Atbara River in Pictures

atbara, posted with vodpod

Desert Wanderer- Along the Atbara River

I have been meaning to write about my trip to Northeastern Sudan for some time now but as usual many excuses can be inserted in this *________* space. I have been neglecting this blog for some time now but I’m hoping to be more active. Part of the delay with writing this post is also my apprehension that I find myself writing about my country in a sensationalized manner. In which, fellow countrymen are represented as anthropological case studies to be examined. So in writing this I’ve tried to be cautious of that and record my observations to the best of my abilities, without portraying the people/communities that I have encountered as an exhibit.

Every time I venture into a new part of Sudan, I am taken aback by the vastness and diversity of this country. It is also sobering to see life outside of the bubble that is Khartoum. This time curiosity took me towards Atbara River. Starting through the very familiar road from Khartoum to the town of Atbara, the sight of blown up tires littered the sides of the narrow road- a reminder that how this desert environment can be so harsh and unforgiving.

After reaching Atbara, we left the familiar tarmac road and ventured off on dirt tracks. Passing droves of ghost towns- towns built to compensate Manasir people for their displacement from Merowe. These houses and dry irrigation canals stood as a haunting reminder of the government’s blatant failure to provide any sort of adequate consultation or come up with some sort of acceptable solution that could have been far less costly than this current wasteland…Such a shame.

We drove in parallel with the Atbara River, which extends through River Nile and Kassala states and beyond the border over to Ethiopia/Eriteria. Across the border it’s referred to as the Tekeze River. The road or lack there off consisted of tracks laid by the occasional lorry or pickup truck before us. Driving across endless dunes, batched up with the occasional protrusion of Acacia trees, I realized that the horizon is much closer that I had initially thought. It seemed as our car could potentially fall off the face of the earth beyond the coming sand dune. Despite the serenity of the landscape, I found myself thinking how anyone could survive in such callous environment.

Most citizens in this area are nomadic peoples, tending to their livestock along historic predestinated routes. For centuries they have managed to forge a living through lucrative camel trading in relative peace. To take advantage of the cooler weather, our trips usually started at 5-6 am before sun break. In the early mornings we had the pleasure of witnessing impromptu camel races. Young boys, probably no older than 10 years old, mounted on the backs of sturdy camels, galloping across the flat landscape with ferocious clouds of smoke trailing behind them. These boys are training these camels for their debuts in races that take place in Kassala State. From there the best of the best are sold at rates of US$10k and upwards for pure breeds. These camels are taken to the Arabian Peninsula, mostly UAE for bigger races and camel breeders. Not long ago, many of these young boys would also be sold with the camels as their small body frames make for excellent Jockeys. Their blight came to light when several sources began highlighting their abuses; mostly undocumented in these Gulf States are they abused and then discarded like objects once they have outgrown their desired size/weight.

These days this solitude has been abruptly disturbed by the discovery of large deposits of gold in these deserts. As a result there has been a modern day gold rush to these desolate dunes. At the occasional haphazard rest stop/fueling station (usually consisting of several large jerry cans of petrol), I was surprised to find young boys/men not exceeding the age of 30 from all across Sudan. These men have left their respective corners of the country and made their way to this desert with the prospects of finding small nuggets of gold through arduous process of breaking up sandy/rock formations and sifting through under the intensely painful sun. In talking with some of them, it was interesting to see the mix of tribes, and socio-economic backgrounds represented. It ranged from those who have lost most of their livestock, to those whose families could not support the high cost of subsistence agriculture to university educated men, who have lost hope on the prospects of finding employment. In all, their stories were tied with the same somber tone of desperation. It was eye-opening to see the extents that these young men will go in order to earn an income.

After several days of spending time in these regions of the country, it is evident that these communities have been completely forgotten by the central government and they in turn have little faith in such an institution for providing them any semblance of basic services. They definitely feel the impacts of climate change/climate variability. Clans that once boasted herds in the 10s of thousands are now lucky to retain a handful for basic subsistence. The irony of the situation was palpable. Sudan as a nation is one of the largest exporter of livestock on the continent, yet those who labor in rearing these herds reap little benefits.

We marked the end of our several day trip, exhausted and covered in a healthy layer of dust/sand. As we approached the outskirts of Khartoum, the distinct flames of the Al Gaili Oil Refinery blew in the distance- with it came lights and more densely populated communities. Entering the city of Khartoum, I was left in a daze trying to reconcile the environment that had been introduced to over the course of the previous days and the car-infested streets of Khartoum. With drivers, lacking patience went about trying to burrow themselves into tiny holes within the traffic gridlock. Recounting the pleasant conversations had over freshly brewed jabana (coffee) and contrasting it with the impatient horns of Khartoumites was difficult to grasp that these communities existed on the same continent.

