I’ve been trying to get out to see the local refugee camps, aka “Internally Displaced Persons” or IDP camps. There are checkpoints where documents are inspected and you must have some reason for going. My ticket came in the form of Clowns Without Borders from Sweden. Wow, two birds-one stone, (actually three clowns-one stoner) who suddenly appeared in Sittwe on a day’s notice. I attended the so-called planning meeting and conned my way into being their unofficial roadie. It’s kind of like Mendocino County where you can be whoever you say you are, or so I thought, (a nod to Bruce Anderson here). Most of the other NGOs figured I was somehow connected, the soldiers at the checkpoint need a name and some numbers, no problem there, and the people in the camps thought I was just another clown. With the government, and the UN, as long as you stay within certain boundaries, which I am just learning, and, if you act like you know what you’re doing, it’s all good. But you better know those boundaries.
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