15 March – transferring between cultures and climates

After a very emotional couple of weeks of parties and partings, I finally left Sudan yesterday on a 6.30am flight. I was driven to the airport by Griselda’s driver and was immediately pounced on by a porter who helped me carry my large amount of luggage into the airport building.  He asked where I was going and then delivered me to the correct window.  I checked in my luggage, including my viola and then sat in the very drab waiting area.  Various staff came at intervals to ensure I got to the right departure gate.  The departures lounge is old and shabby with no duty free area although there is a small cafe. 

What Sudan lacks in modern efficiency and comfort they certainly make up in individual care.  As I have found travelling elsewhere in Sudan, although all signs are in Arabic and people speak little English, there is almost always plenty of help available.  I do think they are missing a trick not having shops at the airport though, as it would be a great place to catch travellers who want to buy Sudanese gifts for relatives at home while waiting for their flights. 

I had booked a window seat on the plane and was very glad I did, as I kept bursting into tears each time I thought about my new Sudanese friends, left behind in Sudan.  I was able to turn away and look out of the window so at least I was saved from making a complete spectacle of myself.

I transferred planes at Amman.  The airport is newly built and very modern.  After Ed Damer and Atbara, and even after Khartoum Airport, it seemed like a different world.  However, the duty free prices were also in a different world and all thoughts of buying small gifts for my grandchildren were quickly dashed. The announcements were made in very good English as well as Arabic, which felt very strange too.

Then I took my second plane onward to London.  In spite of travelling at the most civilised time of day (leaving Amman at midday and arriving in the mid-afternoon UK time) it was the emptiest plane I have ever taken.  Most of the rear seats were vacant and even towards the front where I was sitting, I had an empty seat next to me.

Once I arrived at Heathrow I went to reclaim my luggage, only to find that my viola had been lost.  I went to report it.  The member of staff handed me a form to fill in, checked my luggage receipts for the number, and told me that she would check with Khartoum and Amman immediately.  When found, it would be put on the next flight to Heathrow and I could expect a phone call at 3pm tomorrow.  She asked for an address so it could be delivered to me.  She was very apologetic for the inconvenience, which (as I pointed out to her) was not her fault at all.  In the event, the phone call came at 8.30am today to tell me that my viola had been found at Amman.  What efficiency!  The word ‘inshallah’ (God willing) was not mentioned once in the whole conversation!  A timeframe was given without me having to ask.  What a contrast with Sudan where even the English teachers struggle with telling the time and the chances of getting a definite time for any event are very slim.

As I had no winter clothing with me, I had asked my daughter-in-law Amelia to come to the airport to fetch me bringing winter clothes.  I knew that she would be a couple of hours late as she was on a course during the day, so I settled down with my mobile in the warmly heated airport and called various friends to tell them that I was back.  It was fantastic to have my Blackberry fully functioning after so many months in which it has refused to provide any internet features at all. 

Amelia arrived with a bag of my own winter clothes and warm boots.  Then we took my luggage on the Underground to their new flat, which I hadn’t seen before.  It was raining slightly and the temperature was about 10^oC, which felt very cold indeed to me.  Everything looked so grey and drab after the bright sun of Sudan.  Even our fellow passengers' winter clothing was dark and dull.  It all looked very bleak.  Roll on the spring and summer which are so necessary here!

The flat is above a shop in Hammersmith, close to a parish church which I used to attend years ago.  It will be nice to see people there again after so long.  It feels so strange to have limitless hot and cold water and heating.  I soaked in a hot bath, which felt luxurious after my cold water showers in Sudan, and after the rather grim journey through London. 

Griselda has very kindly offered me her flat in London as a base, so I will be moving there in a few days and will be able to leave my son and his wife in peace.

What next? I don’t know.  I need to plan my next phase and will spend the next few weeks looking at what I am going to do.  ‘Inshallah’ it will be something similar to what I did in Sudan.  This is the last post in this blog, as I move on to a new phase.

9 March – El Carava

Certificate

Last Tuesday, my Sudanese band held a goodbye ‘celebration’ for me.  We had a lovely time, playing together in between speeches from various members of the band, with whispered translations from Hisham (the regular violinist) who’s English turned out to be a lot better than I had previously realised.  It is extraordinary that Hisham and I, have been playing together for several months, been very friendly, but used only the musical language!  At the end of the evening I was presented with a framed certificate.  Somebody videoed the whole occasion and I am hoping to be able to upload it on this blog once I have a copy.



The Sardine Tin
 

 

The next day I went on a much anticipated trip to a village in the north of River Nile State called El Carava.  I haven’t managed to find it on a map.  Like most habitable places in Sudan it is next to the Nile, but in a much rockier, hillier area than any I have been to before.  Sumaya, the teacher who had invited me, and her mother met me in Atbara and we took a very crowded bus which also contained numerous sacks and containers of provisions.  We sat on sacks of flour, large barrels of petrol and many other essentials.  This gave quite a flavour of how remote El Carava would be, which was confirmed when Sumaya told me that there are no shops apart from a pharmacy.  The journey took three hours in which we felt like sardines in a tin (the bare metal of the roof and sides also gave this impression).  Some passengers had to sit on the roof.  In spite of the discomfort of being unable to move, everyone was very cheerful, even the children.  The vast majority of passengers were members of the same tribe and were making the journey to attend the funeral of a young relative who had died of cancer.  I can only assume that she can’t have been a very close relative, they were such a happy bunch of people! The bus driver was a cousin of Sumaya’s.

