Reader Warning: Brevity is not something that comes easily to me.
Christmas
in a place where Christmas does not exist can easily become a rummage for
nostalgia, a futile pursuit that yields to the sentimental longings of
carols, Christmas trees, brandy butter, mulled wine and the like. The
blind pursuit of these yearnings ignores the cold and sober reality that
Christmas dinner cannot be recreated on two defective gas hobs; alcohol will
not make the desired festive appearance unless one succumbs
to illegally home brewed 'arragi' (and by consequence,
the 'anything goes' attitude of an alcoholic); and crucially even if one
can find a suitable replacement Christmas tree, it will only be a matter of
time until the festive spirit of generosity and giving is once again betrayed
by an inescapable brand loyalty to the 'masura' made in China (for Africa)
‘collection’, ensuring the life span of a Christmas present will be short.
With this in mind my sense of 'Christmassiness'
extended no further than the pulpit of my classroom, where, in retrospect, my
Christmas themed lesson was perhaps more a forum for failed evangelism than
English language learning. Indeed, my Christmas nativity themed listening
comprehension was largely disregarded with a curt declaration ‘we’re Muslim’,
rendering my lesson plan utterly ineffectual! Perhaps you can now see how
Christmas escaped me and, as such, I simply assumed 'C' and I were not
exchanging presents this year… Despite your inevitable eagerness to cast me as
a miserly Ebeneezer Scrooge I insist that I was more a pragmatist, making the
most out of the ‘un-Christmassy’ reality we found ourselves in.
It was this spirit of ‘What
can we do well in Sudan’ that directed our pre-Christmas meeting with the
Director General (our boss), Ishmael. Such visits to Ishmael’s office have
become an enjoyable part of our weekly routine. As well as offering the best
peanuts (Sudanese fuul) in El Obeid and, for that matter, rather good coffee
(jabanna), Ishmael is also a source of unwavering support, particularly
when it comes to the persistent encroachments of the security authorities. Moreover
the DG’s insistence that German’s’- even now- claim racial purity, Sudanese
people are actually fond of Jews and Obama is Sudanese, leaves us- somewhat
strangely- always coming back for more. Accordingly our visits usually take up
the greater part of the afternoon.
Returning to our
pre-Christmas meeting, 'C' and I were raring to make the most out of the
three day holiday Ishmael had granted us for Christmas. ‘What about
Camel’s?’ Given El Obeid’s rich camel heritage, as well as 'C's relentless recollections about her ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ moment(s) in Morocco ,
a camel journey seemed to be an exciting, and perhaps even feasible, way in
which to mark our holiday. With some team brainstorming we then conceived the
possibility of riding camels to a nomad school somewhere in the greater
nothingness of Kordofan’s arid scrubland. Ishmael soon summoned Idris, the man
in charge of North Kordofan’s nomad schools and, incidentally, the owner of a
considerable camel caravan, to his office. Having received Idirs’s approval and
kind offer to escort us, 'C' and I began to envision our own ‘Arabian
Nights’ adventure. Our dreams of traversing the desert on camel-back in search of
a nuclear, rarely intruded upon desert-dwelling tribe were, however,
regrettably fleeting.
On the first day of Christmas….
While camels and nomad schools were indeed the order of the day,
our journey was not quite the awe-inspiring, desert traversing adventure we had
hoped for. Instead, having driven us barely beyond the populated borders of El
Obeid, Idris stopped his pick-up truck and gestured us towards,’Shaf’, the
solitary camel who had been enlisted to accompany 'C' and I for a ‘Khawaja
and Camel’ photo-shoot . Roped in simply for the ‘benefit’ of 'C' and I, Shaf
cut a dejected camel. His persistent gnarling, ensuing as soon as he
was dragged away from consuming the stable’s fodder roof, spoke volumes of our
collective sense of exasperation; traipsing around on a camel in front of a
horde of school children and camera phone branding Sudanese men was not exactly
how we had visualised our camel escapade.
After a quick breakfast of ‘aseeda’
(savoury Sudanese porridge) we left the enervating Sudanese petting zoo
behind and, by pickup truck, continued our journey to the nomad school. Nomadic
tribes have historically been a conspicuous component of North Kordofan’s
communities, deriving from a pastoral tradition of animal husbandry that
stresses the necessity of seasonal herd movements (largely dictated by the
rainy season). In North Kordofan there are, generally speaking, two types of
nomadic tribes: communities such as the Bagarra (cow), consisting
of the Hawazma and Miseria tribes, who herd cows; and conversely
communities, like the Kababish and Shanabla tribes, who herd
camels.
