The Pulitzer Center

I had mentioned before that I received a grant from the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting for this trip. The blog is up and running now, so you can check it out here. For a description of my project, you can click here. They will also post links to all the radio broadcasts and articles I am producing from here.

Otherwise, things are going well. I never really finished telling you about the village. Here's a pic of me in the multi-purpose cloth which serves as a blanket at night-time and a full-body garb during the day. NOT easy to walk in however, although not as hot as you would imagine.

In the last post, I wrote "The Simple Life?" with a question mark, but never explained why. Mohammed always used to say living in the village is such a jihad - or struggle. "Everything is a struggle," he would say. To open the front door of the house, you have to pull on a metal wire that sticks out of a hole, until the latch loosens. To go to the bathroom, you have to use your hip to shove the door shut. To shower during the day, you have to put cold water aside at night - otherwise, it will burn your skin from sitting in the sun. Nothing is smooth and simple. I always scoffed at this "jihad" he referred to. Life wasn't so bad. They had enough to eat, they had a safe home - "Don't be so high maintenance," I would tell him.

But after a few days, I began to understand what he meant. I did no cooking or cleaning while there, and had no baby to take care of, but at the end of every day, I was dead tired. The heat in and of itself is exhausting - and there is no escape from it. But these women, who spend all day in the heat, cooking, cleaning, feeding the screaming babies - it really is a struggle. Their husbands are mostly gone off to Saudi Arabia to make the only money that keeps them surviving.

Here's the baby of the family - Dodi. While his mother is busy with chores, he sits with no underwear in the dirt, a slobbery piece of cheese in his hand, mixing with the sand on the ground and then entering his mouth. His mother has no time to do anything with him - so he just sits at home all day, unstimulated. And while she is the most patient and loving mother I have ever seen, she didn't seem to have much understanding of simple parenting concepts - stimulating the child with new places, things; letting him fall so that he learns to walk on his own, etc. Or maybe she understood but just didn't have the luxury of being able to provide it. Her husband has never even met his son, who is a year and a half old. He's been in Saudi from before he was born.

Anyways, it was really nice to get a real taste of Sudan. In the capital, I live a mostly ex-pat life that is consumed by work. There, I got to live among real people, who were kind, generous and really took me in. I was very new and foreign to many of them. I don't think a woman in the village has ever worn pants, played soccer with the boys, or used a laptop (In fact, Mohammed said a computer had never before been used in the whole village).

One day, I went to help prepare the shu'raya (noodles cooked with sugar and served for dessert) for an upcoming wedding. They were making this stuff on mass (the wedding preparation - mostly involving food - went on for something like five days before the wedding). All the women of the village get together and prepare the dough, flatten it, put it through a machine that strings it, then leave it to dry. And by this point, I am told, everyone in the village had heard about me, but some had not yet seen me. I have NEVER been stared at so blatantly as I was that day. They just sat there in groups, looking at me as if I was a weird object they just couldn't get their heads around. But by the end, of course, they each wanted to practice their few words of English with me and have their picture taken.

Anyways, it was a touching place to be, and I will miss them! (Sadly, it keeps becoming easier and easier to say goodbye to people you know you will never see again. Maybe I am becoming cold and uncaring - even more so than before!)

Tomorrow, I'm off to see the pyramids of Merawi - I wonder how they'll compare to Egypt's. Then Sunday, I'm off to southern Sudan (pray that my plane doesn't crash - there have been four plane crashes here in the last two months!).

Here is some henna someone did for me in Dongola, capital of the Northern state and the only big town within 5 hours.

The Simple Life?

I just got back from two weeks in a village in northern Sudan (hence my incommunicado status), which reminded that no matter where you go or how many times you travel, you will always have find moments of awe, when something seems so new and beautiful to you.

But let me start from the beginning: the bus ride.

Wayne, an RCMP officer I know from Canada who is in Sudan working with the UN, and I had decided to visit our Canadian Sudanese friend Mohammed, who was on vacation in his natal village in northern Sudan. We arrived at a dark empty street at 3:45 am to catch the bus to the village (called Taitti). We were the first ones there and had to wait a good 20 minutes before the bus even arrived. I hadn't slept, so I was looking forward to a nap on the bus - but there would be no such thing.

"Hey, what do you think that screen is for" Wayne asked, when we got on the bus. "Showing movies?"

A reasonable assumption. But when the show began, well what can I say - I have never experienced anything so excrutiatingly painful.