We arrived and walked the remaining distance along the barely operational railway track, which is also used as the main street.  Traffic consists of the occasional boy or man on a donkey, or people walking.  The original intention had been to stay at the family home.  However it had been left empty for quite some time and it was decided that we would stay with cousins instead. 

The extended family owns quite a lot of farmland beside the Nile.  The household of Sumaya's cousins consists of a very old lady, two middle aged women and a live-in servant.  As far as I could tell there are no men in the household, but I may be wrong.  I have found many times that Islamic segregation of men and women in River Nile State is often so strict that you would never know that both sexes lived in the same house.  The village has no electricity and relies on individual private generators. The family’s generator is only used for a couple of hours after dark. 

On our first day, Sumaya took me down to the river.  On our way she introduced me to a local type of insect repellent – a crown of leaves which she swears works very effectively (pictured).  She also explained various local medicinal herbs, including a useful twig which makes an excellent toothbrush complete with toothpaste!

 

 

 

I slept very badly, partly due to the large number of rather noisy sleepers sleeping right next to me, but also because I had a very bad cold.  The next morning Sumaya, her mother and I walked to their own home, taking in another part of the village (pictured with the mosque in the foreground).  We tried unsuccessfully to buy some fish, although we were given some corn on the cob instead. 

 

Sumaya’s childhood home is a very impressive house on a hill with fantastic views.  It looks like an Arab style castle, hanging above the Nile in a way very reminiscent of castles along the Rhine.  We cooked a simple meal on charcoal.  It was fascinating to watch Sumaya’s minimalist approach due to the scarcity of charcoal.  I was expecting to cook the corn still in its leaves to preserve the moisture, but was told that this would use too much heat.  Instead we striped the corn and had it rather burnt and dry.

We walked back to the cousins’ house across the hillside.  On our way Sumaya pointed out a very ancient graveyard, barely visible among the stones.  It has been investigated by archaeologists, who found pottery buried with the dead.  Frustratingly, Sumaya was unable to tell me anything more about the site.

Sumaya decided we should return to Atbara in a more luxurious fashion the next day.  A local taxi driver took us across the desert  to the nearest road, half an hour’s drive across a moonscape of dark rocks (see picture).  We came to a small shelter next to the completely empty road.  Sumaya had hoped that we could flag down a bus.  However, there was a car parked there, and the driver was having a drink at the zeer (pottery water pots).  We were very lucky that he was wanting to take passengers.  As promised by Sumaya, the journey was far more comfortable and also a bit quicker.  The cost was S£30 (UK £6) each, compared to S£15 in the sardine tin. 

It was certainly an interesting trip, if an uncomfortable one.  It really made me appreciate the home comforts of Ed Damer, where Kate and I have been able to adjust the arrangements to suit our western tastes (sleeping privately for example).  Here we have reliable electricity, piped water (even if it is muddy and only works for a limited time a day), a large market and very cheap, fast and frequent public transport to Atbara where I can go to church and play in the band. 

What El Carava has, which Ed Damer lacks, are the spectacular views and amazing contrasts between the black rock desert and the beautiful riverside farms.  Sumaya has a brother who lives in London and visits with his family each year.  His wife has suggested that El Carava would be a wonderful tourist resort.  The river has sandy beaches and cataracts close by.  Unfortunately it wasn’t possible for me to visit these, but clearly they would be a draw.

22nd February – reflections as the end approaches

Break time at school

Things are winding down here as it is final exam time in schools.  The first and second year students have annual exams.  The third years have their final exams before leaving school, in some cases for university.  The term ends in mid-March.  This is only a rough date because the teachers and schools are incredibly vague about everything time-related, like everyone in Sudan.  My flight leaves on 15^th March, so at least I have a firm date, even if nobody else does.
I have said some goodbyes already.  There are more tearful goodbyes to come, which I am not looking forward to, but hopefully I have gained many lasting international friendships.  Many people are keen to visit Britain if they ever get the opportunity.  You never know, some of my new Sudanese friends may eventually manage it. 



Jamal at the Sufi shrine

On my last day at the technical school, Jamal, the English teacher, who is a Sufi Muslim, decided to take me to the local, very historical, Sufi shrine called Sheikh El Maizoo Jelal Adeen.  The shrine is the tomb of a holy man who founded Ed Damer 700 years ago.  I have been told many times that it is a major place of pilgrimage for Sufis, although I have been unable to find a reference on the internet.  I have met local people who claim descent from him.  My visit was a very moving occasion.  We went into the shrine itself, where my friend’s fellow worshippers asked me what I would like to pray for.  As a Christian I decided it would be a wonderful opportunity to pray for a breaking of barriers and peace between Christians and Muslims.  We prayed together for this.  I saw tears in the eyes of the Sheikh (Sufi leader).  It was clearly something he also wishes for.

Now that I have more free time, I am able to accept the various offers of trips which haven’t been possible up until now.  This Saturday Kate and I are invited to visit another local Sufi Sheikh at his village, in the company of the same English teacher.

