There's No Place Like Homes

A while ago in Juba, I noticed a new store in the area near the IAS office—Chinese Supermarket! When I stopped by I was gratified to note the authentic long strips of plastic hanging in the doorway, a staple of Chinese business establishments, especially stores and small street restaurants and cafeterias. Once inside I was greeted by the old familiar smell of Chinese shops—herbs, soy sauce, garlic, dried fish, plastic stuff. I say “old” because it’s been a while since I’ve been back in China (2009). My Chinese friends in Mundri once asked me when was the first time I’d been to China. I said 2003 (though I think it was 2004, actually), and he said, “Oh, when you were 15?” I said, “Nope. I was 20.” (Which would have been true if I’d gotten the date right.) “Never!” he said. “You cannot be more than 24.” Which shows that not ALL Asians are good at math (because if I had been 15 in 2003, then I should be 25 or 26 in 2014, both of which are more than 24, the age that I cannot be more than, according to my friend Li). But when flattering a girl, it’s more important to keep the numbers low than to pay attention to Math.

Inside the Chinese Supermarket, two chubby middle-aged Chinese ladies screamed instructions at the South Sudanese men carrying in large heavy bags of various types of rice.  I know that they were not really angry or saying anything rude—that’s just how it sounds to people who don’t speak Chinese. Though I didn’t find candied, dried sweet potato strips  or meat-hair frosted red bean bread (crushing my vague hope of satisfying one or more of these cravings that China gave me), I did take note of the various sauces and vegetables that I could possibly buy there in the future when traveling back to Mundri where I have a kitchen to cook. And I decided to buy “fragrant fragile walnut meat biscuit” because, of course I did. When I asked, “多小钱?” The lady jumped back in surprise and we had a nice chat in between her yelling more instructions at various people.

As I walked out of the door of the Chinese Supermarket, I thought to myself, “Everyone needs to go to China and fall in love with it because then, wherever you are in the world, you will always get excited to find a Chinese shop in the middle of someplace you never expected it to be—you are guaranteed moments of excitement and nostalgia in your life forever after!”

A couple days later I was invited over to a new friend’s house. She’s from the Netherlands and she invited two other Dutch people and a Swedish guy to join us. We talked about ice-skating and European royal families. My role in the conversation was to talk about how I get a special thrill from leaving cups of water outside overnight during the winter (if I’m ever in the US over the wintertime), and finding it out there the next morning all frozen—nature’s magic trick! I’m always impressed. I also showed off my knowledge of Dutch words gleaned from  Indonesian “westafel” (sink) and “rok” (skirt). They were awed by the depth of my ability to speak their language. Definitely awed.  And then at the end of the meal, my friend brought out “speculaaaaaaaaaas”! (I added some extra vowels to show my excitement and also because, since it’s Dutch, there are definitely going to be extra vowels in there, and this is as good as I can guess for accurate spelling.) Speculaaaas (or Speculoos) are ginger-flavored cookies, often shaped like windmills. The sisters and I always loved these ubiquitous (in ex-Dutch colony Indonesia) packaged biscuits. I thought to myself, “And also, everyone needs to fall in love with Dutch ginger cookies because you get that same thrill that you get from finding a Chinese store on a random street in South Sudan when your friend busts them out for dessert.” And then I realized that I could keep going like this with countries and places and languages and foods that I love and get excited about seeing in unexpected places.

As a most-of-my-life long expat and TCK and general wandering traveler, I’ve nodded my head solemnly over articles that talk about how you can never go back to the place you loved because that place will always be different from how you remembered it. Really, it’s not the place that you want to return to, it’s the place and the time and the people who were with you and the life stage you were in, etc. That’s true of course—it is sometimes sad, but always true. And it’s really just a fact of Life in this World. BUT! It is also true that the more places you let yourself love, the more you will find pieces of moments and memories in places and times far from where you were.  And the speculaas will taste sweeter because one bite reminds you of buying them in the market nearby your house when you were in junior high and your older sister was back from boarding school craving them.  The smell of spices in a market in Khartoum will throw your brain back to the time you wandered through Souq Hammadiyeh in Damascus, looking for adventure. And the feel of walking through plastic flaps to get into a store will transport you back in time (for real it was 10 years ago, I am old) to walking through the cafeteria doors to 首都师范大学 (Capital Normal University) where you spent a summer studying Chinese and living with a Chinese family.

