Assignment Algeria – 1978-80 (Part II)

Author’s Note:This third in a series of articles, chronicles some of the earlier years of my career in International Human Resources across the Middle East and North Africa.

After a two week project orientation, first on the frigid plains of western Canada, then followed by several days of grey skies and chilling rains in London, the early spring breezes and moderate Mediterranean temperatures of Algeria’s northern coast were a warm, welcoming embrace.  After a three month absence, the urban and coastal landscapes, once so foreign and curiously exotic, now seemed comfortable and familiar.

My new assignment had all the markings of high adventure – to build a gas gathering facility to sit atop a newly discovered gas reservoir in the heart of the Sahara’s Grand Erg Oriental (the name alone fires the imagination!), one of the world’s largest moving sand masses.  

I was part of a small in-country start-up team assigned to begin laying the administrative foundation for the Rhourde Nouss Gas project, recently awarded to the company’s Canadian entity.  But the project, deep in Algeria’s southeastern desert, was too soon dogged by early third party reservoir miscalculations, leading to what would essentially become a twelve month standoff between our company and the client over cost and schedule escalation.  Depending on the emotional spin management chose to put on the status of discussions at any given point, we were either on the verge of mobilization or the verge of shutting the project down.

Rhourde Nouss was just over 1,000 kilometers (and several decades) south of Algiers, however, my base of operations would now shift (at least temporarily) from the beaches and deserts of my earlier assignment, to the company’s Algiers office in the fashionably well worn residential suburb of El-Biar.  Once a temporary refuge for the infamous Black Panther, Eldridge Cleaver in the early 1970’s, Eldridge would today find a much less revolutionary populace of retired soccer players and local artisans.

This new proximity to Algiers brought with it the opportunity to meet and interface with a much wider variety of companies, company representatives, embassy personnel and clients - an eclectic mix of individuals, both expatriate and Algerian – and a pleasant departure from the bleak desolation of the desert construction camps of Hassi R’ Mel.  

After my first few weeks on the coast, it was now high time to visit the jobsite.  My previous exposure to the Sahara had been along the rock-strewn plains and alluvial fans of the northern desert in and around Hassi R’ Mel.  Rhourde Nouss, however, would now take me much further into the shifting sands and wind-sculpted dunes of the deeper desert.

Our first foray to the jobsite, in keeping with what was becoming the true spirit of this star-crossed project, was less than auspicious. During a week on the road we battled a three day, unrelenting sand storm - never severe enough to halt our journey, but strong enough to impede our progress.  The wind’s impact on the landscape was quite evident, as two lane blacktops turned to one, but the toll it was taking on our vehicle was less obvious but no less damaging.  On our return journey, our car was barely able to limp back to the northern coast and ultimately required the replacement of a sand blasted windshield, front chrome bumper, hood (bonnet), grill and headlights plus a new battery, alternator and starter and the removal and steam cleaning of the engine block!  

From ancient times, these desert winds have captivated, intrigued and terrified men – desert dwellers with whom the winds are constant companions, and others, who have witnessed their power and chronicled their experiences. The Greek historian, Herodotus (5thcentury BC) in his “Histories” catalogues a fascinating collection of winds across Africa and Arabia.  Among my favorites, the simoom of North Africa, that so enraged a nation, they declared war on it, marched out in full battle array against it and all were soon quickly interred by it, and the ------------------, the name of the wind erased by a King whose son was killed in it.  And others such as the aajej, arifi, alm, ghibli, khamsin, datoo, beshabar, all with unique and fascinating characteristics – all interesting to note, but less interesting to negotiate!

Exploring Algiers and its environs proved to be fascinating. In Part I of “Assignment Algeria", I described the country as a land of contrasts, focusing primarily on its physical beauty – from the lush vegetation of the coast to the arid desolation of the desert.  But vivid contrasts in many forms persisted throughout the country; from French-inspired architecture to centuries-old Moorish designs, and from the contrived cosmopolitan flair of Algiers’ boulevardiers to the burnoose-cloaked patriarchs of the deep desert villages.   Perhaps most striking was the contrast in female fashion - from the Parisian-inspired, elegantly draped women strolling the Rue Didouche Mourad to the haik-draped women scurrying along the labyrinthian alleyways of the Casbah.

The Algerian haik was quite different from the ubiquitous black abayas and hijabs of the Arabian Gulf. Typically one voluminous white garment covering the body with one hand gathering the material at the neck, covering the head and face, leaving exposed only one dark, carefully mascaraed eye.  On first blush, one might think the haik would render a woman all but featureless.  However, on occasion, a glimpse of that one darkly highlighted eye or an ankle, elegantly bare and briefly exposed above a stiletto heel, could often evoke an inherent Mediterranean sensuality.

The US Embassy compound in Algiers was a beautiful collection of white-washed, Moorish-style buildings set amongst lush gardens and lawns.  I’ve never found US embassies to be particularly helpful overseas, but there are several things about the embassy in Algiers that were noteworthy.  

The first was their annual Fourth of July celebration.   I imagine most readers are only familiar with today’s levels of extreme embassy security – heavily armed guards, anti-vehicle barricades, barbed wire and all forms of security protocols.  But in the late 1970’s, we were still blissfully unaware of the terrors that had yet to appear on the horizon.  Driving this point home, each year on the Fourth of July, the Algiers embassy would quite literally open its gates to the public and with tables and tents decorating the lawns, serve up hot dogs, hamburgers, American beer and soft drinks to whomever wished to join in the festivities.  Looking back now, the loss of the simple innocence of such occasions is quite saddening.   