Next week is reserved for practical things.  I return to Khartoum for a few days to organise my exit visa and leave some of my luggage at the SVP flat.  While I am there I will give feedback to the Ministry of Education on my teaching experiences.

When I come back to Ed Damer I have been invited by an English teacher from another school to stay for a few days at her family’s village.  According to her description it is unusual in being built on a hill.  There are very few hills in this part of Sudan.  The Nile flooded a few years ago completely devastating the village, hence the sensible idea to rebuild on high ground.  As the north of Sudan is largely desert, Sudanese homes are not designed to withstand water.  They just collapse back into the mud they were built from.

There are various places I intended to visit as a tourist, but I have been too busy to do so.  I am unlikely to be able to go now as I am counting the pennies.  These will have to wait for another opportunity.  Places such as Karima, Suakin Island and Kassala are very enticing and fellow volunteers who have visited thoroughly recommend them. 

Quite apart from the largely untrodden tourist route, Sudan is a wonderful country and well worth visiting for a different, much simpler perspective on life. 

One of the most impressive qualities is the way that families support each other.  This can lead to a very claustrophobic atmosphere, but also means that when in need, people can rely on practical help; this is literally vital in a country without Social Security where so many live in poverty.  In spite of so much poverty, there are very few beggars, so you know that if somebody is begging they are in very serious need, for whatever reason.

Another quality is that Sudan is a deeply religious country whether Muslim or Christian.  At times, this can be difficult, particularly when individuals take a hard line and build barriers (hence my prayer at the Sufi shrine).  At its best, I have found many common values. 

From the point of view of a foreigner, one of the things which has made visiting Sudan very easy is that Sudanese people take hospitality extremely seriously.  They smile and laugh extremely easily.  It is impossible to go out without people greeting you and wanting to have a conversation, even if their English is very limited.  I have sometimes had my fare paid on the bus or found that the tea lady refuses payment either because a passer-by has paid for me, or because she simply wants to be hospitable.  You are unlikely to be overcharged in the souk (at least outside Khartoum), as I have discovered when buying groceries and struggling to bargain.  In fact once the price is agreed the stall holders have a tendency to keep adding additional, unpaid-for items to my bag, probably in pity for my poor bargaining skills. 

Coming to Sudan has been a very good experience, to be highly recommended.  I will miss the country and its people.

14th February – Endearing and sometimes frustrating Sudanese tendencies

Before I came to Sudan, I was fortunate to have a chance to learn a few useful Sudanese Arabic phrases.  Possibly due to advancing age and brain cell deterioration, in spite of my best efforts and because of limited time, my progress since then has been definitely slow although I have made some progress.  Those original phrases have stood me in very good stead however.  They are the cause of great admiration and astonishment on a daily basis, even when it is such ubiquitous phrases as ‘Salaam Alekum’ (literally ‘Peace be with you’) which is the regular polite thing to say when meeting anyone.  Faces light up and everyone in very enthusiastic tone says ‘Wa Alekum A Salaam’, (‘and peace be with you too’) the corresponding phrase.  There are then often muttered conversations in which the words ‘Khawajia’ (Westerner), ‘Arabi’ (Arabic) and ‘tamaam’ (very good) feature hugely.  It doesn’t take much.  I should make it clear that Khawajia is not a racist term. 

There was one occasion when I needed to buy a mobile phone top up card (known locally as ‘Sudani scratch’).  I went to a small roadside stall and said ‘Fee (do you have) Sudani scratch?’  It was very comical to watch the stall holder almost collapse in his astonishment.  Every time I pass his stall now, he waves to me with great joy.

Walking down the street, people wave out of their cars and often shout out ‘Khawajia!’ at the tops of their voices.  Admittedly Kate and I are the only westerners for a very long distance, but even so, where else would this happen?  I think the nearest London equivalent would be if a unicorn was spotted walking down Oxford Street.

Another Sudanese (and I think more generally African) tendency is a complete bewilderment about the notion of time.  I have come across a saying ‘The Swiss make watches, the Africans make time’.  In true British fashion, even after six months here, I still catch myself asking teachers, ‘what time is the second period?’ only to be faced with long discussions between teachers who try unsuccessfully to work it out. 

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday and I asked somebody what time Mass was.  He claimed it was at 5pm.  I arrived at 5pm and waited all by myself for a long time.  I then called the parish priest who said it started at 6pm.  I came back at 6pm.  Mass started at 6.45.  Afterwards I spoke to my original informant who grinned widely and said, ‘This is Sudanese time.  Here everyone knows that if you say 5pm it means come at 7pm’.  As a ‘khawajia’ I find it hard to separate myself from my watch.  If I had come two hours late, I would have been having palpitations.

By far and away the most difficult aspect of lack of time awareness for me is caused by the many demands on my time and the lack of time awareness from those around me.  I lead quite a busy life, teaching every day and also playing music a couple of evenings a week.  When I am not at work or out playing, I am working on future lessons for my students, which I find a very time-consuming activity.  I also need to do the practical things such as cooking and washing.  This contrasts with the Sudanese pattern outside work which consists of lots of social calling and sitting (or more usually lying down) on people’s beds for hours.  I don’t want to give the impression that the Sudanese do not work because that is certainly not true.  Many people I know have more than one job to make ends meet.  However, they have a definite divide between work and leisure and (as described) time is very flexible indeed.  Leisure means lying down, ‘taking your rest’, not going out to play music for the vast majority of people.

