Hibernation and evacuation

Security continues to be the watchword.  I'm very proud to report that I have now ticked off the bit on every boy's wish list that says that at some point his job should require him to have a UHF radio, into which he must mutter oaths involving Charlie and Tango.  I can say with absolute certainty that if disaster strikes I will forget every word in the phonetic alphabet.

If it all kicks off, we will hibernate.  This is exactly as it sounds - shut your doors and don't come out until you get a phone call from the security officer, no doubt sounding disappointed that the shooting has stopped.  Guesthouses are equipped with hibernation kits, which contain essentials: water purifying tabs, rice, tinned fish and vegetables, high energy biscuits and condoms.  These are useful for holding water and are not intended for recreational purposes.  You can be assured that stories are legion of hibernating colleagues believing themselves to be at death's door but later sheepishly emerging from the wreckage wishing they'd just used the condom for its secondary purpose.

Hibernation kits are a good idea, but these have the habit of being raided by residents for emergency snacks during peacetime.  The kit in one of our guesthouses currently contains a tube of Pringles and a bottle of olive oil.

If things get tasty enough then we put our enormously complicated evacuation plan into action.  We each have a grab bag, that lives by the door in your room and is full of essentials for fleeing to the airstrip.  Mine has two tennis balls in it for some reason.  One of my colleagues claims to have a bottle of Bombay Sapphire in hers.  I'm not sure which planes we will be fleeing on, as there never seem to be any at the airport when I go past and presumably we are not the only NGO who have hit on the idea of getting out if Juba turns into toast.