Appreciative of the diversity that makes up this country. I wish it was a bit more celebrated rather than being used as divisive tool to serve political agendas.

3′aib ‘disgrace’

That’s 3’aib (a’ib) they say
What will people think?
What will they say?

That’s 3’aib they say
Sit up straight
Don’t come home too late

That’s 3aib they say
A single word that defines our world
Elusive boundaries of what’s wrong and right

You must exude a certain image
No room for individual thought
Just follow what has been taught

This 3′aib they speak of
These ‘disgraceful’ acts
Arbitrarily defined and full of illogical cracks

Your life is diligently archived in a series of disgraceful moments
Aunties and uncles never forgetting any details
So quick to judge and put you on the spot without fail

Slowly but surely this pile becomes an overwhelming mountain
Causing you to question your world and your actions
Is my logic absurd? Or am I missing a critical social transaction

When you finally cry out and question why
You are blatantly shot down
Told to obey and stop acting like a clown

This 3’aib they speak of
I want some justifications
Who makes the rules? Who changes the equation?

I love my culture
My deep roots that keep me grounded
But these double standards always leave me stranded

That’s 3’aib they’ll say
To these word of mine
How could you get out of line?

To this 3’aib they speak of
I’m tired of carrying this unnecessary burden
I need to let go
To realize….
there is always a compromise

Whispers of a country in crisis

I sat underneath the shade of your Neim tree
felt your scortched, sandy earth  beneath me
As my hand traced your parched skin
I felt you heaving heavily
trying to breath in

I asked you the matter?
but no words came through
Your solemn silence echoed your pain
Piercing through
like shells from a warplane

Your sha3ab, your ‘people’ that once sung your praises
now stand aside or rip you apart to smaller spaces
Their love and melodies carried you through
Those tunes and syllables that nourished you
No longer speak in unison
Or help to care for you

Your trees cried salty tears  and withered away
Your  monstrous march of millions hooves
Have dwindled or gone astray
The Nile  your backbone
Has cowered and meandered
In fear of your people’s greedy panders

In a faint breath you murmured your sorrows
I am divided
and my people are dying
I no longer have the will to keep trying

We sat in silence and witnessed your neighbours’ grief
Egypt is spiraling in uncontolable directions
Libya  is caving in for the “righteous” cause of speech and tribal factions
Your Somali brothers can no longer shed a tear
No drop of water in their bodies to placate their hunger and fear

We wondered if you will soon share their same fate
Or will self proclaimed saviors swoop in with their
agends
and willingness to “donate”
where well intentions
give way to capitalist  ventures

With every event, it is said that “this time is different”
But every symptom is getting the same prescription
We all seem to be suffering from selective amnesia
Forgetting to take notes
Repeating the same diction

As the sun came down
The dusk gave way to gentle breezes
the memories you etched along your sands
have been brushed away
and almost forgotten
….

So fresh and so clean clean: Ethiopia’s listros ‘shoe-shine boys’

A sight that is as ubiquitous as Addis Ababa’s distinctive blue taxis are none other than the thousands of listros or “shoe-shine boys” who roam the streets of Addis Ababa. They tend to weary shoes of the city’s pedestrians, giving them  a new ‘face-lift’ and much-needed relief from the city’s abuara ‘dust’ or in kermt ‘rainy season’, chiqa ‘mud’. When I first arrived in Addis Ababa, I noticed the sight of these young boys who line the streets and offer shoe polishing for a mere 2 birr. They diligently smear away the layers of dust and mud and apply a generous portion of shoe shine, that leaves most shoe-soles gleaming. They walk around with distinctive wooden boxes that house their gear and double as a stand for clients to rest their feet as they are being polished. In some areas, some listros have gone as far as setting up strings of stools and using plastic sheets to create umbrellas to guard against the rain and sun. These little listro stalls become chill out spots where you see people sitting in small stools getting their shoes shined, getting their fill of local news or discussing recent events.

