Invitation to visit a sheikh

The sheikh is sleeping when we arrive ...

We’ve come from Ed Damer, travelling in the back cabin of one of the garishly decorated white Toyotas that ply the village routes around the region. They look a bit like a version of the Australian police paddy wagon, but with more bling. 

Decorative village transport

Everything from the body of the car to the mud flaps is embellished with an ornate design or decoration, while on the bonnet something resembling a feather duster sticks upright.

At an unplanned stop along the way, the men suddenly disembark en masse and head for a distant, dusty field, already crowded by a ghostly gathering of men in white jellabiyahs. It turns out there’s a funeral in progress and as such the men, who are all familiar with the deceased, have gone to pay their respects. It’s another striking example of the interconnectedness of life here.

The sheikh’s village is called El-Hasaiya, located about 40mins from Ed Damer. As we leave the town limits, I wonder why I’ve never explored further afield before. The area has a tranquil feel, with pint-sized mud-brick villages, tempered by clusters of tall date palms and green vegetation. 

Outside view of the sheikh's house

While the sheikh is taking his rest, his wife Aisha takes us on a tour of the village. The sheikh’s house is a large, neat complex with three separate buildings and several smaller open air structures, surrounding a spacious courtyard. A number of people are taking shelter from the sun, with some stretched out on straw mats. We enter a cool, darkened room, with a number of open archways. Around 10 elderly women, resting on threadbare mattresses inside, rise slowly to greet us. Aisha explains her husband is providing basic shelter for the women, many of whom are destitute or suffering illness.

We leave behind the calm order inside the complex for the full force of the blaring sun outside. People stop to greet us as we make our way along a wide dusty street until we reach a striking conical shrine - essentially the centrepiece of the village - which houses the body of the former sheikh. 

The Sufi shrine at El-Hasaiya

The inside is empty save for a few trapped pigeons flapping frantically against the wall and the covered tomb of the sheikh surrounded by red sand. A few people filter in and out and press their hands against the tomb, reciting a mumbled prayer.  

Our companion Ja’maal asks us to come and pray with him. He closes his eyes, and spreading his arms wide, begins reciting his prayers. Not sure about the protocol of such a situation, I shuffle closer to the tomb and try to appear dignified and respectful. Ja’maal scoops up some sand and pours it into my outstretched hand. It’s a sacred offering I’m told and I must carry it with me, even back to Australia. I’m wondering how to manage such a task, having only brought with me a small bag, containing no pockets. As we continue on with our village tour, I find myself juggling the sandy offering every time someone stops to shake our hand. 

Next up we visit the local maternity clinic, which is funded by the sheikh. Lines of women wait patiently outside. Facilities are basic, but there’s a doctor on duty, who tells us that he returned to his home village from Khartoum to work in the clinic. He says that before the clinic opened many women gave birth in their houses or died as a result of complications during pregnancy. 

Finally we're seated in a cool, modest room with dirt floors, our companions a small group of shy, giggling teenage girls. People wander in and out to greet us and shake our hand before we are served with this enormous breakfast (pictured left).

A short pause after eating and it seems the sheikh is ready to meet us.

It’s been a couple of months since we last saw the sheikh, who we met in January at Mawlid celebrations in Ed Damer, marking the Prophet Mohammad’s birthday.

As part of the occasion, several large tents were set up in a vacant dusty field on the edge of town – each one dedicated to a particular sub-branch or tariqats. Devotional music, drumming and ritualised chanting emanates as we arrive.

The Sufi gathering has a carnival-like atmosphere, with followers displaying a rather eccentric and colourful approach to worship. 

Mawlid celebrations, Ed Damer

Some branches of Islam forbid the commemoration of Mawlid, but the Sufis embrace this celebration with a zeal and passion that is hard to ignore. There is an intensity, but also an infectious exuberance about this ceremony - both sacred and joyous.

The dress code seems to be anything goes, with dreadlocked Sufis in green-elf like suits and pointy hats, flared patch-work skirts, as well as garish leopard-print outfits.

Inside the tents, men rock from side to side in unison, repeating a hypnotic religious chant, while others careen about the ‘dancefloor’ with wild abandon or leap gracefully in the air on one spot.

Makeshift sweets stalls sell the sugary Mawlid treats, including bizarre dyed pink candies in the shape of birds and men on horseback.

In a striking gesture of generosity, fleet-footed men in white jellabiyahs and skullcaps move throughout the crowd delivering large bowls of rice and meat. Strangers promptly squat on the ground together to share a meal, followed by plastic cups of piping hot milk tea.

We receive a warm welcome as we move from tent to tent, with plates of dates, candies and soft drinks magically appearing before us wherever we go. 

Inside one of the tents we meet the sheikh, who is sitting resplendent receiving his followers. One-by-onethey  crouch before him and kiss the back of his hand. After a brief introduction we are immediately invited to see his village and so that’s how we came to be in El-Hasaiya on this scorching day.

The sheikh tends to a Rashaida woman complaining of back pain

As we re-enter the sheikh’s compound, we find a line of people extending from a small room at the side of the house. 

The portly sheikh, who is sat on a rope-strung bed receiving his followers, welcomes us to sit inside and watch the process. 

The elderly and the infirm shuffle in. Some of them are unable to walk freely and have to be assisted by relatives. 

Women hand over their sick babies, while others enter grimmacing in pain or baring disabled limbs.

Although, his consultations are brief, the sheikh is kindly and attentive, offering candies for the children and words of comfort as he dispenses 'remedies' to the sick. 

Using a black rubber whip, he lightly taps the point of pain, while murmuring a hurried prayer. 

I watch in fascination as he presses his hands to the head of a boy complaining of a severe migraine and spits his breath into a water bottle before handing it back to an elderly women suffering abdominal pain. 

As each one leaves a few crumpled notes at the sheikh’s feet or under his pillow, he hands over a small packages of bakhoor (incense) to be burnt in the home as a sort of cleansing ritual. 

At one point, a troupe of young men enter, dressed identically in jellabiyahs and skullcaps. They spread their hands in front of them and without fanfare their leader begins to chant in deep, resonating tones, filling the room, not only with the beauty of his voice, but with the remarkable conviction of his belief.

A troupe of men perform devotional chanting

Once finishing their performance, the men elegantly kneel in front of him and kiss his hand, before immediately taking their leave.

I’ve been suffering neck pain over the last couple of weeks and I’m keen to try out this Sufi-style of healing. 

I shuffle forward and crouch before the sheikh while Ja’maal translates my complaint. The sheikh presses his hand to each side of my neck, before lightly flicking me with the point of his whip on each shoulder. It’s over in a matter of minutes and I stuff a five pound note under the pillow in front.

I don’t know whether it’s coincidence or faith, but the next day my neck pain is completely gone.