Things came to a head last week when several teachers from private schools separately invited me to ‘visit’ their schools.  There were three schools in all.  I agreed to visit but explained that I was very busy and would not be able to come more than once as I had a lot of lesson planning to do at home.  ‘Yes, yes’, they said.  But in spite of my warning as soon as I arrived they were pressing me to teach, unprepared, and with no idea of student levels, classes I had no intention of continuing with.  I spent the week getting more and more stressed, aware that I was not able to give the necessary thought to the lesson plans for my existing classes.  I have now very firmly said to all three of these teachers that I am not returning to their schools.

I ask, why did this all happen so near the end of the school year?  I suspect the answer is the same unhurried approach that affects everyone here.  The teachers finally looked at their calendars (if such things exist here – I haven’t seen any) and realised that time was marching on.  Some schools have already finished teaching ahead of exams.  Perhaps that was what flagged it up to them. 

I can remember a few years ago, when a ‘time and motion’ expert came to an office where I was working and dissected all our working schedules to make sure we were working at optimal efficiency.  I wonder what would happen if a similar ‘time and motion’ expert came to Sudan.

26th January – the band plays again

Last week Ali, the director of the Sudanese band I play with, said that we would be playing at a wedding this Saturday.  He went on to say something about an American, which I didn’t understand.  He asked me to arrive at our rehearsal room at 9am.  I have put this into full sentences, but in fact Ali and I have a massive language barrier which is broken almost entirely by music.  Bear in mind that the last time he told me about a band engagement, he casually said we were going to a ‘dance’ which turned out to be a full-on wedding dance.  On that occasion, there was no notice and I had turned up expecting our normal rehearsal.

 

As a result, this morning I dressed in my wedding best in case it really was a wedding, but was unsure of what to expect in reality.  I arrived at 9.30, knowing that 9am was too prompt for Sudanese people.  I found Sammy, a professional Sudanese violinist, teaching a Sudanese tune to the electric pianist so I joined the lesson.  I am gradually acquiring a repertoire of popular Sudanese tunes, and am getting better at remembering them from one rehearsal to the next, which is a relief to me, as I am often able to join in reasonably confidently now.  There is still a vast amount to learn though.

At 11am the rest of the band appeared and we all piled into Mohammed 's bus.  We stopped en route for ‘breakfast’ which the men ate in a cafe, while the women sat in the bus to eat (men and women almost always eat separately here).  Afterwards we drove to a large building which turned out to be a centre for disabled people.  We were welcomed by two gentlemen who spoke very good English.  They told us that Ali teaches the children music there.  The mystery of Ali’s unintelligible comment about an American was also solved: we were introduced to an American who is based with a charity in Juba (the capital of South Sudan) and is visiting the centre. 

We sat in a veranda facing rows of children and teenagers who clearly had learning difficulties of various kinds.  There were many women helpers who watched over them and were constantly on the look-out, ready to help them in one way or another.  It was lovely to watch children and helpers interact.  As we played, our audience came into the space in front of us, clicking their fingers in Sudanese style and beaming with pleasure.  As the concert progressed, this happened more and more.  Then towards the end, members of the band started to get up and circulate among the children, playing as they went.  It was a lovely experience, and much more fun than a wedding.  As an ex-special needs administrator, I had wondered about provision for children with serious special needs in Sudan.  Now I know that, at least in the Atbara area, it is well taken care of.
 

On the way back, the bus dropped off a lot of the instruments at Ali's house.  Up until then I hadn't realised that many band-members don't own their own instruments and rely on being able to borrow.  As mentioned in a previous blog post, the instruments are all in a very battered state.  Jonathan tells me that some of the keys on his borrowed saxophone need elastic bands to make them playable.  Reeds are made to last for many months, and sometimes repaired.  I have seen a violin g-string, which had been knotted where it had broken previously.  The nearest musical supply shop is in Khartoum, four hours away, which causes 'make do and mend' to be an essential skill for musicians here, even if they have the money.

 

The photos in this post are from one of our rehearsals, not today's event.



 

11th January – thoughts on schools

Since coming back to Ed Damer after the Eid break, I have had a packed timetable.  I go to several schools, both boys and girls and have been very struck by the contrasts between them.

Contrary to Western preconceptions, even though this is a strongly Islamic area, the standards in the two girls’ schools are very much higher than in the boys’ schools and the students are much more ambitious.  The teachers encourage their aspirations and are keen to help.  One school has had an English Society for extra conversation for several years and tries to make the curriculum as interesting as possible.  The other school is moving in the same direction.  The girls at both these schools are very forthright about their desire to go to university and have a career.  They consider speaking English to be an important aspect of this.  If they see me outside class, they ‘pounce’ so they can get a bit of extra English practice.

