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.

One of the most fascinating things about living in Juba is being able to decide what really matters for oneself.  I used to pride myself on a certain level of personal hygiene as well as how I put myself ‘together’ on a daily basis.  I’m a big fan of a long, hot shower in the morning that I use in the way that most people use their coffee.  It wakes me up and encourages me to face the day in a relatively positive manner.  Feeling fresh and clean is an amazing thing that perhaps many of us take for granted.  I would use a lovely scented shower gel for the body, a face cleanser of some type (and if I was feeling kooky, perhaps a nice scrub as well), foot scrub, shampoo, and, of course, a conditioner.  Upon getting out of the shower, it was all about scrubbing the teeth, shaving the face, cleaning the ears with a fluffy q-tip, moisterizer for my face, some gel for my hair and the all-important anti-perspirant for under the arms so as to now sweat out my shirts.

Dressing was all about some nicely tailored slacks, a tailored shirt, some funky socks, nice black shoes that my maid lovingly shined every day (YES, I know how this makes me sound), and a spritz of some fancy eau de toilette.  There. Ready to face the world.

Now, I know I was not the fanciest person alive and I wasn’t exactly a model in looks, but I felt that I put myself together quite nicely and was never embarassed about going out in public (well, maybe once the work day was over, but we won’t go there right now).

However, Juba kind of sucks the desire to look nice right out the proverbial window.  A shower is usually cold and the quality of the water is highly suspect and leaves one almost feeling somewhat slimy on a daily basis.  The lack of a proper sink and mirror pretty much kicks all the face work out the window (shaving, plucking, etc).  Clothes that are washed are usually done so in water that is suspect and dried on a fence post or the grass.  So, in many ways, clothes feel pretty gross too.

I personally have given up on shaving regularly (and I am NOT a person that should do that), hair styling is out of consideration as it’s even hard to find a proper barber and shampoo doesn’t really later up in this mineral laden water.  Shoes and pant cuffs are chronically filthy due to the lack of pavement anywhere.  My flip-flops have become the de-facto thing to wear unless I have to see clients, which is rare for many reasons (to be discussed in another entry one day when  feel I don’t want to work for the federal government).

So, I know I have slipped and live like a crack-head that is squatting in an abandoned building.  But the more highly amusing thing is to watch other people go through the same process of denigration.  So many consultants arrive in Sudan without the first idea of what to expect.  The ladies in high heels, professionally applied makeup and slightly perfumed lose a lot of their poise in a short period of time.  Make up tends to melt off here in the heat, coiffed hair goes flat quickly and the perfume only attracts insects.

It’s sad that I feel I get some type of satisfaction out of watching the downfall of the genteel, but that’s schadenfreude for you.  I get some pleasure out of others anguish.  In some ways it validates my own person disgust with myself, but in other ways it provides the entertainment that is just lacking as a general course.

So, I may stink and look like a homeless person, but in many ways that’s how we all blend together here.

Have you ever wondered what a duckling is worth?  That’s probably not something that you would ever really think about.  But seriously, I want you to take a moment, close your eyes and imagine that you are a poor Sudanese woman who has little in life except the clothes on your back and a few ducks.  One day, your ducks decide to hatch some duckings.  Now, what if you were to loose one of those ducklings.  Think about what it would cost to replace that tiny peep of fluff …

Have you imagined it?  I have several times and I’m thinking it might be worth around the cost of a dinner — let’s say (in Sudan) about 10 USD.  Possible a bit more, just for the potential loss of eggs.  So, let’s err on the generous side of things and say 25 USD.  That sounds reasonable, right?

No so for the real Sudanese woman who lost a single duckling to a passing car.

According to my colleague who heard this news tidbit yesterday, this very thing did happen.  The passing car happened to be operated by a Kenyan, who is just like everyone else, trying to earn a few dollars a day.  The Mistress of the Ducklings, in her grief, took the man to Court for recompense for the loss of her duck.

“What is the duckling worth to you, oh Mistress?” the Judge asked.

“In my heart, my little duckling is worth… oh, let us say, 700 USD” she replied (with probably nary a tear in her eyes).

And so, this is how a Kenyan man who was probably just as poor, has to now pay a woman who lost a ducking (since she didn’t keep it IN HER YARD) 700 USD.  I just bet that wouldn’t have been the same price has the person at fault been a neighbor.

Now, the thing I can’t get out of my head isn’t the fact that the poor Kenyan has been essentially blackmailed (that sadly happens all the time), but I just have to wonder if this woman might have the idea of gathering up all her remaining ducklings and walking to the side of the road and begin tossing them into traffic.

Let’s face it.  If one duckling is worth 700 USD, then 10 ducklings would be 7,000 USD.  I think I might just quit my job and start raising ducks.  Who knew that all one would need in life is a pair of ducks?

I’m trying to be a good trooper, really I am.  But, I think that Southern Sudan has a chip on it’s shoulder and its desire is to just break the will of any intrepid adventurer.  Todays fun centered around water.  Water, as we all know, is the universal solvent and is very useful upon waking up to wash off the grit, grime and sweat accumlated through the humid night.  Even though our water is cold and there is no water heater (so common where electricity is scarce),  look forward to soaping up, washing off and shampooing my hair.  Call me wierd, but I like to start the day off fresh.

Well, at 6pm today, a call was recieved from our cook who discovered that there was no water coming out of the taps.  Of course, why this wasn’t noticed far earlier in the day, we’ll never know.  So, immediately, we dispatched one of the two drivers to chase down a water tanker to deliver some water before the day became night.  Water has to be trucked in, you see, as there is no such thing as central water facilities.  So, if there is no truck found, there was no water to be had (it should be noted that we tried to call our normal water supplier, but they had turned off their phones — of course).

So, the rest of us at the office trundled home at 7pm only to find that no water was delivered and half the house was dark.  No problem, I’ll just check the fuse box. And what do you know, there was a circuit tripped.  I flipped the switch only to find the circuit to trip again.  After much investigating in the dark, I found out the secret of 1) why the circuit was tripping and 2) why there was no water.  It appears that our handy electrician wired the water pump directly into a flourescent light fixture which, to which half the lights in the house are also wired.

I can’t explain it.  One would think that anyone that calls themselves and electrician would know better. I can only assume that like most laborers here, he just flat out didn’t care.  Just wired it up to get out of the job.

The moral of this story?  I have light (until the generator runs out of fuel) but no way to take a shower tomorrow.  Lovely.

Oh, and to top it off, the driver we sent out to get the water in the first place?  Has all my groceries in the truck.  Do you think he thought to 1) put the back in the house before he left, or 2) leave his car key (as he was supposed to)?  Try Option 3… leave it locked in the car so John can just stare at it but not have his snacks, toothpaste or cotton buds.

Sigh.  Southern Sudan wins again.