Call, interrupted

I’m going to try to write this without committing blasphemy, but it may not be possible. I got the giggles during the call to prayer the other night. The Muezzin had started his call and suddenly there was a huge amount of feedback. Anyone who has been in a Muslim country knows how loud the call to prayer is. The speakers used by Mosques must be better than Bose. The amplifiers in Mosques must be the envy of rockstars around the world. The call to prayer is LOUD. So you can imagine how loud the feedback was. I’m pretty sure it shattered windows.

Anyway, I got the giggles, because the Muezzin of course did not give up. After all, it was the call to prayer, the evening “salat”. He’d start with the familiar, “Allah Akbar,” and then there was something like a mini-explosion, then feedback and then the very familiar sound of fumbling with the mic. You can just imagine the scene…panic that the window for salat was closing and this call would have to be skipped. He kept trying though and twice the power went out. The force of the amp was so great it took out what could have been about 10 city blocks.

Giggling to myself locked away in the ARC guest house (perhaps entertainment came a bit cheaply given my isolation), I thought, “TIA (this is Africa.)” Only in Africa and never in the Middle East would the salat be thwarted by technical difficulties. Only in Africa and never in the Middle East would the most reflective time of day be interrupted by a willful struggle to right this malfunction. Only in Africa…

Point, Khartoum

Actually it's two points that get Khartoum out of the red in my book.

The first is www.goodhairdaysgalore.com! The arid bone dry air of Khartoum has given me GREAT hair days. I barely have to put any product in. I do none of my usual tugging and pulling to get my curls to ease their clench a bit so that I don't look like a cupie doll or a Q tip.

Psychologically, and this is no joke, it's been a real load off not stressing about my hair. I am far too consumed I know, but it's a true source of daily stress and it's gone. In its stead is an obsession with looking in the mirror and marveling at how effortless the curls fall exactly as I've always wanted: just below my shoulders in near perfect spirals. None of the "f" word (frizz, shhh!) See exhibits below.

The other victory is in the food category. Khartoum draws its food influence far more from its Arabness than its Africaness. I've had lovely fresh baked bread every day and fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, yogurt and olives. There is this salty cream cheese that I got from the little shop down the street that is to die for.

The restaurants here don't win for esthetics, but the food has been good. I ate at GAD the other night and had very tasty grilled chicken (and given my current obsession with finding chicken that doesn't suck, it was an extra delight.) There was lots of babaganosh, hummus and fresh parsley salads. At the ex pat place, Solitaire, they have this lemon mint juice slurpy thing that is out of this world. And for some reason that makes no sense to me, they give you free desserts - I had a piece of cheese cake and a kiwi custard and chocolate tart.

At home, I have a good enough kitchen and cook fresh eggplant. Tonight I will cook my sweet potato stirfry because I have all the ingredients. And some how the cucumber yogurt salad tastes better in the Arab world.

I should have left my granola bars at home. Nice work, KRT, nice work.

KRT: The obstructionist zone

This place put the frustration in frustration. I told Jeanne it was like a lackadaisical Venus fly trap. 

The dream of traveling to Darfur is looking dim. Wait a minute, I don’t even really want to go to Darfur. I mean, professionally and programatically I do – there is a very cool project we are trying to start in Gereida. We are going to try and create communication and dialogue channels between pastrolists and farmers. We going to build markets and peace! Well, actually the town got sacked by rebels the day before I arrived, so it turns out we’re not going to do shit.

http://www.sudantribune.com/South-Darfur-town-falls-to-rebel,42535

On top of that, apparently my visa says "Khartoum only," despite me applying to go to Darfur, so it's unlikely my travel will be approved. Oh, and they changed the procedure for travel permits the day I arrived. And then again the next day. Listening to our administrative staff makes things clear as muck. In addition to the dizzying obstructionist bureaucracy, everyone's from a different country so there are thick accents, competing languages, etc. No steps forward, 42 steps back.

This is my Khartoum face:

Arrival Khartoum

Firstly, it’s friggin hot. Africa hot hot Mr. Bigglesworth. It’s 43 degrees C today – that’s a wopping 112F. But it’s ok, because there’s air condition. Oh, and the other good news is that on a scale of Juba to 10, the Khartoum airport is a solid 7.5. None of the crazy of Juba airport. The Sudanese scrum is not there. 

I get why Juba is so petulant. It has none of the infrastrure of this place. Khartoum is fairly modern, power grid. Also the food is pretty good – very Arab influence, so lots of good bread, olives and feta.

I arrived at the ARC office/guest house, which is a four story building with 24 hour electricity and most importantly, air conditioning. Seriously, I would not survive without it. I just washed some dishes with burning hot water that came out of the cold tap.