Kibbeh Labaniyeh

What I'm trying to say is that yes, traveling and living overseas means that you will learn to love things that you might never get/have/see/taste again. I remember this one guy who came out to Indonesia for a visit who insisted on eating nothing but bread and maybe some fried chicken at the hotel buffet. When we tried to get him to try other food he said, "What if I like it and then I can never get it again after I go back to America?" At first, this seems almost logical. And then you realize that he was just a really picky eater trying to find a good excuse not to try anything new. But the truth is that I might never again get to taste Um Mohamed's perfect kibbeh with the pomegranate seeds inside that gave it just the right touch of tang and sweetness to complement the seasoned meat and pine nuts in their crunchy bulgar shell. The first time I had them at her house was after my friends and I had forgotten which apartment building was hers and went around knocking on doors asking for Um Mohamed. This is hilarious if you know that "Um Mohamed" is what you call a woman whose first son's name is "Mohamed." Since many (or most) people in Muslim countries around the world name their first son "Mohamed," we found an "Um Mohamed" at almost every door we knocked on. Eventually we made it to the one we were looking for, and for our trouble, we were stuffed full of the best kibbeh in the world, which I'll probably never eat again. Then other day I got to eat some kibbeh labaniyeh (not from Um Mohamed, but still good) from a Syrian restaurant near my house in Khartoum served to me by a waiter who used to live in Rukkn Ed-din, Damascus (one of the places I lived while I was there) and is related to the owner of the shwaerma shop next door to my apartment. This was a bittersweet moment for us as we excitedly shared memories of a place we loved, knowing that he at least would still be there if not for the deteriorating situation in his homeland.

This store is actually in Khartoum

I wrote that whole paragraph and I still didn't get to point of what I was trying to say, which is that you will miss things from places where you travel. And not just the food--though, mostly the food, because you can make new friends, but you can't make your own kibbeh labaniyeh (unless you are Joanna because she is a great cook, and I am…….not). But the depressing articles and snotty tourist boys who visit Indonesia and tell you that you can never get those moments/places/tastes back are only partially right. You can't get those moments back, but because you had those moments, you are going to have many more moments that you wouldn't have had if you hadn't had those moments in the first place. (That last sentence totally makes sense, I just read it again to make sure.) 

So live your wandering life and cry your buckets-of-tears goodbyes but keep your eyes open for the world-crossing moments when you can be in China and South Sudan and Damascus and Khartoum at the exact same natsukashi moment. 

And now I will make my bonus point: 'natsukashi' is a Japanese word meaning 'the feeling you have when something brings back fond memories' that I learned from my parents who lived in Japan in the 70's. I've never even been there. But they shared their moment with me. Because when you have moments, you can share them with others so that they can benefit from a broader vocabulary because of you. And someday they might thank you for it. Or maybe they will just mention you briefly in a blog post. But that totally counts.

And now I will leave you with some photos of places and people I might never see again from life-changing moments before I go off to Zanzibar with an American friend that I met when I lived in Lebanon who now lives in Yemen before I go back to South Sudan because--international life.

The kid I wanted to adopt from the orphanage I volunteered
at while I was living in China in 2006.

My adopted mother in Shenzhen

My favorite Shenzhen friend's daughter.

My Jordanian mother who let me live with her
while I was learning Arabic

My BFF in Jordan who is also a mumtaztik Arabic teacher

I'm feeling especially nostalgic about Syria right now for some reason…

A scary photo of me carving a pumpkin in the apartment
where I lived in Syria--not knowing that several years later
I would meet a relative of the owner of the shwaerma shop
next door who is now living in Khartoum.

With some of my favorite students--
I don't know where any of them are now.