It was a video of some Muslim child prodigy preacher. Seriously. A six-year-old kid at the pulpit, waving his hands dramatically in the air and screaming in the most horribly screechy voice to hundreds of congregants. This went on for a good 40 minutes. Every time there was a pause and I thought it was over, his screeching voice would resume. The only respite from this horrible, horrible soundtrack (which, ps., was blaring through the speakers) was Wayne listening to his headphones and singing to himself beside me.

After a while, it all became too funny and I couldn't hold back my laughter at the ridiculousness of this video. It must have been the lack of sleep, but when the grown men in the video began repeating "Amin" after his sentences, I just burst into laughter. Every time his voice cracked, I laughed harder. The guy in the aisle across from me started looking over, smiling. SERIOUSLY, WHO IS THIS KID? I've never seen anything like it.

Anyways, when we finally arrived, it was astounding. We were dropped off on the side of a paved road in the midst of the desert. You do a 360 degree circle and find nothing but sand. It was really incredible. From there, we took a truck through the bumpy paths through the desert to the village.

Taitti is made up of about 3,000 people, whose homes are made of mud, but quite nice looking (painted white and blue) and quite spacious, with tons of different rooms and beds everywhere! They use beds as chairs, as seats for guests and parties, and of course, for sleeping.

It was really different being here than arriving to villages in Chad. While the Chadian villages were much poorer, there was an obvious UN presence and thus less feeling of isolation. Here, I truly felt far from the world. People here have no TVs, no radios, no newspapers. I had to walk to a specific spot down by the mosque to get cell phone reception.

They have no electricity - meaning no fans, no computers, no fridges... All food is cooked on the day of, fruits and fridge-requiring foods are rare, and the place is just SO quiet. If you sit there on an afternoon, all you hear are the roosters crowing, and the flies buzzing. It's really amazing, the silence of the place.

The people drink the brown, cloudy water from the Nile. I drank it too. It tastes good actually, and never made me sick - although I tried not to drink too much of it every day. Some families, like Mohammed's, have dug their own wells and built tanks to bring well-water into their

homes - not for drinking, but for washing/cleaning/cooking. This water is burning hot during the day because it sits in the sun-soaked pipes all day. The water from the nile is kept in clay pots to keep it cool. Along main roads or near mosques you will find these pots for passersby to get water if thirsty.

At night, we carried the beds out into the open-air centres of the homes, and slept under the stars.

I'd love to write more (for a better description, check out Wayne's blog at: http://waynehanniman.blogspot.com/), but I haven't eaten all day, have about 1,000 phone calls to make, a trip to the south to plan, and an article to finish!

Take care,
Heba

Milestones

So guess who is Sudan's latest best driver? That's right. I drove - and standard too - in Sudan all day today in a rented car. No accidents, only a couple angry horns and, while close, I never ran out of gas! So next time I'm in Egypt, no one can tell me I'm not capable of driving! Actually, while there are few rules, it is not hard to drive here. The big roads are paved and wide, and there are not that many cars. There are some traffic lights, and where there aren't, everyone just kind of moves towards the same space until someone slows down and someone takes the lead. I do have to learn to slow down though in those areas that are unpaved - it can be bumpy!

The second milestone is ... I ATE INTESTINES! Those same intestines I refused to eat in Senegal. I ate them here, by accident, without knowing - and the worst part is, THEY TASTED GOOD! I had some great Sudanese food the other day at a friend's house - eggplant sauce, yogurt sauce, meat and intestines, with bread. mmm....

Anyways, I'm off to northern Sudan in a couple hours (the bus leaves at 4 a.m. This should be interesting!) to a small village where I will apparently have electricity for one hour a day! I'm tired and overworked, I think. I've been running around like a crazy person this past week to the point that my last interview today was a complete disaster because I just didn't have the mental faculties left. So I think a slower pace of life will be good for a while. (Communities in the areaI am going to are afraid their ancient heritage will be wiped out and they themselves displaced when the government builds dams in the area).

Hopefully these villagers won't be too amazed at the sight of a microphone. Today the children in the neighbourhood I went to were so loud/in your face/curious/obstructive that I could not conduct a single interview properly as I was followed by a mob of sreaming children. This, after spending $50 on a car, $80 on a translator, waiting three days for permission to enter this site, and spending hours in the grueling sun. This is the life of a journalist in Sudan, I suppose!

It's Complicated!

So, what am I doing here anyway?