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| Shaf |
Nomadic tribes have
traditionally been amongst some of the most conservative communities in Sudan
(female circumcision, polygamy etc). There is a belief that education is
redundant; a distraction from the more important jobs of tending to livestock
and managing the household. Even where
basic education has been welcomed, albeit hesitantly, there exists a
substantial gender imbalance as marriage- and a life of housewifery- is deemed
more imperative for preteen girls than a basic level education. Consequently
the Sudanese government consider the promotion of nomadic education as crucial
in ensuring that this nomadic youth receive the same education opportunities as
other Sudanese children.
The initial product of the
government’s policy to improve educational opportunities for nomadic children
was the ‘mobile’ or ‘roving’ school. Instead of bringing the children to the
school, the mobile schools project literally brings the school to the children
via a kind of travelling teacher service. For all intents and purposes the
teacher becomes a member of the nomadic group; travelling with the community
while simultaneously adapting to their uncustomary, but requisite schooling
schedule. Despite my expressed desire to become a ‘roving teacher’, we
unfortunately did not find this first type of school on our journey.
Rather, the school we
visited was testament to the government’s efforts to ‘bring the children to the
school’. Through preferential policies (school building) and financial
incentives (school fees) the government has endeavoured to encourage nomadic
communities to adjust their traditionally ‘mobile’ lifestyle. In exchange, the
government establishes schools intended to provide not only educational
opportunities but also a sense of stability, continuity and ownership to the
nomad community. Thus, while the men of the tribe continue their traditional
nomadic lifestyles, the women and children have begun to settle permanently. It
was this kind of school that we ventured upon 30minutes to the South-West of El
Obeid.
Our visit to this emerging
nomadic settlement was a tale of two schools. The facilities of the ‘old’
school (the only school for the previous eight years) were scarcely suitable
for accommodating animals, let alone overcrowded classes of eager, yet deprived
young children. With the exception of a few tattered tarpaulins, the classrooms
were constructed from cheap, surplus natural materials that improvised shelter while,
in reality, offering little protection from the harsh weather of North Kordofan (haboob’s [sandstorms]
and severe winds in the winter, scorching heat in the summer, and incessant
rain in the autumn). Given these conditions it is remarkable that nomad
families have stuck around for the past eight years; waiting patiently for the
promised new school to be delivered.
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| The nomad school |
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| ....Inside the classroom |
Entering one of the all too permanent ‘stop-gap’ classrooms, it was clear that over crowdedness and lack of space was even more severe than in my secondary school classes back in El Obeid. Not only was my body arched over awkwardly for the duration of the ‘head, shoulders, knees and toes’ exercise, but also one hundred and ten small children were horded under the shade of the tarpaulin and fodder roof. It is impossible to dispute that our classes in El Obeid are overcrowded and under-resourced. Yet the scantiness of resources and investment as you move away from the regional hub of El Obeid, makes the former seem like a temple of educational excellence. However with the assistance of NGO’s such as the Community Development Fund (CDF) the government is- eight years later- on the brink of opening a new all-weather school, equipped with chairs, desks, blackboards and even electricity. Although, given the tenuous Sudanese relationship with time (the recent ‘golden jubilee’ at El Obeid Secondary School for Girls occurred in its 51st year), it would be prudent not to hold your breath…
On the second day of Christmas…
Fortunately the second day
of our Christmas holiday started in a more enlivening fashion than the
first. With two morale boosting
Christmas Eve breakfasts of banana and Nutella pancakes (a Christmas treat due
to the extortionate price of Nutella) as well as aseeda with gambo (an
okra based sauce) and tagallea (tomato based) (from El Obeid’s famed aseeda
maker ‘hajji cuckoo’) we, in typical Sudanese style, happily
whiled away the better part of the morning waiting to be picked up .Finally a
car was readied and, accompanied by Ustaz Mohammed (history teacher)
and Adam (geography teacher) from Abu Sita school, we proceeded to ‘Jebel’ (mountain)
Kordofan.
Having conducted his phd
research on Jebel Kordofan and its history, Mohammed acted as our
personal tour-guide, providing direction to what would otherwise have simply been
aimless appreciation of the area’s natural beauty. A quick, but noteworthy
digression from our trip to Jebel Kordofan, is Mohammed’s virile ninety
year old father. At ninety Mohammed’s father and his twenty-six year old fourth
wife are expecting… defying what I assumed the biologically possible. Despite
my initial unwillingness to believe, multiple sources have assured me that this
pregnancy is, against all rationality, real. Before we leave El Obeid Mohammed
has assured me that we will travel to his village and meet the man himself. In
the meantime I recommended he start contacting Western TV producers, who would
no doubt pay serious money to document this unheard of episode.