By contrast, boys’ schools tend to lack motivation.  The classes are dull and the students noticeably become less interested as they go through school.  In one school I was told that part of the problem is that many of the boys come from poor families and have to work after school every day.  In another school (where after-school work is less of a problem) the situation is similar, so this is not the whole picture.  By the last year, some boys have become quite oppositional. I think a lot of the problem is a teaching method that does not have any ‘kinaesthetic’ aspects.  The boys are made to sit for hours in the same overcrowded classroom, while the teacher drones on, reading without understanding from very boring textbooks (see my last blog post).  In the classes where I get them to do physical activities (for example, Simon Says) and catching a ball to answer a question, the boys cheer up and really start to participate.  When I have suggested starting an English club however, the teachers have claimed a lack of time.  I think this shows an attitude from the teachers, which bears a lot of the responsibility for the low morale of the boys.

Having come to this very negative opinion of Sudanese boys' school, I was invited to a boys' technical school.  I arrived with very low expectations.  Technical schools are at the bottom of the heap educationally as the boys all failed their end of basic school exams (the equivalent of the old ‘11 plus’ in the UK).  They have an academic timetable but also construction skills, carpentry, metal work etc.  Technical schools receive less funding from the Ministry of Education.  The expectation is that the boys will go into trades rather than university.  People are generally very dismissive both of the boys and of the technical schools.  However, at this particular school I found an English teacher who is very charismatic and is clearly a favourite with his pupils.  He uses a comic approach, and often interacts with the boys rather than just talking ‘at’ them.  He is very sensitive to whether they understand or not, and goes to great lengths to help them.  What a difference that makes!  The boys do have a lower level of English than at my girls’ schools, but really try hard.  Last week, they came to find me when they were having a building lesson, so I could tell them the names of their equipment in English.  To me, this shows motivation.  The teacher proudly told me that for the last four years, even if the boys failed their other academic subjects, they passed English.

As an SVP volunteer, my task is to make changes to the way English is taught in Sudan.  It is a massive task but it is great to see that it is possible.

Curse of the SPINE Books

English is taught in Sudan using the world’s most boring textbook, entitled SPINE.  It was seemingly produced to put the next generation off English and ensure that they will not have any speaking skills.  Teachers are expected to rush through the chapters within times set by ‘supervisors’ (school inspectors) from the Ministry of Education, regardless of whether the students have understood anything or not.  When I queried this with one of these supervisors, he looked at me with total lack of comprehension, as though actually 'learning English' was not an aim at all.  At the end of each term exams are set which basically test students’ memory of SPINE rather than expecting them to use the English language.  There is no oral section to the exams. 

The teaching method is basically ‘talk and chalk’.  Lessons are taught in bare classrooms, sitting at ancient broken desks on equally broken chairs, sometimes two pupils to a chair.  The walls are bare, with no displays of student work.  Pupils sit for many hours on the same uncomfortable seats as the schools are not organised by subject, but by year group.  There are no power points in the classrooms so that it is not possible to use any electronic teaching aids. Classes are generally large, from 40-70 in a class. 

Most of the teachers are keen to do more interesting things with their students and are extremely frustrated by the restrictions caused by the large classes, lack of resources and the necessity to stick to the rigid timetable imposed from on high.  Due to the bad economic situation in Sudan, many teachers have to work at other jobs after they leave school each day, which also makes it difficult for them to find time outside the school day to help their students. 

However, in spite of all this, school students here smile all the time and seem genuinely happy.  The teachers also seem similarly cheerful and very welcoming to me.  How do they do it?  It is one of the mysteries of the universe.

23rd December – Ed Damer Archaeological Museum

On my way between the Ed Damer schools and home I pass an archaeology museum, part of the local university archaeology department, which I have wanted to visit, but never seen open. 

Today I arrived at my girls’ school in Ed Damer to find that they were taking exams and there would be no English lessons.  I decided to go back home.  On my way home, as I passed by the museum, I saw a man come out of the gate to the archaeology department.  I seized my chance and asked with gestures if I could visit the museum.  He beckoned me inside to an office where I sat and waited.  After a while a woman who spoke some English came and explained that the museum was being cleaned but would be open very soon.  We talked about Sudanese archaeological sites for a while.  Then we went into the museum, where she acted as guide.  Like most museums in Khartoum, there is no entrance fee.

Neolithic bowl
 

The museum is small, consisting of two rooms, although apparently there are plans for a larger museum.  The museum turned out to be very well organised by chronological age from the Neolithic to early Christian.  Prehistory in Sudan is a great deal earlier than in Europe.  One only has to remember that Stonehenge (built in Britain’s Neolithic/early Bronze ages) was contemporary with Ancient Egypt to get an idea of this.  The museum contains artifacts from the whole of Sudan rather than the local area. 




Napatan incense burner

Pots from the Egyptian New Kingdom era

Meroitic lion (similar to some I saw at the Royal City)

I was told that the main visitors to the museum are school groups and tourists.  Tourists?  What tourists?  I think that, like statements I hear about passenger trains and postal services, this is a figment of a wished-for Sudan, rather than the reality.  This is a great shame as there is so much to see, whether it is camel markets, the River Nile in its unspoilt loveliness, deserts, and of course, the wonderful archaeological sites.  Not to mention meeting the people themselves, who are the soul of hospitality.

Christian tomb inscription (a very moving prayer which is given in translation below).

