Take 35 people who work for one of the worst humanitarian crises in the world. Take a bunch of crazy instructors. Take a military facility in the outskirts of an African capital. Shake the ingredients with a couple of land mines and AK47s, and you’ll have 4 days of (mentally disturbed) fun!
I was a bit worried before going for the training, because my good friend C., tough but always chic French journalist who goes to Mogadishu from time to time, said it was going to be intense and tiring. Plus, we had to learn first aid in one day and then apply it on unfortunate actors who have to play (almost) dead and then be definitely killed by us unskilled first aiders who can’t distinguish a heart attack from a snake bite. I have almost killed one of my actors performing CPR on a conscious person. I am warning you: do not trust me even if you have just a cold.
ra.jpg)
Then of course you have to learn radio communications, and you suddenly discover that the radio you are carrying is set on Sudan and completely useless if you are in another country. And you learn that you are deaf because you always copy 2 by 5 and never 5 by 5 like all the other normal people. And of course have no idea how to use a HF radio. But playing with the “walkie talkie” is fun – until you really are in an emergency, assaulted by robbers or kidnapped by separatist movements, and the little orange button may actually save your life.
You learn that the jacket is heavy but not that heavy, and that they give the lighter one to girls. Only problem: the lighter one can’t really stop an AK47, so you are dead because you are a girl. If this is not gender discrimination…
The litres of fake blood used during the exercises and the friendly African mud who sticks to you literally forever will make your day more colourful (and a laundry nightmare as well), while you are beaten by robbers, stolen your shoes and have to run on the gravel with one shoe, 25 kilos of jacket and helmet and 15 of trauma bag. You will find yourself thinking “why the hell didn’t I decide to be a banker instead of a humanitarian???”
The best part was the hostage survival session: cute instructor (hey – four days of suffering, a girl has to find aesthetic pleasure somewhere!), basic common sense things that can help you get out of there, and mountains of stories on human dignity and courage. Two guys were kidnapped last April, during the assault they tried to run away, but one of them was older and slower and got shot in the leg. The other, young and fit, could have made it. But he came back to help his colleague. They are both still kidnapped.
In my course there were two people who have been abducted, one of them for 13 months. They are the proof that you can come back alive, despite all the horrific stories that we hear every day.
Then we talked about hostage negotiation, and of course everyone wants to be negotiator because, instructor dixit, it’s so sexy. If that’s the reason, you can see for yourselves that you would make a failure of a negotiator. You can never let your ego in, and that is why I wouldn’t probably be a good negotiator. We girls have egoes as well, and pretty big ones too. (On the right, a big ego disguised as a girl)
ra+after+the+robbery.jpg)
And then, after the class, THE FIELD! We are going to assess the situation in an IDP camp, and on our way there we are ambushed and taken hostage by a political movement who wants some kind of political recognition (I guess… because they speak another language and I don’t understand). The simulation goes well and I bond immediately with my nice kidnapper who, being a girl (and that let me tell you is a universal thing) adjusts my hair before blindfolding me.
We learned how leadership works in life-threatening situations: girls take charge.
In my group, 7 men and 2 women, male team leader, the men didn’t say a word!!! It was my very outspoken friend H. who started talking with the kidnappers, and I helped giving them the information they wanted to set us free . Where were the men???? Aren’t they supposed to save everyone Rambo-ing their way around, defeating the armed kidnappers even if they are themselves tied and blindfolded??? Aren’t they supposed to take charge of everything and stare the bad guys down with their George-Clooney eyelashes??? Well, it didn’t happen – we had to make it for ourselves, and fortunately, we managed. The fact that it was a simulation helped a lot anyway…
The cherry on the cake were the land mines. We had a scary demonstration with real land mines, and one of them did not explode. You could see the sweat on the instructor forehead…
A little innocuous-looking mine the size of a sardines box can destroy completely a human body – we saw the fake soldier stepping on a mine and being shot up to the sky at least 3 metres and come down in tiny little pieces. As grandma always said: do not walk where you are not supposed to! and do not pick up things that are not yours!
Who knew that grandma’s advice was good for landmines as well?!