Initially I found this practice fairly amusing, never have I been to a country where there was such a deep ingrained culture to have freshly polished shoes. Where it was taboo to walk around with dirty shoes. I found this practice particularly amusing during kermt, where it rains without fail on a daily basis and the streets become a canvas of mud and rocks. It didn’t make sense to me that one would get their shoes polished, walk several steps and have to repeat the process. Soon after I realized the utility of the service these listros provide. Having to walk from my house to the office, it became part of my routine to stop by one listro boy’s particular spot in the mornings, exchange greetings and have my shoes polished.

I then began to ask about the nature of this profession and how it came to be such an integral part of urban culture in Ethiopia. For many of these listros, the meager earnings from shoe shining provide a vital life line to life in the city and possibly at times to supporting family members. I discovered that most of these young boys are migrants from outside Addis. Initially listros were known to be from a particular tribe, Guragai, who are renowned for their business and entrepreneurship skills. A job as a listro for them is the first step in the ladder to becoming a self-made business man. Many of these listros worked to save up funds and pool it together to jump to the next rung in the ladder or renting a small mobile stall in Merkato (Africa’s  largest open air market….a city of its own). From there as their liquidity increases, they move up to renting bigger venues and becoming more established business men. I admired this sense of resourcefulness that instilled the dogma of “hard work, can pay off.”

These days, the listro market although still majority Guragai, is now infiltrated by many young boys form other tribal groups (most notably the Wellita) trying to emulate the success of those who have gone to become well established business men or have found means to gain access to higher education. In trying to do a bit of ad-hoc research about the origins of the name ‘listro’, I came across some noteworthy organizations and others who are trying to portray a dire situation where these young boys are systematically victimized. The latter fail to understand the intricate business ethic that is instilled within this community of young boys and do little understand their mentality. Rather they are seen as drifters who have been neglected by society. They fail to understand that the services they provide are highly appreciated by the general public. More importantly is that these young boys do not see a lifetime of shoe-shining in their horizon, but instead see it as a step in becoming self-sufficient and capable of earning an income. Their intentions are to earn and save sufficient amount of money to move up to the next venture; making way for the next wave of  young listos to occupy their ranks. Further in reading some of these accounts, it makes it seem these young boys are aimless and have no prospects. But in reality many are trying to go to school and take up this profession on the side.

Ethiopia:The new global baby market

As I stood in the check-in counter at Addis Ababa’s Bole Airport a few weeks back on my way to London, I noticed an all too familiar sight. Many European and American families with Ethiopian babies. In my particular flight at the time of my check in I counted 8 different families with new Ethiopian adoptive babies. For 2 of these families, it was their second adoption from Ethiopia as they were accompanied by young children (ranging from 6-10 yrs of age). The number of these adoptions have exponentially risen in Ethiopia. I’m sure that a wave of celebrity adoption of African babies, one of which was from Ethiopia has fueled this trend.

I have gotten into many heated debates about this topic with friends here in Ethiopia. I was always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, and advocated for these adoptions.  Ethiopia is in the process of reforming its adoption policies to attract more international adoptions. I viewed this as a positive step forward to making the process more transparent and an effort to safeguard children who are being placed with foreign families. I strongly argued against allegations of why these Western families were coming to adopt from Africa and Ethiopia in particular. My feeling was every child deserves a good home and most of these families are those who for some reason or another want to expand their families… so in a way it’s win-win.

I brushed aside the troubling fact that mostly Caucasian parents to be, adopt East African children and set them up for a life-time of confusion and isolation as they struggle to reconcile their new homes and their heritage. Further, I pushed aside the fact that Ethiopia is a country trying to manage this flux of international adoptions. As a result some of their safeguards and vetting processes for prospective parents is somewhat weak and can surrender young children to the hands of relative strangers who will take him/her to a foreign land and potentially expose them to abuse…and lack of a safety net to turn to in the event of such acts.

Many opponents of this wave of adoptions often argued why these parents fail to adopt from their own countries, where the foster care system is overflowing with children waiting to be placed into good homes. In my naive effort, I argued that systems in Western countries are very restrictive (which is true), which leads desperate parents to be, to venture and seek other avenues of adopting children.

I was troubled by blogs in the blogosphere where new parents talk about struggling to manage “unruly” hair of their new adopted daughters and the manner in which they conveyed their differences. I can only imagine what kind of impact that has on a child growing up knowing how different they are from their adoptive parents. These acts serve as subtle messages that create a chasm between the adoptive child and their adoptive parents and reinforce a divide in the mind of this child.

