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.