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| Our courtyard |
A home
away from home
Our
home in Ed Damer is a simple, yet comfortable sanctuary surrounded by mud brick
walls, with a wide verandah and white-washed arches that lend a certain colonial
elegance.
A hardy tree and several henna bushes also add
an unexpected splash of green to the otherwise bare courtyard.
There
is one tap in the bathroom, but water is only switched on at certain times of
the day, so to ensure we have enough to keep us going, we fill a large barrel
for use throughout the day.
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| Tap water...after boiling |
These
days I use a bucket for almost everything
- from showering, to flushing, laundry and washing up.
The
water supply is pumped directly from the Nile and is brown in colour, with a
slight muddy consistency, even when boiled.
The locals say it’s safe to drink,
but I’m not too keen to risk it.
Ed
Damer itself is a biggish town with a village feel that on the surface seems rather
unremarkable.
Wide
dusty streets comprise of a series of low-level interconnected mud-brick houses
distinguished by the brightly coloured metal gates so typical in Sudan.
There
is little in the way of restaurants, cafes or entertainment. Even the
omnipresent tea ladies so common in Khartoum are hard to come by.
Railway
tracks cut through the centre of town, with a modest brick
structure marking the station. The bustling rail industry during British
colonial has long since faded and passenger services no longer operate.
The
rhythm of life here beats at a constant and unhurried beat, driven by the ties
of family, duty and faith.
Nights
are mostly quiet and uneventful here, except for the distinctive braying of
donkeys.
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| My bed, with improvised net |
I sleep outside on the verandah under my
mosquito net – and although it’s winter in Sudan at the moment, you’d hardly
know it.
As
I watch the stars just before falling asleep, I sometimes get the feeling I’ve
fallen off the edge of the world.
Our
neighbor and alarm clock every morning is the local Suhaili mosque next door, which
sounds the morning call to prayer at about 4.30am each day.
Ed Damer sits on the Nile and this is undoubtedly the town's jewel and lifeblood, with the famed river's clear blue waters flowing
through fertile farmlands on its way north to Cairo.
There
is something majestical about watching the sunlight reflect off its glimmering
surface as men in white jalabiyas walk
stroll along its banks with donkeys in tow.
When cultures collide
I’m
yet to start teaching as it has been a holiday since my arrival and my
timetable arrangements are also still being decided.
Rebecca
has introduced me to some of the local English teachers at a nearby girls’ boarding
school.
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| Local ladies |
They
are enthusiastic and welcoming, although their language abilities are limited.
I
find myself experiencing a collision of worlds when a discussion begins about polygamy.
For me the idea is unthinkable, but the women here are pragmatic.
As
the head of the English department explains, while ladies certainly don’t like
sharing their husbands, under Islam men are permitted up to four wives and if
their husband decides to take another woman as his wife it is their duty to
accept it.
Later
the conversation turns to life in Ed Damer. I ask one of the young ladies about
a camel market I have heard about it, and her eyes widen in surprise.
Women
aren’t allowed, she explains, it’s only for men. I ask if I can go if I am
accompanied by a local man, but she says even that is not permitted.
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| Girls' boarding school |
In
fact I soon discover that women are not allowed at any of the markets – with the
exception of the ladies souk on
Saturday.
If
women need something during the week they must send their husband or a male
relative to fetch it.
This
seems ridiculous given that women in Sudanese households manage all
of the cooking and domestic chores.
I can't imagine Sudanese men have a particular love of grocery
shopping either.
The
teacher also tells me that as a young, unmarried woman she never goes to the souk
herself, sending instead her mother or sister in her place - even on Saturdays.
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| Market handicrafts |
She
recommends I do the same myself, although I’m not sure of how the logistics of
that would work given that my mother isn't exactly living in the same neighbourhood.
When
I ask the young lady why she doesn’t go to the market to get the things she
needs herself … she shrugs and says that’s the way it is.
I bite my tongue at the time….but I still can’t completely shake off my feeling
of annoyance at what feels like an imposed restriction on women from going
about what is essentially a normal daily routine.
My
Sudanese family
Fadia
and her family have taken us under their wing since our arrival in Ed Damer and
have been very helpful in settling us into our new home.
Their
house opens out onto a lovely green courtyard and has a comfortable, lived-in
feel.
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| The Nile in all its loveliness |
Fadia's children Sheza and Ali also speak English and have been very welcoming. I feel
as though I have already started to consider them my Sudanese family.
They invited us for lunch at their home on the weekend, and we passed a lovely afternoon
that turned into evening as we
sat chatting, drinking iced karkade (a sweet drink made from hibiscus flowers) and
milk tea.
After
lunch we set out for a short walk through the neighbouring farmland to the
banks of the Nile. Along the way we bump into some local brick builders, who oblige
by posing for a photo.
We
reach the Nile just as the sun is setting. It’s a beautiful site as the orange
and pink hues converge and sink below the horizon.
The
moon is nothing more than a thin sliver and Fadia clasps her hands
in front of her sends a short prayer into the sky, a special hadith said at this time of year to
mark Al-Hijra (the Islamic New Year).
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| Local brick workers |
When
we return Griselda recites a limerick verse she composed for me while we were
out concerning my encounters with the vagaries of Sudanese bureaucracy.
It’s the first time someone
has written a limerick for me and I’m quite chuffed to say the least.
The
following day we picnic on the banks of the Nile a short distance from home.
I
play marbles and Scrabble in probably the first time since high school and somehow manage
to fail convincingly at both.
Fadia
also takes us to the ladies souk to
shop for weekly supplies. It’s a noisy, assault-on-the-senses, but easily laid
out with all the essentials.
Fadia helps with bargaining and I memorise the
prices of things so I can try out my own negotiating skills next time.
I’m
still pretty shy when it comes to bargaining, but it’s a way of life here, so
it’s something I’ll just have to get used to.
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| Picnic by the Nile |
The traders
are wide-eyed to see Griselda and two other Khawajias (foreigners) wandering amongst them and
words soon spreads around the souk like a game of Chinese whispers.
Of course
everyone wants to know what we are doing and why we are here.
After
the hustle and bustle of the souq
Rebecca plays us all a tune on her viola back at the house.
There are tears in
Griselda’s eyes at the end as she tells us how much her late husband would have
loved to have been here to hear music played in their home and how glad she is
to see it come alive again.
On
the wall hanging opposite us a portrait shows a reclining Abdullah Tayib laughing and relaxed,
so in some way it feels as if his presence is here after all.
