In the Pokey in Khartoum
I was expecting trouble from the Sudanese government, but I have to admit I wasn't expecting a run-in with the American government while in Sudan... Nobody expects the American Government. Our chief weapon is fear... fear and surprise...
But I digress.
Anyhow, Sunday November 11, Fixer #1 picked me up and took me to the AMIS (African Union Mission in Sudan) office. I filled out my paperwork and made my request for AMIS services--flight to El Fasher in Darfur, lodging, interviews, etc.
From there I went downtown with fixer #2 to register my passport... again--well I mean attempt to register it again. My fixer goes into the passport registration bunker, and I decide to wander around Khartoum alone--my first mistake.
I wandered to a corner food stand for some breakfast. I decided to ignore the fact that by American standards the place probably violated 83 health code provisions, and I got in line for foole. The man behind the counter looked at me in surprise and asked if I ate foole. I said yes, and he dished me a bowl with all the fixings. A man in line spoke some English and invited me to the upstairs cubby to join him.
I climbed the ladder to the dining room--about 8' by 8' at most filled with three small tables and benches. I joined the man and four others at a table, and they immediately dumped my bowl into a large collective bowl on the table. I proceeded to have the authentic foole experience of pinching bites of foole in pieces of pita bread and eating with my fingers. I had to force myself to eat with my right hand because of local norms--I quickly remembered after getting funny looks when I started eating left handed.
Anyhow, I ate my share, thanked the men for their hospitality, and started wandering the streets taking pictures. I wandered down the street past the US Embassy, which is surrounded my a mix of paved and sand covered streets. The security perimeter is loosely defined by a couple of checkpoints, and I wasn't really paying attention to what was embassy sand and what was public sand in the streets.
As I walked along, I looked down a street facing away from the embassy and it looked interesting so I took a picture and kept walking. I then heard some commotion behind me, and after a few seconds I turned to see three men with machine guns walking towards me. "This can't be good" was about the only thought going through my mind.
They asked who I was and what I was doing. I told them I was an American journalist and immediately presented my Sudanese press credential, thinking that the provision stating I could have a digital camera would ease tensions. It didn't.
They took me over to the embassy gate and called a guard from inside. He looked at my press card and my driver's license (remember, my passport is down the street with my fixer) and said that since I didn't have prior permission to take a picture that we had a problem. I apologized and offered to delete the picture and to never be seen hauling garbage around again, but he didn't go for it.
The guards (who were all Sudanese security employees of the US) hauled me into a little office across the street and talked with each other in hushed tones. Then, another man entered, and he was clearly a heavy. He asked me a couple of questions, talked with the other guards, and then led me down the alley to what I assumed was going to be the room where they were going to beat me to a pulp.
They took me to the back of the building to a room that I believe said "US Embassy Jail" in sloppy handwriting over the door. The room was about 10' x 15' with four single beds with dirty white sheets on them. There was also a desk and a refrigerator.
One guard sat on one of the beds while others came in and out. I made light conversation with them, apologizing, and explaining I didn't know I was standing in embassy property. They said everything would be OK once my passport arrived and they could verify my identity.
So I sat. I answered their questions and got to the point where I was about to ask if I could take a picture with the guard holding the machine gun.
Finally, after 45 minutes, my fixer arrived with my passport. The guards took it and the head guy disappeared for a while. After about 10 minutes he came back with another supervisor, and they took me back into the office. They had me sit and answer question for another 45 minutes.
Well, first the "main guy" had me write down on a piece of paper my name, address, passport info, and then all kinds of things like my parents' names, addresses, employers, and a slew of seemingly pointless details. They wrote down my physical description and what I was wearing. They took pictures of me.
Then, the boss came in, and he had no sense of humor. He asked me all the questions I had already answered and he kept explaining it was their process for security reasons, and he had to ask me all of this and fill out his forms. He explained that after the embassy bombings in Africa that security had become much tighter.
I endured this for close to two hours, and the whole time I was in custody being questioned, they never once searched me, nor did they look inside my bag I was carrying. I had my radio kit with me, which consists of a decent-sized tote bag full of strange looking electronic equipment and wires and adaptors and batteries, and all kinds of things that look dangerous.
So, as they kept telling me about security protocols and all this crap, I was sitting there with a bag that could have held enough explosives to take out a least a block. I was personally appalled and shocked that their protocols they kept reminding me they were following did not involve doing anything to see if I was a legitimate threat or carrying anything dangerous on embassy property.
Note to the State Department and the embassy staff, you might want to reevaluate your security protocols, and question the people you have hired.
This was a case of today's security culture where some bureaucrat writes out a procedure, and hired hands follow it to the letter without ever stopping to think about the circumstances and actually evaluate the situation. This kind of crap makes me feel less safe knowing that people are only looking for what they are told to look for and not thinking independently.
Anyhow, once it was all over, I shook hands with everyone, had a laugh and had my fixer take me back to my hotel so I could get some work done while the poor bastard went back to the passport office again to try to get my passport blessed... he mostly succeeded, but there was some catch and he had to go back the following morning to finish the process.