A friend of mine recently shared this link… where a 13-year-old Ethiopian girl adopted into an American home and relocated to Seattle, Washington, was found dead from frostbite in her family’s backyard. Reports indicated that teachers noticed that she lost significant weight before her death. Several months later and no one has been charged with her death and inquiries into this gross negligence have been moving at a glacial pace. Reading about this story was heartbreaking. I realize it would be premature of me to say this is what happens to every adoptive child. But hearing this story highlighted that these acts exist and authorities in their adoptive countries are very slow to react.

Lastly, I was captivated by a 3 part story on Slate.com titled the Makeni Children, where the Mosely family recounts their tribulations with international adoptions and discovering that their children whom they thought were orphans and in need of good homes were actually part of a large child selling schemes. Middle men/women, worked to lure young children from their families and practically sell them to adoption agencies in the US.

I am still an advocate for adoptions. There are many many children here in Ethiopia, Sudan and across the horn who are in need of good homes. Governments are doing very little to help provide basic needs to these children. To add, the destructive stigmas that surround adoptions in our cultures leave many of these children in sub-par orphanages, without hope of finding families. Yet I am more aware that the issue of adoptions is not black and white, yet many grey shades in between. I do hope that the Ethiopian government works to make adoption process more stringent and create stronger linkages in order to facilitate follow-up of adoptive children in their new environments. I also hope that those who adopt from Ethiopia become more conscious of remarks and actions that may seem harmless but can scar a child for life… and as a closing remark, I do hope that “we” Ethiopians/ Sudanese (people from the Horn of Africa) begin to shift our paradigm and reconsider adoptions. Instead of merely criticizing foreigners coming an adopting local children…why can’t we be part of the solution by providing homes for some of these children.

Ya baladi ya habob…jalabia wa TOUB

The Sudanese national dress for women, referred to as a toub/thoub is a long piece of cloth (usually4.5 meters) that is wrapped around the body and looped over the head and tossed over the right shoulder. It is probably the single most defining symbol of Sudanese women in the past and today. Despite the country’s variety in cultural diversity the toub is adorned by women all across Sudan ( with slightly varying styles). Women in chad, Niger parts of Mali and Mauritania also wear similar garments. I always found it uncanny how although Sudan and Mauritania are on opposite sides of the continent they wear the toub in a very similar manner. A lot of the times you cannot distinguish a Sudanese woman from a Mauritanian one.  It also bears some similarity to the Indian sari, as in some styles the toub is tied around the waist and looped around like some Indian styles.

It is a dress that many Sudanese poets, singers and artists spent quiet a bit of time describing. The title of my blog post are lines from Mohamed Wardi’s (famous Sudanese singer) lyrics. It roughly translates to “My country the beloved…Jalabia (white long tunics worn by men) and Toub ( garments worn by women). Many songs, poems and visual art pieces describe or convey the way it is modest yet allows for women to retain some elements of femininity.  Like Mauritanians, Sudanese women are preferred to be “round” so that their curves are accentuated when wearing the toub. Skinner women are often encouraged to put on a bit more weight so the toub “sits well on them.”

I came across this Aljazeera English  piece(2:49) on this unique dress, how it has changed through time, and what it means to Sudanese women of all generations. Watch below:

Although it was adorned by all women several decades back, it is now mainly worn by  married women. Toubs make up an essential part of the Shailya (dowry) or gifts from the groom to his bride. Now a days toubs are what women are using to make statements. Growing up outside of Sudan, I only saw these toubs in special Sudanese events (weddings, Eid, etc) and women scrutinized the details and styles of each toub. Every so often new styles come out with very interesting names. It is essential that women precisely match the color of the skirt,shirt and accessories otherwise it is seen as somewhat taboo to wear mismatching colors. For those who run in elite circles it is taboo to be seen with the same toub twice.

During the 1950s the toub became a symbol of female empowerment. At a time where very few women were allowed to work outside the home, as the clip alludes, women marched in the streets with their toubs to demand they get equal working opportunities. Today the national work dress code for women in all public institutions is a white toub. Today women make up a significant portion of the work force and have risen to positions of prominence; a key indication is the number of women represented in the National Council of Ministers.

Many young women today opt not to wear the toub, particularly in universities, but it still remains very much part of the culture and many look forward to owning their own set of toubs. While many see their national dresses as somewhat restrictive and sadly backwards because they do not fit the Western ideal, I am happy to see that Sudanese women embrace their toubs and take pride in wearing them. Seeing a women in a foreign country walking down the street, or at an airport, etc wearing a toub puts a smile on my face and instantly elicits a feeling of comfort.