I'm here to write articles and produce radio pieces for some newspapers and radio stations in Canada and the US (as a freelancer). I want to look at some stories that I think haven't been told while the world focuses on Darfur. First of all, Sudan has been portrayed as a very violent place, where Arabs are killing blacks in a brutal genocide. But this isn't the case across the country, and in some villages, Arabs have hosted blacks fleeing the war in other parts and integrated them into their communities. Second, Darfurian rebels took up arms against the government claiming their region had been marginalised for years. But Darfur is not the only neglected area in Sudan, and actually there are many groups in different areas right across the country that have/are/want to take up arms against the government. Third, many people are not aware that there was a civil war between north and south Sudan that killed 10 times the number of people who died in Darfur. That war ended in 2005, but in the past few months, has come dangerously close to re-erupting because many parts of the peace agreement have not been implemented by the government.

Anyways, those are some of the things I plan to look at, but this place is just so damn complicated that I'm trying to sort everything out in my head before I blog about it (that's why I haven't been blogging much. My days have been mostly consumed by work and my work is not at a stage of explanation yet! Plus, I received a grant from an organisation that funds journalists who go to 'under-reported' areas, and will be blogging for them (the Pulitzer Center) about the more journalism-oriented parts of this experience. I'll send you the link when it's live.)

So instead of telling you my thoughts on the conflicts here, I instead will reassure you that I have said goodbye to my friend the lizard, and moved on to cleaner pastures: ie. a UN guesthouse. My feet are starting to crack from the dryness, my skin is always sticky from the heat, I drink an incredible amount of water everday (Sometimes your mouth is so thirsty but your stomach is already bloated from all the liquids) and I'm becoming accustomed to wearing a scarf everytime I leave the house (which unfortunately means no tan).

I did get to one cultural event yesterday though. Here are some pics from a Sufi ritual I went to. Every week, hundreds gather to pay hommage to a great Sudanese Sufi leader, Hamd El-Nil (from what I understood) outside his tomb in a big cemetary. They stand in a huge circle, swaying to the drumming, chanting La illiha illa Alllah (there is only one God), until the sun sets.

All over again?

I was thinking of what I would blog about on this trip, and whether it would feel (for me and for you) like I was going away for the first time all over again, or more like, "been there, done that". I haven't really figured out the answer to that, but I think a little bit of both. I think everywhere you go, there are new and different things/people/issues, etc. But to some extent, it's always a bit of the same. Today, I stopped thinking about work for long enough to remember that I was in a new country and should probably discover it! I found a local restaurant and asked for some traditional food (which was on the house because they were so pleased I was Egyptian and interested in their food), and had that feeling of discovery and excitement for a second again. But I realized that that feeling is much less present this time around. There is much less culture shock (partly because I speak Arabic, I imagine) and much less transitioning. I have to say, it feels a lot easier. (My dad would argue that takes away from the fun). I think you just get to a point where new and exciting is normal. Does this make any sense?

Anyways, the weirdest thing about being here, I would say, is the fact that Darfur is right next door and you'd never even know it by being here. There is really nothing to indicate that there is a so-called genocide happening a couple states west of here. It is a lively city, with cheerful people, going about their business. Living here, it's as if Darfur does not even exist. And once in a while I do wonder if the West has, as the president of Sudan alleges, exaggerated the genocide for their own interests. But when you look at the numbers, it's just not true. Almost 190,000 have had to flee their homes in Darfur this year (2008) alone! Can you imagine? This thing is still raging on, five years later.

In more uplifting news, apparently even in Islamic conservative societies, 82-year-old men ask single women they meet to marry them. And I thought it was only in Senegal!

And... We're Back!

Oh, it feels good to be back in Africa! I thought Sudan would be a lot like Chad, but it's way better - full of life and much more developed. I'm loving it so far! (It has only been one day, and I'm sure I will take that back later!) But I'm definately exhausted.

I don't think I have ever really experienced jet lag until now. I slept badly Friday night in Canada, left for Sudan Saturday afternoon and arrived - after two nights on planes/airport benches - in Khartoum, the capital, Monday morning. So as you can imagine, the lack of sleep is catching up with me. This morning I woke up at 3am, and could not get back to sleep after that.

The flight here was full of all the regular chaos. Flight attendants who spoke no Arabic. Passengers who spoke no English. Overflowing overhead compartments. People sitting in each other's seats. But amazingly, the whole thing went really smoothly. None of the three flights I had to take were delayed. I had no problems getting through customs. My bag arrived unharmed. And someone was waiting for me at the airport to bring me to my ... hotel, if you could call it that.

For $20 a night, the cheapest you can get here, I got a room with paint chipping off the walls, a lizard crawling around, sheets that looked like they had never been washed, and ants everywhere. This morning, I shared my shower with a different lizard. I think he was as scared of me and the water as I was of him, so he wasn't too dangerous.

