I have left behind me the security found in the comfort of friendships.
When I reached Khartoum International Airport earlier this week, my friends Abdalla, Asma and Huda were waiting for me. They had been there at least an hour already. I had waited for two other friends, Muddather and Imam, to pick me up at home in Balabil and drive me and my six-months-and-three-weeks’ worth of baggage to the airport.
It’s been a mad-crazy-hectic-where’s-the-painkillers mother of a seven-day cycle. I was tense. I was praying that the security officers at the airport wouldn’t ask me to open and unpack every bag. I felt this way because I have had various bad experiences with men in security uniforms in Sudan and even plainclothes officers from the “intelligence police”. Just the day before my departure I had some problems with police officers at the Immigration Office in Khartoum. For some reason they wanted to know how my friend, Muddather, was related to me and why he was accompanying me to the Immigration Office. Voices were raised. It didn’t feel good.
Muddather couldn’t understand the problem. Neither could I. We had been to this office just the day before and the very same security at the entrance didn’t even glance at us. We ended up in an office for yet more tense exchanges of words. Instinct kicked in and I phoned one of the higher-ranking police officers at the Immigration Office. My journalist friend Nathir had introduced me to him the day before. When he entered the room, all problems evaporated and we were still clueless on why we had been treated this way. What did these guys really want from us? There seemed to have been no problem, after all.
While sitting at the Immigration Office, I felt tears of frustration bubbling inside, waiting to be released. Because I wanted something better. Maybe a better way of obtaining permission to exit Sudan. Less hassles and stress. I resorted to my MP3 player and the Black Eyed Peas made an appearance in my ears with their mega hit asking “Where is the love?” I turned the volume up to its extreme, choosing to ignore the many voices arguing with some or other person in uniform sitting behind the large glass walls with holes in them, through which to pass papers and commands on what to do next. It was a morning of zig-zags from one office to the next; one counter here, another counter there.
I saw hands flying, self-important chronic cellphone clutchers and loads of Chinese nationals at the Immigration Office while feeling a sense of despair. Tracy Chapman sang: “If you knew that you would die today, would you change?”
How do we make sense of our Africa? Muddather has become exhausted of arguing. He usually reminds me of the words “Samha sabr”, which is an Arabic phrase advising that it’s better to have patience. Other Sudanese friends have told me that patience is beautiful. They use the exact Arabic word for beauty — jameelah — when they tell me so.
In Sudan, patience is a necessity. Without it, you’ll die of frustration. And in Sudan you learn that the small moment of a smile can change your entire destiny. It can open doors. It can even close others. Sudan is heavily dependent on interpersonal relations.
“You have to study the psychology of the person when you address them so that you know how to address them,” Muddather had told me in one of the many officials’ offices we had been to while trying to sort out my exit visa.
This exit visa thing isn’t something automatic at the office in Sudan. No. It requires two passport photos, photocopies of various documents, filling out forms and paying cash at the Immigration Office counters. And, of course, it involves a lot of patience. The wait to get anything done can seem like a lifetime. But when you finally get things done, you want to sacrifice your heart to the universe for finally releasing you from agony.
Fortunately at the airport the security didn’t ask me to open and unpack my bags. It was a straightforward procedure. The Ethiopian Air flight headed to Addis Ababa ended up being delayed by two hours, though.
So I started reading the English-language translation of the beautifully crafted Season of Migration to the North by the Sudanese author Tayeb Salih. He wrote this book in Arabic and I found out about it while reading the “Further reading” section of a guidebook on Sudan.
I bought my photocopied version of the book — most likely used as a text book — for five Sudanese pounds ($2,50) from one of the many sidewalk booksellers in Khartoum’s dusty Souk al-Arabi. These words published in 1969 all still seemed to be in the right place, despite the fact that the book was photocopied, and the thoughts contained evoked so many familiar emotions and places from my stay in Sudan. It really instilled a sense of nostalgia and I hadn’t even left the country.
By the time I boarded the Ethiopian Air flight, the words of Ahmed, a colleague in the media industry, came to mind: “Two countries in Africa have the most beautiful people. The first is Morocco and the second is Ethiopia.” I came face to face with an air hostess — or cabin-crew member, as they’re known in totally unsexy terms — and thought: “Wow, Ahmed was right. I think I am going to be very happy in Ethiopia. Maybe I can live there forever.” I still need to find out about Morocco.