In the very limited literature and references that are found on this Sudanese garment, it is always stated that it migrated from India or influenced by the Roman toga. In all instances this literature assumes that this dress was borrowed from elsewhere. As I was digging in and trying to better understand my history, and life of the Nubians, I came across a surprising discovery. Nubian civilization is characterized by 3 stages; where each marked a transition in the civilization and relocation of the capital. This rich history is often forgotten/overlooked and many always assume that the Nubian civilization was a transition from pharaonic traditions, when in reality the first phases of this civilization predated the pharaohs by several centuries. During the second major phase of Nubian civilization (Meroitic Period), jewelery, frescos and paintings etched on pottery that were discovered depicting women of the Royal Court wearing transparent loose robes of linen that reached down to their ankles. These clothes had folds that were draped over the right shoulder and folded down the back. This description is very similar to modern-day Sudanese toubs. Also during this period, women were depicted as obese, as a sign of beauty (R. S. Bianchi, Daily Life of the Nubians (Greenwood Publishing Group, 2004). For more info on Nubian civilization customs and dress. There is no doubt that designs and styles of the modern-day toub were influenced by the Indians and Romans as many sources suggest, but I am pleased to find this is garment was conceived by the Nubians and carried forward today by modern-day Sudanese and women across the Sahara to Chad, Niger, Mali and Mauritania. It is refreshing to see that as opposed to the common notion that it was brought to Africa, this is something that was 100% home-grown. Has anyone considered if  the Nubian garments influenced the Romans and various Indian civilizations?

Ramadan Kareem

 

Ramadan Kareem!
Greetings for this blessed month
May God accept our good deeds and forgive our shortcomings

This doodle is a result of extreme boredom while on transit back to Addis

The Sudani I.B.M. work philosophy

I’m sure if I mentioned the word bureaucracy, everyone no matter of geographic location will have something to say. The Sudanese people are a gregarious bunch, well for the most part. I grew up often hearing the phrase “al Sudan beh nasah” (sudan is it’s people). Super friendly and to some extent somewhat nosy. Favorite pastime, includes drinking chai and lots of chatting…they love exhchanging “shamarat” or gossip.

No conversation can ever start with the intended thought in mind. One must go through the lengthy salamat process, where one must inquire about all family members’ health, the weather, news and any sort of random banter one can think of. Hospitality is engrained in their blood, you can never pass by a group of people gathered to share a meal without being invited to join; even if you are a stranger.

So keeping this in mind, one can begin to get the sense of how government institutions function. Many idle bodies, reading newspapers, drinking chai and exchanging shamarat. There are people working, but like many office settings few carry the workload for many.

The Sudanese have perfected the I.B.M. philosophy. I’m sure that when anyone reads IBM, the image of the highly successful and efficient tech company that is famous for manufacturing some of the most reliable computers on the market. Sadly the Sudanese I.B.M. does not reflect any of the traits associated with this company.

A very simple example, you go to office X, to get some paperwork completed. You ask are assured that INSHALLAH you can come and pick up your completed paper the following day. So you come the next day, you sit down or wait by a window, go have some chai; if it is someone you know you must go through the lengthy salamat process and then….you come to inquire about your paperwork and you are told with a very sympathetic tone….they are not ready today, come BUKRA (tomorrow). So you leave disappointed, knowing that you have lost yet another day having to wait for paperwork. Having resigned yourself to loosing yet another day to getting this paperwork done, you set off to the same office on the third day. You wait, you drink some chai, you chat and then you finally get to ask about your documents….and you are met with yet another response in a sympathetic tone…. MA’ALESH (sorry).

So the Sudanese I.B.M. is a way of life. As much as I would like to knock my head against the wall sometimes, it’s the way things work. They move at glacial speeds but in a uniquely Sudanese way. So if you have any sort of paper work that needs some attention in a government office, then  brace yourself, and expect to loose a minimum of three days.

Sudanese words of wisdom (3)

I have decided to try to get back to compiling Sudanese proverbs that I’ve come across. I find these sayings (that exist in every culture) fascinating and provide a small window into the society and how it thinks. They are  products of experience and necessity. Elaborate metaphors that draw upon daily life in Sudan, to cleverly convey a message without being too overt.

كرعيه في البحر و فاتح خشمه للمطر

Kira’eaho fi al-bah’ar wa fatih’ khashmoo ll-matar

His feet are in the sea and he opens his mouth for the raindrops 

This proverb seeks to convey someone’s greed. Although someone is by the water he still tries to capture every little raindrop. Sudanese often use the word sea to refer to the Nile River.