I was a bit worried before going for the training, because my good friend C., tough but always chic French journalist who goes to Mogadishu from time to time, said it was going to be intense and tiring. Plus, we had to learn first aid in one day and then apply it on unfortunate actors who have to play (almost) dead and then be definitely killed by us unskilled first aiders who can’t distinguish a heart attack from a snake bite. I have almost killed one of my actors performing CPR on a conscious person. I am warning you: do not trust me even if you have just a cold.
ra.jpg)
Then of course you have to learn radio communications, and you suddenly discover that the radio you are carrying is set on Sudan and completely useless if you are in another country. And you learn that you are deaf because you always copy 2 by 5 and never 5 by 5 like all the other normal people. And of course have no idea how to use a HF radio. But playing with the “walkie talkie” is fun – until you really are in an emergency, assaulted by robbers or kidnapped by separatist movements, and the little orange button may actually save your life.
You learn that the jacket is heavy but not that heavy, and that they give the lighter one to girls. Only problem: the lighter one can’t really stop an AK47, so you are dead because you are a girl. If this is not gender discrimination…
The litres of fake blood used during the exercises and the friendly African mud who sticks to you literally forever will make your day more colourful (and a laundry nightmare as well), while you are beaten by robbers, stolen your shoes and have to run on the gravel with one shoe, 25 kilos of jacket and helmet and 15 of trauma bag. You will find yourself thinking “why the hell didn’t I decide to be a banker instead of a humanitarian???”
The best part was the hostage survival session: cute instructor (hey – four days of suffering, a girl has to find aesthetic pleasure somewhere!), basic common sense things that can help you get out of there, and mountains of stories on human dignity and courage. Two guys were kidnapped last April, during the assault they tried to run away, but one of them was older and slower and got shot in the leg. The other, young and fit, could have made it. But he came back to help his colleague. They are both still kidnapped.
In my course there were two people who have been abducted, one of them for 13 months. They are the proof that you can come back alive, despite all the horrific stories that we hear every day.
Then we talked about hostage negotiation, and of course everyone wants to be negotiator because, instructor dixit, it’s so sexy. If that’s the reason, you can see for yourselves that you would make a failure of a negotiator. You can never let your ego in, and that is why I wouldn’t probably be a good negotiator. We girls have egoes as well, and pretty big ones too. (On the right, a big ego disguised as a girl)
ra+after+the+robbery.jpg)
And then, after the class, THE FIELD! We are going to assess the situation in an IDP camp, and on our way there we are ambushed and taken hostage by a political movement who wants some kind of political recognition (I guess… because they speak another language and I don’t understand). The simulation goes well and I bond immediately with my nice kidnapper who, being a girl (and that let me tell you is a universal thing) adjusts my hair before blindfolding me.
We learned how leadership works in life-threatening situations: girls take charge.
In my group, 7 men and 2 women, male team leader, the men didn’t say a word!!! It was my very outspoken friend H. who started talking with the kidnappers, and I helped giving them the information they wanted to set us free . Where were the men???? Aren’t they supposed to save everyone Rambo-ing their way around, defeating the armed kidnappers even if they are themselves tied and blindfolded??? Aren’t they supposed to take charge of everything and stare the bad guys down with their George-Clooney eyelashes??? Well, it didn’t happen – we had to make it for ourselves, and fortunately, we managed. The fact that it was a simulation helped a lot anyway…
The cherry on the cake were the land mines. We had a scary demonstration with real land mines, and one of them did not explode. You could see the sweat on the instructor forehead…
A little innocuous-looking mine the size of a sardines box can destroy completely a human body – we saw the fake soldier stepping on a mine and being shot up to the sky at least 3 metres and come down in tiny little pieces. As grandma always said: do not walk where you are not supposed to! and do not pick up things that are not yours!
Who knew that grandma’s advice was good for landmines as well?!
Posts
13/9/08 6:50 PM
So are you crazy honey? In what kind of trainings are you involve???
13/9/08 7:18 PM
Hay que estar preparados para Somalia, que tu crees?! :)
15/9/08 4:41 AM
ja, ja, ja.... también tienes razón... bueno al paso que va Bolivia seguro que también me vendría bien el curso, no crees??? de todas formas, después de Bolivia quiero cambiar de continente y Africa suena muy bien... ya veremos... besos