With my Palestinian/Kurdish roommate in Syria
and her cousin at a wedding in Damascus.
(I am not on drugs here, just anticipating a late night of dancing)

With another friend in a grocery store in Damascus.
I also don't know anything about where she or her family are now.

The ruins of Palmyra in Tadmor, Syria

The ruins of Tyre

My life is so hard.
Let this be a lesson to you.

Sudan Life Moments

As I prepare to go back down south via a short stop-over in Zanzibar, please enjoy some photos representative of my awesome life in Khartoum, courtesy of my Kiwi friend and her Aussie husband for whom I am house and dog sitting this weekend--because their internet is actually working, unlike the internet at my house/office… Fair dinkum!

But is this really necessary, Australians? Seriously. A vegemite plate? Come on. Also, note: no photos of the dog because he is still hiding under the bed terrified of me, even when I use my best Kiwi accent to try to convince him to come out. Maybe my actual Kiwi friend will have more luck when she comes to visit this arvo. Another note for Australians: that word is marked as misspelled by every computer, phone, tablet, etc. in the universe, but that never stopped you so why should it stop me?

Nile fish! Did I already post a photo of this last time I did a lazy photo post? Probably. This fish is good, but best of all is the peanut butter chili sauce in the middle. I mostly just ate that whole plateful by myself.

Khartoum is kind of hot, but no worries--you get sprayed with water while enjoying outdoor dining at most fine establishments. It is refreshing. It might not be so great for your makeup, but I don't wear makeup much, so I can't really say for sure.

Closeup is the most exciting toothpaste brand ever. I've tried chocolate, choco-mint, herbal, orange,  and now Fire-Freeze! I also bought coffee flavored toothpaste for my sisters for Christmas once, but they rejected my gift. Fire-Freeze has been slightly disappointing. Advertisements say that it should warm and cool your mouth, but unless my teeth are really not sensitive to heat or cold (which is a good thing, right? Who needs dentists!), then it does nothing but taste like tangy mint. I don't recommend it, but it came with a mini free deodorant, and I can't resist tiny free things.

We have been having a lot of power outages recently so when my electricity went out, I didn't think anything of it. Then I went out the door and noticed that only my floor was missing power. I went up to Leif's floor, but he still had power. We realized that someone had forgotten to pay the electric bill for the floor that I am staying on, and that could not be fixed until the next day. So Leif, who has lived in Africa for more than 30 years and has a creative brain, decided to rig up a small electrical system for me. Using a string of extension cords connected to an outlet on his floor, we brought in a strip of plugs for a lamp and charging my phone. He said, "Let's make your AC work because you have it and you are in Khartoum, so you need to enjoy it while you can." He then whipped out some extra electrical wire and some pliers and wire cutters and rigged up a nice dangerous plug. Then he plugged it in and blew up the power strip. Undeterred, he tried again with my fan (pictured below) and broke it. But still-he is impressive and it's not his fault that they didn't work. It's probably because we have really flimsy power cord extensions here.

Anyway, Leif is my Swedish Captain Roy. He's so cool. European men with beards who travel the world--they are fun to hang out with (though, yes, I know that people from the UK don't like to consider themselves European. Don't worry about it--embrace your continent, UK. At least neither you nor Sweden jumped on the Euro bandwagon). We had a nighttime rooftop picnic of pizza, brownies, and coconut ice cream, and Leif told me about dodging bullets in Somalia, cars being swept away while fording rivers in Kenya, and that one time when he was on a road trip in the Northwestern US, and they drove up to Canada where "those cowboys are guarding the border." Thanks for your commitment to border safety, Canadian Cowboys!

My friend's Beja mother-in-law making traditional coffee in a jabane, or however you transliterate that. I don't love coffee, but I did love her, and the cups are tiny, so bottoms up!

They stuff some hairs from a date palm (or some kind of tree, but I think she said date palm) in the spout of the jabane to strain out the coffee grounds.

Entrepreneurs in Khartoum make the most of prime retail opportunities. Have you ever been sitting in traffic wishing you had a fishing pole and a new rug for your house? These guys knew that, and they have filled that market niche.