Sudan is really an interesting place. A neat mix of Arab and African. Actually, my arabic gets me very far here, and when I fling a scarf around my head, I don't look too out of place here. (Most women here cover their hair, and the northern part of the country is governed by Sharia law).

I've met a few people here who seem nice, including another Canadian journalist. And I had a fool (bean) sandwich this morning which reminded me of Egypt.

Hope everyone is doing well, and talk to you all soon insha'Allah!

Reflections & Gratitude

As you all know, I've been meaning to put an end to this poor blog for a long time. Unfortunately, life took hold of me, and almost three months later, you poor readers have had no closure! And so finally...

First of all, thank you to all of you, for your interest and support. You have been a loyal and forgiving audience. Thank you for reading.

Thank you to God of course, for making this beautiful trip possible in the first place.

And thank you to the people of Senegal and Chad for teaching me so much. I only hope that one day, I can repay the favour.

Sometimes, while abroad - most of the time, actually - everything around me seemed normal. It's amazing how fast you can get used to your new surroundings and forget how different they really are from the world you're used to.

And I remember a specific moment, about a week before leaving Senegal, where it all hit me. Where I stopped to think about just how different a life I had been living.

I was sitting in the bare mosquito-infested, concrete-walled room at my friend's family home in a small village where you can only get around on horse-drawn carts. Her family - brothers, sisters, aunts, neighbours - were watching the home's sole TV in a room that doubled as the bedroom for at least 8 or 9 girls who slept on foam mattresses on the ground. At night, they cocooned themselves in their thin sheets to protect themselves from malaria.

And I remember stopping, looking around the room, and letting the magnitude of it all sink in.

For six months, I lived in a country where most people pee, poo and shower in the same hole in the ground.

For six months, I lived in a country where whole families share a single closet, where there is no such thing as intimacy, where front doors to homes consist of sheets hung across a hole in the neighbourhood wall.

For six months, I lived in a country where 90% of jobs are in the informal sector, selling peanuts, on the street or used t-shirts at the market.

I lived in a country where people eat with their hands - and not just the tips of three fingers, but with the full palm, rolling the rice into their palms as if it was Plado before unfolding it into their mouths.

I lived in a country where you can buy freshly cooked peanuts, donuts and shishkabab on the streets.

Where the goats wake you up in the morning and the neighbours' screaming children keep you up at night.

Where the people you meet can touch your heart in a matter of minutes.

Where helping someone in need is not an option but an obligation.

Where saying Salamu Alaikum (May Peace be Upon You) to strangers you pass on the street is similarly expected.

Where women are strong leaders of their families; where men feel a lot but say little.

Where people love freely and fully - without reasons or logic - just heart.

Where colour, music, and life fill the streets. Where rhythm is instrinsic in every person and men can really dance!

My six months in Senegal taught me something about friendship. I built incredible friendships - often with people that didn't even understand me. I've changed my definition of friendship since. A friend is not always someone who knows you inside and out. A friend is simply a person who cares for you, who is there when you need them and who smiles, sincerely. I am friends with the woman who sells peanuts on the path from work to the bus. I don't know her name. We have trouble communicating. But she has touched my heart all the same.

My six months in Senegal taught me something about sharing and sacrifice. It's not enough to give to the poor from your "extra" savings. It's not enough to give away the shirt you no longer want. That's not giving. The real giving is when you sacrifice what you actually want or need for someone else. And Africans do it every day. In Senegal, it is normal to give up what you need for what someone else wants. Sacrifice is a duty; kindness is built into the system.

My six months in Senegal taught me something about tolerance. Life is never going to cooperate with you fully, and if you can accept that, you will lead a much more peaceful life. Things go wrong, the electricity cuts out, the bus is late. So what? There are more important things in life to worry about.

But Senegal and Chad have also taught me about hardship and injustice - about people who spend their lives wishing they could live somewhere else so that they can provide for their families.

About people in such desperation, they kill, rape and torture to keep living.

In Chad, I watched a baby die of malnutrition, his body lifeless on a Doctors without Borders clinic table. I met a woman whose back was still covered in scars from beatings by armed men in Sudan. I felt the evil human beings were capable of, the suffering they endured.

So the next time you're pissed that you're late and stuck in traffic, remember that the roads are safe and that you aren't under constant threat of hijacking.

Next time your mother annoys you with all her demands, remember that she is healthy and not dead thanks to completely preventable disease.

Next time you have the chance to reach out to someone and improve their life in whatever way, TAKE IT.

That's all for now, I think.

But I still have a lot to learn, to live, to take in. I plan to return to this beautiful land - sooner than you think. So keep your virtual ears open - Sudan is next!