I arrived in Addis Ababa shortly after 10pm. I felt scared. Because it was again a different place, language, people. Everything. Different. Also, I had been told things like “Watch out, Aids is a big problem there.” The cold outside the airport was a strong contrast from the Khartoum heat to which my body had grown accustomed — loving and loathing it in the span of a few hours.
When I arrived at my hotel room there were two packs of “Trust” condoms appropriately placed on the bedside table. The words of Ammie Khaleel, my beloved neighbour in Khartoum, came to mind: “There are many prostitutes in Ethiopia. The country is known for its sex tourism. It’s because there is so much poverty and the girls are cheap.”
I was exhausted. I wanted to finish reading the last few pages of Salih’s novel. I really feel moved by his poetic expression. Salih spent a large part of his life in England and was head of drama at the BBC’s Arabic Service.
I turned on my laptop and listened to Sudanese singer Jawahir and Egyptian pop star Tamer Hosny. I had the weird fear that the electricity would cut out, as had often happened in Khartoum, but it didn’t. The next morning, when I woke up in Addis Ababa, I feared that I would have to take a cold shower as I had been doing back at my Khartoum flat. That didn’t happen. I found warm water in the taps.
“Security is comfort,” I thought as the hot water washed over me.
One of my colleagues said when he was in Ethiopia for a conference, they were faced with condoms everywhere. It was as if the organisers were encouraging them to indulge.
How long will you be in Ethiopia for? Through your writing, Sudan calls to me. I need to experience living in different African countries-hopefully will get the opportunity one day..
I enjoyed your blog. When you introduced yourself in TL a week or so ago I was worried that I might not like your writing, I assumed that you were going to give us the gory details of the conflict in Sudan. Be safe, if you ever have the edge to “indulge” in the forbidden fruit remember the words of your friend Ammie Khaleel (use that rubber).
Perhaps predictability is comfort. That security word makes me uncomfortable.
Come home to South Africa, we prefer candles here, there has been a great return to romance and reading Bronte by gaslight.
Lovely writing, thanks for allowing me to sit with you in the plastic airport chair, a bit grimy, absolutely dusty and turn up the music.
….you remind of my trip to Egypt, attending a 10 day conference. I got the visa on the same day from Pretoria (the only other country to do so in all my travels was Poland – I don’t know if I will ever go back there again, they we’re so friendly to Africans when I arrived), when I first landed I was confronted with immigration officers who had facial expressions that seemed to say ‘breath a wrong word and you’ll be in jail’, shocked by the lack of robots and the maniac-manner driving I was advised to be patient…..one of my friends got detained for wearing a short skirt…
You should write more about your experiences, hopefully it will give South Africans a perspective of Africa and how lucky they are to have what they have.
beautifully written. Afrikaans friends of mine rode their motorcycles through Sudan and commented on how incredibly friendly everybody was eventhough the border crossings were painful. strange and sad how the mass media can portray a place as evil when it is not. I look forward to your future writings and tell us about the girls….
An uplifting, beautiful piece of travel journalism Kamaldien. You are a courageous and incisive writer whose empathy for African plight is backed by an intuitive connection and sober intellectualism. It is an invaluable idssection of the perils of travelled in a continent with a troubled soul.
May the spirits guide and protect you in your travels. It will make you a better man.
Thanks, refreshing article, beats all our constant racial niggling on our SA articles. Nice to know Addis Ababa has hot water and cold weather.
Nice Yazeed. Comfort does rock. But you do need to go without to truly appreciate what you have gained – both physically and emotionally. Well done on the Sudan trip. I may see you on that side of the world soon enough!
Write about the summit.
Next time remember to pack plenty of used dollar bills,problems have a habit of disappearing at
the sight of the greenback. But maybe I am wrong
and Mcmillans wind of change also put end to this.
I am feven tekele please I want to know the time that came Ethiopia to interview air hostess? I know that you are the BEST one ,I ACCEPT your answer soonly. Thank YOU Very much.