Sudanese beats for a good cause

My new friend Nuha invited me along to a fundraiser for a children’s hospital in Khartoum the other night that her sister Hna'a and some friends had organised.

For children hospitalised in the Khartoum area, illness is often compounded by extreme poverty, with many families unable even to buy the most basic necessities for their sick children, including water.

The money raised during the event will go towards helping improve the quality of life for children in the hospital's care.

Quite unexpectedly I was sat in the so-called “VIP” section – distinguished by an endearing handwritten note stuck to the table – and surrounded by considerably more eminent figures than myself.

The event was held in a restaurant in the posh Khartoum 2 suburb, with attendees a mixture of foreigners and locals, many of whom had worked or grown up abroad.

Proceedings kicked off with a passionate speech by a Tanzanian student on the subject of charity and its pivotal place in all major religions, including Islam, Hinduism and Christianity.

Musicians from local youth and cultural group The Corner, were also performing as part of the fundraiser.

Since I arrived in Sudan I've been trying to get a feel for Khartoum’s arts and cultural scene, which – outside foreign-funded initiatives – seems a bit lacking.

The Corner aims to fill that gap by facilitating cross-cultural exchange, with members meeting from time to time at different venues across the city to share music, poetry, ideas and discussion.

It’s a simple concept, but one that I think has a lot of potential, particularly in the promotion of local performing arts and youth-based activities.

While members of The Corner often perform for fun, this was the first time they had come together as part of a charity event.

Although there were some ongoing issues with the sound set-up, the talent and enthusiasm of the performers was undeniable.

The program included rap groups, female vocalists and hip hop performances, as well as a moving group performance of Michael Jackson’s Heal the World.

While ordinarily I’m not a big fan of rap, I found that Arabic lends itself really well to the genre and the guys all really looked the part.

Continuing the MJ theme later was a show-stealing performance by the elastic-limbed ‘Jackson Twins’ of Khartoum, who paid homage to their idol with a medley of his best dance moves, pulling off moon walk that no doubt the King of Pop himself would have been proud of.

Eagerly awaiting the next Corners event … hopefully before moving on from Khartoum. 

*The Corner lists their events on their Facebook group TC Corner.

Advice from a Sudanese Grandfather

One night during Eid celebrations I was sitting with the other volunteers under the moonlight chatting after a meal, when Rami suddenly said he wanted to tell us all a story about his late grandfather.

So, here goes:

One day when I was a bout 14 or 15 I was walking to the market with my grandfather. My grandfather, you know he was very wise man. He always said to me 'be positive - even in a bad situation, the most important thing is to be positive...

'And be honest with people. It's enough'.

Anyway, while we were walking that day to the market, I realised I had forgotten something back at home.

I told my grandfather that I would go back to the house, but to wait for me there and I'll be back in 10 minutes. My grandfather was eager to get to the market, so he was impatient with me, but I promised, 'just 10 minutes and then I'll be back'.

So my grandfather took his donkey and sat down underneath a tree. 

But when I got back to my house my grandmother had made a big bowl of fuul (Sudanese stewed beans).

You know, I was hungry, so I sat down to eat something, but then afterwards I was tired and I fell asleep.

When I woke up I realised I'm going to be really late. I take a donkey and I ride, fast, fast as I can, but when I arrive at the market I see that my grandfather's small stall is still closed and I remember where I left him.

I turn around and go back to the place and I see my grandfather. He had been waiting under the same tree with his donkey for six hours.

When he sees me, he says: 'Rami, be a man. Keep your promises'.

That's it, that's all he says and he starts to walk home again.

Showers and loos: the new optional luxury

Now, I’m not adverse to a bit of roughing it from roughing it from time to time, but even so, the last few days have been somewhat trying for the SVP household here in Khartoum. 

After a fantastic few days away for the Muslim holiday Eid (more about that here), we returned to discover the water had been off for the last three days. 

A former volunteer, who was manning the fort so to speak, had contracted the chicken pox while we were away, and thus the general the state of the flat had also rapidly deteriorated - most notably the toilet situation, which had begun to rival the nightmarish loo as seen in Trainspotting.

Everyone was tired, dusty and generally in need of a good bath after our long journey back to Khartoum, which involved several stops along the way for mechanical problems.

Unsurprisingly, news of the shower situation and the general state of the flat put everyone on a bit of a downer. 

On a rooftop in Riyad

 Although we all wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed, we soon escape en masse to the posh suburb of Riyad after being invited to a small birthday gathering for Anika, an intern at the German cultural institute here.  


This is my first visit to the so-called Beverley Hills of Khartoum and it really does feel like a world away from the dusty, rubbish-strewn streets downtown. 

Compared to the dismal state of our own abode, Anika's apartment - complete with air conditioning, tasteful décor, comfortable floor lounges and a wonderful roof terrace - feels like the pinnacle of luxury.

We arrive at her door like ragged desert urchins with an assortment of cakes, tea and soft drink, partly as birthday gifts and partly as bribes for the use of her shower.

Later the grim situation back at the flat almost melts away as we sit chatting on Anika's rooftop terrace, a soft breeze kissing freshly-showered skin and the lights of Khartoum spread out around us.

