this guy (I was told) was roadkill, these men were just taking advantage of the situation.

While it may not be a possum, the fact the butchering of this roadkill was taking place on a back panel of a truck was something that reminded me of the good ole boys back home in Virgina.

The funny part was that I was told that if I ate the meat of this poor beast, I would suddenly attract ladies by the dozens.  Well, if you know me, that wouldn’t be something I would have wanted.  So, I did politely decline saying I had plenty of ladies in my life — this earned a knowing nod and laughter from all the guys hanging around.

Then, I went to see the Minister about some Telecommunications. Just another day in Juba.

I’d almost forgotten about this.  Within a week of coming back to Juba from being sick, this incident happened.  Quite a memory.  This is a message from my boss to the management team in Washington DC:

I just wanted to inform you about an incident that took place this morning.  John and I were on our way to USAID.  James, one of the senior partners in Anchor driving services, was driving us.  He tends to be very careful and slow.  A young boy dashed out between two cars in the other lane right into the road.  As soon as James saw him, he used the breaks, but still hit the boy.  The boy got out of the street under a tree by himself, but was still quite wounded.  A large mob quickly gathered and before any other action could be taken, the Sudanese reached through the window, and opened the door and pulled the driver out of the car.  They began to beat him and yell at him.

Fortunately, the police came and tension eased slightly, though in these circumstances, the police can also be a cause of concern.  I called Helene who immediately got in a car with the RSO to come to our location.  They allowed the driver back in the car, and a police officer accompanied us to the police station.  The RSO and Helene were behind us about 5 minutes.  The RSO’s southern Sudanese officer went into the police station to look after James and make sure he was not mishandled.

John went in the USAID car and I went back to the office in another car, so we are both fine.  It looks now as though James will be released this evening since the boy will be released from the hospital.

This is just yet another reminder of the security procedures that we need to put in place and follow, and that we do not get danger pay for the hell of it.  As soon as we get our cars here in Juba, we will hire Sudanese drivers, and think about what kind of training courses might be available.  Lessons learned will definitely be forthcoming.