Jebel Korodfan is
undeniably the most striking and imposing landmark within El Obeid’s vicinity.
Situated about twenty minute drive to the South of town, the mountain’s reddish
composition and modest undulations seem perhaps more outstanding given the
dusty ‘flatness’ that, as though boundless,
extends to the horizon and beyond. I have repeatedly asked myself whether my appreciation
of Jebel Kordofan’s view’s and vista’s is vindication of its geographic
magnificence or, simply demonstration that North Kordofan’s flat ‘nothingness’ can
even make the unremarkable seem remarkable. The term ‘nothingness’ is perhaps,
in this case, overly disparaging. Since when was such vast simplicity deemed
unspectacular and boring?
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| Looking to the South/ SE of Jebel Kordofan |
According to Mohammed it was in this Nubian period that Kordofan acquired
its current name. Soon after making peace with the Ghodiat, ‘King’ Kordo/Kuldu’s
goodwill was betrayed by these same, supposedly former, adversaries that he
had made peace with. After successfully besieging Jebel Kordofan, the
King’s seat of power, the Ghodiat assumed control of Kordofan from the
Nuba. In ancient Nubian language it is claimed that ‘fan’ means
‘remember’. Literally speaking therefore, ‘Kordofan’ means ‘remember
Kordo’; a lightly veiled warning that one should never forget who their enemies
are.
Our last act of Christmas
Eve was to attend the ‘Midnight Mass’ (actually at 9pm), held at El Obeid’s
Catholic Cathedral, reputedly the biggest in Africa. Despite being in Arabic-
with the exception of the service ending rendition of ‘Joy to the World’- the
service was an eye-opening exercise in ‘spot the Khawaja’. Where we
previously thought we had been alone, there are in fact a number of Khawajas- largely
nuns from Comboni school and clergy from the cathedral- who, if only to
raise their head to the outside world at the Catholic Cathedral, reside in El
Obeid.
One of our main motivations
for attending the Midnight Mass service was the hope that there would be some ‘Christmassy’
African music to encourage a sense of festive cheer in us. While the choir
was cheery enough, the supporting guitar was so amateurishly out of tune that
listening to the music became a battle to catch the nice bits over the garish
instrumental accompaniment. Equally disjointed was the constant sauntering of
patients from the nearby ‘Kordofan special hospital’ around the Cathedral during
the service’s proceedings. Although not suggesting anyone should be disallowed
from attending the Christmas service, the ‘sauntering’ patients of ‘Kordofan
special hospital’ appeared, like the guitar, slightly out of place. Saying
this, the rest of the congregation seemed perfectly content…
On the third day of Christmas…
Christmas day was a sombre
occasion. To 'C's considerable dismay there were no Christmas
presents to wake up to, nor alcoholic Christmas beverages to conceal any
distant longings for at least some festive semblance. Instead we made do with a
‘special' Christmas breakfast of banana and Nutella pancakes, fruit salad and shayria
(spaghetti with sugar and sometimes cinnamon or cardamom). The remainder of
the day was spent moping…
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| Christmas breakfast |
Rather it was decided that
we should rearrange the party for New Year’s eve, ensuring that the girls’
considerable efforts in preparing the celebration would not be in vein. So to
allow more students to attend, while also allaying the apparent concerns of
some parents, the party’s venue was shifted to Igura school. Emerging on
to the school’s roof terrace in the soft, ephemeral glow of the dusk twilight
we were met by a guard of honour, clapping and celebrating our presence at
their party.
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| Party games |
To say that this New Years was a little different from those past is an understatement …instead of alcohol and Auld Lang Syne, this year’s motif was more ‘cherry pop’ (Pasaignaos) and Justin Bieber. Under the watchful supervision of a few of the girl’s parents (bringing me back to the days of childhood birthday parties) and with the mischievous encouragement of Ustaz Ahmed, 'C' and I were pressured into becoming the participants for a game of ‘in the hot seat’ eg. a license to ask any question, however personal, with the expectation that one answers truthfully. The questions could have been lifted straight from some teen magazine. Here’s a sample:
“Was 'C' the first
women you loved?”
“If 'C' told you that
she loved another man, but you still loved her would you stay with her?”
…And, my personal favourite:
“Are you a good boy or a bad boy?”
With the exception of the last question (I felt neither embarrassment nor shame in admitting
to the girls that I was, of course, a ‘very bad boy’) their remorseless interrogation
left me feeling as though Guantanamo Bay would have been easy in comparison. Nonetheless,
at least I could go home, reassured by the heart shaped ‘for my lover’
Christmas clock, that the students' love and adoration for 'C' was
diminutive in comparison to the feelings reserved for me…
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