It's almost enjoyable to lose track of time in our comfortable new surroundings, that's the problem.

It's almost 1am when we finally manage to get an amjad back to the flat, but Abdul the doormen has already locked the gates and no-one is able to track down the after-hours number. 

We explore jumping over the back concrete fence (fail), kicking the doors (fail), shouting (fail) and finally waking up the receptionist of a nearby hotel (fail again). 

It soon becomes apparent that instead of falling into bed as we had all been wanting to do several hours ago, we must instead roam the streets of Khartoum until morning. 

This sentence is no doubt going to give my mother heart palpitations, but in reality the streets of Khartoum are probably safer than most of the European capital cities (although I’m sure no-one will ever believe that).

At this time of night, the city is almost eerily deserted, apart from the odd pack of stray dogs and some bored looking security guards.

We kill some time walking around; chatting about other challenging experiences we’ve faced in our lives as a way of convincing ourselves that the current situation really isn't that bad after all.

A couple of hours before dawn we wind our way back to the flat and gather some bricks together as makeshift seats and wait for the doormen to rouse.

A couple of hours doesn’t seem that long, but when you’re being systematically attacked by mosquitoes, a rat is scurrying behind in the darkness and a curious policemen with a rather large rifle comes to investigate, two hours can seem like a lifetime.

The gates are finally unlocked just as the morning call to prayer sounds, with Abdul more than a little surprised to find four sleepy khawadjas on the doorstep.

That was three days ago and this morning the water was finally switched back on again … Thank goodness for a shower and a functioning loo: I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated the simple things in life quite as much as I do right now.

Sleepless in Khartoum

The Ministry of Dance

If someone had of told me a few months ago that I will wind up in Sudan dancing in a ministry office during the middle of the day, I would have laughed out loud.

But life in Sudan so far has been already filled with many wonderfully bizarre and unexpected moments.

Rebecca and I accompanied SVP coordinator Becca to a meeting at the Ministry of Education today, where we were introduced to SVP champion Aifa.

A former English teacher herself before taking up her position in the ministry's planning department, Aifa tells us frankly that she became disillusioned with teaching after realising she was merely talking to her students rather than teaching.

Teacher-student interaction in class is almost unheard of in Sudan and one of the big failings of the country's education system remains it's adherence to a rigid curriculum, focusing largely on rote learning and exam preparation.

A friendly, quietly-determined woman, Aifa visited all 60 of Khartoum's schools, including the city's elite private institutions after accepting her position at the ministry.

She is also the driving force behind a new pilot program that the ministry is implementing in conjunction with SVP to help improve English language standards in secondary schools and provide more opportunities for teacher training.

As part of the new program both Rebecca and I will initially be teaching in secondary schools in Ed Damer, although it's hoped the program will be expanded further in the future.

For such lofty goals, the meeting began rather informally and after some small talk we sat down for a shared bowl of fuul (mashed fava beans) and sweet tea with Aifa and the other office ladies.

Quite unexpectedly Aifa told us that if we waited for an hour we could also meet the Minister herself.

We returned to the ministry later, but there was still no sign of the minister.

Aifa, however, seemed determined to keep us there, if somewhat unsure of what to do with us in the meantime.

After awhile she suggested we go upstairs to see a “program”.

We were all unsure of what exactly she meant by “program”, but nevertheless we headed upstairs to a large auditorium.

The heavy doors opened to reveal a loud party in full swing. Plates of peanuts and dates were laid out and a surprisingly good two-piece band were playing as the crowd clapped along enthusiastically.

A bevy of photographers and a cameraman covering the proceedings almost fell over themselves to capture the arrival of the khawadjas (foreigners).

More music and speeches followed and Aifa explained that a young man called Ahmed - who works in the Special Needs department and suffers from a physical disability himself - had recently graduated with his Masters in Special Needs Education.

To celebrate the occasion his colleagues had thrown a party in his honour.

Ahmed, who was also flanked by his mother and sister, was practically beaming as his colleagues lined up to shake his hand and present congratulatory gifts.

The men heartily slapped his shoulder, while women embraced his mother.

Rebecca and I were also whisked to the front of the line to offer our own congratulations to a rather bashful looking Ahmed, as the team of photographers again came running to snap our photos.

It was an incredibly moving and joyous moment to witness and one I suspect will always remain with me.

As the music started back up again, some ladies put their arms around Rebecca and I and we joined in as the crowd spontaneously began to dance.

Sudanese dancing involves bouncing rhythmically on the one spot, with hands raised above your head while clicking your fingers in time to the music.

The women also began to let out a series of high-pitched whistles - a practice typically used to express happiness.

After all, we do meet the Minister. Dr Suad Abdulrazak comes across as a sincere and down-to-earth woman.

She shakes our hands and speaks about her enthusiasm for the pilot program and the benefits she thinks it will bring.

As she farewells us, she tells us to visit her office anytime or call her if we needed anything.

Still, in the end our meeting with the hierarchy of education pales in comparison to the joyous celebrations of Ahmed’s achievements that we were so lucky to be a part of.