 

 

11th December – music making in Atbora

I have always played music and knew that it was the thing I would miss most in Sudan if I didn’t bring an instrument with me.  A friend in the UK kindly lent me an instrument ‘that didn’t matter’ in case of problems with climate, air cargo damage or any other problems in Sudan.  I brought some solo viola music with me because I thought it unlikely that I would find anyone to play with.  However, I also had a small hope that I might find people who could teach me Sudanese music.  Up until three weeks ago, this seemed to be a wish too far.  Then Jonathan, a fellow volunteer based in Atbara, told me about a local band he has joined.  Jonathan is a keen amateur jazz player.

Sudanese music is pentatonic-based and has an Arabic flavour, although it is definitely its own genre.  There is usually a solo singer, male or female.  The songs (like many folk songs around the world) are generally about unhappy love.  Sudanese bands tend to consist of an assortment of western instruments, usually rather battered and broken looking.  In the Atbara band there are saxophones, electric keyboards, electric guitars, accordions, violins, a flute, clarinet and several drums.  Now they have a viola too.  The band uses the sol fa system which is vaguely familiar for me, but worse for Jonathan who hasn’t experienced it before as it isn’t used in the US.

Only a few members of the band speak any English at all, but music is the most international language of all, so we get on fine without a common spoken language.  The players are local people including rickshaw drivers, a bus driver and a tea lady.  We have two singers, both excellent.  I frequently want to stop just to listen to them.  The male singer is a very dignified looking elderly man who wears prayer cap and jelabia (traditional white tunic).  He looks so incongruous in the middle of the band, who are mainly quite young.  The female singer is a young woman. 

We play by ear on the whole although the band leader (Ali) teaches them to use standard notation.  Playing by ear is easy for the rest of the band, who have grown up listening to Sudanese folk music, but very difficult for me as the music is still very foreign to me.  Sometimes Ali asks me to play something European for the band to improvise an accompaniment to.  Trial and error has shown me that British folk music works best.  The most successful so far has been the Foggy Foggy Dew.  They are all very good at improvising.

The band meets three times a week, although I am only able to attend twice a week.  Yesterday evening I arrived early and there were only a few other players there.  We started to play.  Then the band leader arrived.  He told me that we were going somewhere else ‘to a dance’.  We all packed up and got into Mohammed (a saxophonist)’s bus.  Some of the band sang and played the drums on our way.  When we arrived, we found a stage and many seats for an audience.  It turned out that the ‘dance’ was in fact a wedding celebration.  We were shown to a room where we sat and watched Tom and Jerry on TV for a while.  Then we went on stage. 

To my horror as a complete Sudanese-music-novice, everyone had a microphone right beside their instrument so there was no chance of sinking into anonymity when things got difficult.  I was very worried that I would let the band down badly.  In fact I managed to keep reasonably well in with the band and made no glaring mistakes, although plenty of minor ‘coverable’ ones. 

As I have seen on previous similar occasions when I was in the audience, the men sat on one side of the stage, the women on the other.  The men got up and came dancing towards our singer and stood swaying and clicking their fingers at him as he sang.  Later the women did the same. Towards the end, both men and women were on the floor together.  They seemed very happy with the band’s performance.

Afterwards, Mohammed gave me a bus ride all the way to my front door in Ed Damer.  He lives locally to me, so he does this regularly after rehearsals too.  It was particularly welcome on this occasion as it was so late, I was exhausted and I had an early start for work in the morning.

5th December – possible breakthrough in a hard case

My experience so far in both my boys schools is that the boys are very bored by the uninspiring curriculum.  The teachers are very strict and make use of the rod even for minor offences such as lack of homework.  In both my schools and Kate’s, the boys schools employ ex-soldiers whose specific role is to inflict physical punishment – hardly a positive inducement to study. 

I think the negativity of the school approach is responsible for the low standards and dislike of studying.  This is coupled with the lack of interesting resources and large classes.  It is common for the boys to be unable to put two words together after six years of learning English. 

Last week was my first week in front of a class in one of these schools and it was very difficult, particularly with the oldest boys.  In the final year class a tall boy (really a young man) sitting at the back simply refused to participate in my group activity.  He said, ‘Arabic not English’, and that was that!  I said, ‘You can like Arabic AND English too,’ but to no avail.  Imagine my surprise yesterday when during the breakfast break he and a group of his friends came up to me.  He pointed at me and said, ‘Are you crazy?’  I said, ‘Yes!’  He was clearly taken by surprise by my answer.  He then pointed at my slightly hairy chin and said, ‘Ugly’.  Then he pointed at his new beard and said, ‘Beautiful’ and pointed at me and said, ‘Ugly’ again.  I was laughing by this stage.  I pointed at him and said ‘Handsome for men, beautiful for women.’  The ice was completely broken and we shook hands. 

I think he must have spent the entire week working out rude things to say to me in English.  Yes, he was doing his best to be insulting, but at least he had spent that time and effort.  I was delighted.  I think it was also great that his friends were listening.  Hopefully they will all relax and start to enjoy learning English now, which is what I am trying to achieve.  This has been my greatest success so far and I feel like celebrating.

28th November - water in Sudan

I see from the news and from a friend’s email that England is suffering a deluge at the moment.  By contrast, living in a desert country, rain is exceedingly rare here.  The whole of the northern part of the country relies on river water which has had a long journey from the south.