The second was the embassy’s snack bar.  Located in the same neighborhood, our office was close enough to the embassy to make lunches there a fairly common occurrence.  Our frequent visits were influenced to some degree by the quasi-America fare, but primarily by the daily presence of the enchanting Haitian proprietress, who never failed to brighten a dreary day or elevate a dampened mood. She was lovely, funny, exotic and charming… and well out of reach of any potential suitor, as she was also the wife of the US Ambassador!  

Even with the fits and starts of the project an on-going issue, day-to-day HR operations continued and were rarely without their challenges.  During my time in-country, I had previously managed two life threatening medical evacuations, but again, in keeping with the ever-emerging spirit of this project, my third experience was more ironic than critical.  

One of our employees was diagnosed with probable appendicitis and required immediate evacuation.  Our French air ambulance service, Europ Assistance, offered us the opportunity to piggy-back on an evacuation that was already underway in Algiers.  Rushing to the local hospital we joined the evacuation in progress.  Our employee was quite uncomfortable, but still mobile, and was soon joined by a bed-ridden, heavily sedated patient with the pallor of an un-ripened avocado.  His condition – severe, post-operative peritonitis from a locally performed appendectomy!!  The two patients were quickly whisked away to Paris.  Fortunately, our employee experienced a quick recovery and return to Algeria.  The fate of the other poor fellow, to this day, remains unknown.

Despite our initial run-in with the desert winds, subsequent trips to the South were necessary, but the pace was a bit more leisurely, weather much more agreeable, with both allowing for some limited exploration of the landscape and the intriguing M’Zab Valley we traversed en route to Rhourde Nouss.  

Along this valley’s length run five towns, collectively called the pentapolis, of Ghardaia, Melika, Beni Isguen, Bou Noura and El Atteuf – each built on a knoll  - their pastel-colored buildings densely packed, encroaching on their twisting and turning alleyways and covered walkways.   Having been built some 1,000 years ago, the visual impact is truly impressive, situated as they are in a deep and narrow valley.  Walking their public squares, their ancient souks and covered, labyrinthian passageways was, to borrow a quote from a friend, like walking through the Old Testament.

And then quite unexpectedly, in a fit of uncharacteristic management euphoria, our team was given instructions to set up a pioneer camp at the Rhourde Nouss jobsite, which aside from some utilities, a drilling rig and a trailer or two, was a lunar landscape of desolation.

Much of the camp and equipment used on the company’s earlier pipeline project was now stored away and secured at Hassi R’ Mel and had always been planned for the future use of the Rhourde Nouss project.  With a ragged assortment of construction hands and borrowed labor, trailers, generators, a water tank and other equipment were loaded on to five 18 wheel Peterbilts and with as much ceremony as the few of us could generate, our small caravan was sent on its way south to christen our jobsite.

Our exuberance was short-lived unfortunately, as within a few days of the caravan’s departure, we received word that management had reversed their decision and that we were to close down the project and demobilize all staff.   Somehow this five day emotional rollercoaster was a fitting, closing summation of both the project and the past year.  The trucks were turned around and the material and equipment returned to Hassi R’ Mel.  For those of us who had invested more than a year on the project, the decision was obviously disappointing. 

The Rhourde Nouss plant would eventually be built, but by another contractor, and that story, is theirs to tell.

The Deputy Construction Manager and I spent the better part of one day, walking our client through the warehouses and garages, along the rows of backhoes, sidebooms, bulldozers, excavators and graders (their Caterpillar-yellow long dulled by constant desert exposure), trailers, generators and more.  In less than 24 hours we turned over millions of dollars worth of material and equipment with a simple handshake and two signatures.

As we were leaving my colleague asked me to stop just short of the gate.  He got out of the vehicle and walked through the gate and then waved me through.  

“What was that all about?” I asked.  “Now, if any questions or concerns come up about turning over the camp and equipment” he said, “I’ll simply say, you’ll have to ask Fuegner.  He was the last one to leave,”  

And so it goes.

We had now reached the point where the project was essentially closed out. All expatriate project staff had been reassigned and our Algerian employees were either transferred to other work on in-country projects if at all possible or terminated. All project equipment had been turned over to the client, project files had been secured and the leases on project accommodation cancelled.

I was to report in to our London Office on a short term assignment while longer term options were explored.  Leaving Algeria was proving to be bittersweet.  The past year had more than its share of professional frustrations and it would be good to put them behind me.  However, close friendships, forged over the past two years, would also be left behind and the likelihood of reconnecting with most of them seemed remote.  

But it was now time to leave…

On the morning of my scheduled departure, I received a cryptic phone call from a close friend at the US Embassy in Algiers.  He was not able to offer much in the way of information, but he was insistent that I keep a low profile at the airport and depart Algiers as scheduled.  I assured him I would and aside from keeping a bit more situationally aware than usual, my departure was uneventful - I was London bound.

Once safely airborne, the Air Algerie 737 banked steeply, and I was afforded what would most likely be my last look at Algiers and the northern coast of Africa.    Just over two hours later, we touched down at Heathrow, I collected what little luggage I had and joined the long que waiting outside for taxis.   

After 12 months of a steady diet of Algerian cous-cous and crème de legume, I longed to taste something even remotely “American” – not always an easy task in 1970’s London.   I had heard tales of a decent hamburger served at a new London restaurant and once onboard, I asked the taxi driver if he knew how to reach this relatively new eating establishment. 

“Excuse me, sir, do you know where the “Great American Disaster”is?” I asked. Without a moment’s hesitation, in true British fashion, he replied,  “500 miles in the desert, east of Tehran”!

It was only then that my friend’s cryptic phone call from the embassy earlier in the day became clear. It was April 24, 1980 – the day of the US’s failed rescue attempt of the US embassy hostages in Iran.