Sudanese plumbing systems are frequently problematic.  Even at the SVP flat in Khartoum, the water sometimes cuts off without notice, usually for a few hours, but sometimes for several days at a time.  Opinions vary as to whether this is due to the owner of the building not paying the water bill, or a water pressure problem (the flat is on the third floor).  Either way, sudden absence of water comes as a shock for volunteers newly arrived in an extremely hot country, who have often had no experience of dealing with water problems before. 

Here is Ed Damer, although water is on tap, it only works for a limited time each day and sometimes not at all.  Like every other home I have visited in the area, our home caters for this by having a large water butt and a bucket next to the toilet and shower.  It is necessary to keep a constant eye on the water level in the water butt and rush to replenish it whenever possible.  ‘Showers’ are taken by pouring water from the bucket over ourselves.  Even when the mains water is working, the water pressure is so weak that it is unusual for the ‘official’ shower to work. 

Water quality is another issue.  The water quality in Khartoum is reasonable because it goes through a water purification process and is chlorinated. However, in streets throughout the country there are ‘zeer’ (large traditional earthenware pots) for passers-by to help themselves from, using a communal mug which is never washed.  The zeer are often uncovered so that dirt can fall in.  They are definitely worth avoiding.

In Ed Damer, muddy water comes directly from the Nile and is not purified in any way.  When I first arrived I made the mistake of trying to drink the same water as the locals and was very unwell the next day.  The same thing has happened to Kate.  We now stick to bottled water.  I have been told that a water purification plant is being built.  Roll on that day.  Hopefully it will solve the water pressure problem too, although that may be a dream too far.

18th November - communication in the paperless office

A few years ago I worked in a local authority education department.  I can vouch for the vast amount of official paperwork, phone calls and emails necessary in communicating with local schools and other government departments.  I should emphasise that I am not referring to unnecessary ‘paper-pushing’ but really essential communication. 

By contrast, here in Sudan, there is no functioning postal system, so letters are redundant.  There are also no landlines.  The local ministries are poorly funded and cannot afford many computers or even email access for their employees.  Mobile phones are therefore the only long-distance means of communication.  On my visits to the ministry, I see very little paper to the point where the wastepaper basket is invariably empty.  On the face of it, this is wonderful.  The reality is somewhat different.

How do officials manage?  By long-distance transport across Sudan it seems, taking advantage of local relatives’ homes to stay overnight.  Below I give an account of my experience of the last few days:

The local official at the Ministry of Education, Esam has been wonderful since I returned to Ed Damer two weeks ago.  He (like every other official I have met including the Minister for Education herself) is very enthusiastic about the programme and really wants to help to improve Sudanese children’s spoken English.  Nobody could fault their intentions. 

Esam organised a timetable for me to visit schools across River Nile State with the aim of broadcasting my help as far as possible.  I was delighted about this.  He also organised transport to take me to the more far-flung areas.  Additionally, he has phoned me regularly to make sure that I am alright, which is very thoughtful of him. 

On Saturday I had a call from Rami (the SVP employee) to let me know that he and an official from the central Ministry of Education called Najmaldin were on their way to see Kate and me and would arrive that evening.  This was completely out of the blue.  When they arrived, Najmaldin told me that he had come to check my timetable, check our accommodation and to organise bank accounts for Kate and me.  This entailed a four hour car drive each way from Khartoum to Ed Damer!  Both he and Rami had relatives in the area and would be able to stay the night quite easily.  Najmaldin later told us that this is usual for him.  He makes trips all over Sudan as a regular part of his work.  Please bear in mind that Sudan is a huge country.

I told Najmaldin that I already had a timetable and he asked to see it.  Once he had read it he said that he was not happy that I would be travelling all over the state and said that I should teach in two schools only.  By the time he and Rami left, I was stewing with rage.  It seemed to me that after a very inactive first term, I should not be messing around with revising timetables.  I somehow managed to stay outwardly calm and gave my point of view without physically attacking him.

He said that he would be going to the ministry the next day (Sunday) to discuss the timetable with the local Director of Education.  I was also due at the ministry that morning to start the timetable created by Esam.  Who would win?  Would I be able to start teaching as planned, or would I be stuck again, waiting for ministry officials to get their act together?  My fellow-volunteer was also in a quandary, not knowing what to do and with very mixed messages as to whether she should even go to the ministry or not.

On Sunday morning, still fuming, I rushed to the ministry intending to make sure my views were taken into account.  Esam listened to me and suggested that we change the timetable for that day to a closer school so that I could attend the meeting at 12 noon.  It seemed to me very strange that we could change schools with no notice as it would be very inconvenient for the schools.  It turned out that there had been no communication between ministry and schools and we would just turn up!  Another instance of lack of planning and communication. 

I rushed from the school to the ministry in time for the meeting and then waited and waited.  Eventually Najmaldin came into the room, having had the meeting without either our or Esam’s involvement.  He announced that there would be a new timetable for four schools each in the Ed Damer and Atbara areas!  Esam hand-wrote timetables for us at once ready to start work the next day.  These were agreed and he then photocopied a copy each.  All this was done without consulting the schools in question! 

The next morning Kate and I went to our respective Atbara schools, stopping at the Atbara Directorate of Education en route.  It turned out that the Head of the Directorate had not been informed about us either and needed to give ‘permission’.  I asked Esam what would have happened if she said ‘no’.  He replied that the ministry was in charge and had the final say!

Kate and I then attended our two schools in Atbara.  The headteachers were clearly well used to sudden announcements of plans from ‘higher up’ as they were remarkably unfazed by a sudden need to call all English teachers together in school-time, which must have considerably upset the schools’ own lesson planning. 

After the teaching day, a taxi was sent to take us back to the ministry due to a sudden urgent need to see us both again before tomorrow.  We arrived to be told that they wanted to change the timetable again to schools in Ed Damer only, as the ministry car had broken down!  I immediately said (very firmly) that this would be a very bad idea as we had made plans with our Atbara schools.  It would be very disappointing for both staff and pupils.  I said that Kate and I were quite capable of finding our own ways to the schools by public transport as I had already travelled to Atbara once by myself and found it an easy journey.  After some discussion it was agreed to stick to the timetable. 
Najmaldin has now returned to Khartoum.  He did not organise the bank accounts for us.  Esam tells me that he has been asked to do so instead.  I ask: could this not all have been left to Esam in the first place? 

Grumble over.  Hopefully things will become calmer now and we will be able to get on and actually help the schools as intended.  I had been warned before I came to Sudan that dealing with the ministries could be very frustrating.  However, I had not realised that it would take this particular form. 

9th November – a place to call our own

Our own front door

After two and a half months of living out of suitcases and a very difficult accommodation situation when I was in Ed Damer last term, I am finally in a beautiful, comfortable, permanent home.  Griselda has very generously allowed me and my fellow volunteer Kate to use her second home in Ed Damer for the rest of our stay.  I arrived yesterday, ahead of Kate, whose paperwork is still being processed.  It felt wonderful to unpack. 

It is a traditional Sudanese apartment, similar to the village homes where I have stayed as a guest.  As in the villages it is part of a larger family compound, home to Griselda’s husband’s relatives.  The family consists of three generations, from grandmother to three young children ranging from 2 months old to about 4 years old.  They spent yesterday and today feeding me up.  In true Sudanese fashion, they are completely perplexed that I would want to have my own sleeping space.  Yesterday evening they asked me several times, ‘aren’t you scared to sleep on your own?’ clearly unable to believe my answer.

Kate and I have one bedroom, with a kitchen area and a shower/toilet room leading off it.  There is also a separate sitting room.  Both rooms lead off a large veranda, where I slept last night with great contentment. 

The apartment is a short walk from the local grocers’ shop (which sells many necessities but not fresh food) and a slightly longer walk from the area where all the town schools are situated.  To my joy, there is also a small archaeological museum close by which I will investigate as soon as possible.

I was introduced to the local greengrocer this morning, who comes every Friday and Saturday.  He comes to the door using a donkey and cart and sells a good range of vegetables and fruit, all very fresh.  As Kate and I will probably be working on Friday mornings, we will have to buy from him on Saturdays.  There is also a ‘women’s’ souq on Saturdays, so we will be able to take our pick.  Saturdays are definitely shopping day.

This evening I went out shortly before dusk to look around the area.  I followed the railway track which goes through the town.  Some boys were playing there who were very keen to be photographed.  I also saw the Coptic church and was invited in by some of the congregation.  I was told that this week is the feast of St George, which lasts for several days.  I talked to a family who have come all the way from Brighton where their father is a taxi driver to join the celebrations. 

 

5th and 6th November – Debates in Khartoum

My volunteer colleagues from El Obeid, Tim and Christine, have come back to Khartoum to help their state’s debating team in the national championships.  I decided to tag along and watch.  The debates are funded by Petronas, a major petrol company in Sudan in collaboration with the Ministry of Education and are aimed at secondary age children.  I watched several teams compete before we broke for breakfast. 

During the break a woman came to introduce herself to me.  She told me her name is Sumayah and she is a teacher from Atbara in River Nile State, just across the river from Ed Damer.  When I told her that I taught in Ed Damer, she knew who I was at once.  Apparently the local Ministry of Education department had told her about me but not passed on contact details.  If I had been put in touch I would have been able to help train the team for the debate.  To make up for this, we agreed that I would come back to the student accommodation and do some last minute coaching. 

There are three students, two aged 16 and one aged 14.  They have been given three topics to debate on succeeding days.  Their first session was on Tuesday on the subject of corporal punishment.  They did very well indeed.  Afterwards many people came to congratulate them which I hope will give them a confidence boost for Wednesday and Thursday.  If they make the finals, they will be given more topics. 

Sumayah’s students are from a school in Atbara which has opportunities for English Conversation as an extra-curricular subject (exactly what we SVP volunteers are supposed to be promoting).  I am very glad to have made contact with her.

Sumayah and I have agreed to stay in contact once we have returned for the new term.  She has also offered to teach me Arabic.  Together with the new accommodation and having a fellow volunteer, I think the new term will be very different from my experience of Ed Damer so far.

Teenage fashion statement
 

I was amused when we went back to the student housing when the girls immediately changed out of uniform.  They had clearly pulled out all the stops for their trip to the big city and brought their most fashionable clothes, as imported from Saudi Arabia.  When they were told that they had to wear school uniform for the debates, there was an audible groan from all three of them!  At last I see something in common between Sudanese and UK teenagers.

Tomorrow is the last session I will be able to attend as I go back to Ed Damer on Thursday.