Sitting in traffic, I noticed this sign. But what I found most intriguing is the sticker with the word "trust" on it, which is pasted over….WHAT? I don't think that this is aplace..you can trust.. if you don't even know what was originally written on that sign.

I went to Starbox! See the photos on my FB page. If I liked coffee, I would totally have gotten the Mocha Frappudno. Though I end up drinking coffee a lot here, often by accident. At a coffee shop near my house called "Chocolate House," a friend and I ordered hot chocolate--it was on the menu in Arabic and Amharic (it's an Ethiopian run establishment). When I ordered, the waitress said, "You mean the cappuccino?" I said, "No. I want the hot chocolate. I don't want coffee." 

"So you want coffee instead?"

"No. I want chocolate. I don't like coffee. I don't want coffee. Please bring me the hot chocolate."

"OK, well cappuccino is what we call 'hot chocolate.' It's the same thing."

"Not technically. But your "cappuccino" is only chocolate? No coffee?"

"Our cappuccino is chocolate. It's not coffee. Unless you want coffee."

This conversation went a few more rounds, but ultimately, we convinced her that we wanted hot chocolate cappuccinos. She then brought us regular sugary coffee cappuccinos, which we drank anyway. Because--we paid for it. 

But at Starbox I had the Cookies and Cream Frappe, which was good. No coffee added.

Even in civilized Khartoum, sometimes one can be sick and need to lie around in bed all day. And honestly, I'd rather be sick in Khartoum than Mundri…and our internet was working that day so I had the following important conversation with my mother:

Look at my friends/colleagues' cute babies!

Malek wasn't smiley while trying to grab my phone, but when I put it away she pranced around grinning at everyone. Of course that way I couldn't get any photos of her...

Fares is a hilarious not-afraid-of-khawajas kid. He plays Angry Birds like a pro.

 I went to Souq Omdurman with Sally and Sahnon (parents of the above adorableness). Sahnon needed Sally to help him pick out acceptable cloth for his new Eid clothes. She did so with great depth of knowledge. I took photos of the men's side and the women's side of the cloth store. 

Clearly, women win everything. Our side is way better.

After shopping, we went to KFC! Finger-licking good, and check out the Sudanese version of the Colonel. He never looked better.

While in KFC, I noticed this young girl and her favorite toy. It is slightly disturbing to see a child carrying the decapitated head of a beloved doll with her into a fast food establishment, but truthfully, I think we would have been good friends had our childhoods coincided in time and place.

Now that I've started driving everywhere, autos are the bane of my existence. They zip in front of me and then putter along and speeds that make me downshift to second. I hate being in second. So when I see happy "no autos" signs, I'm totally OK with them. But of course, no one ever pays attention to signs. Just like giant trucks in America that are supposed to stay at 55mph while everyone else can go 65mph. Of course regular-sized cars are not expected to maintain such a paltry speed, but trucks should have to follow the rules! And autos should have to take alternative dirt roads or find a way to drive faster!

But don't do away with them all together because many of them are artistic masterpieces. Check out this one with the head of Minnie Mouse on a pike, bobbing along on top of the roof. It should be on display somewhere. 

This is my last auto photo. Check out the location of the windshield crack. Observe the placement of the bandage on the driver's head. What can we deduce from this photo?

I like coconut. I like almost everything about it. So I decided to make brownies with coconut oil that I found in a shop here. Yes, I bought the coconut oil in the beauty products section of the store, but it has nutrition facts on it too, so I assumed that it was edible. I made brownies. Yes, I ate them straight out of the pan with a fork--you have no right to judge me. But here is the point of this story: first, I noticed that the coconut oil smelt like a campfire. I don't think this is normal, but it was a bit concerning. But I thought, "Well, maybe it needs to be cooked." So I made the brownies. Then I ate them. I noticed that they now smelt like a chocolate campfire--not a horrible smell, but not one usually associated with brownies. I ate them anyway. The taste was not horrible, but after eating a few bites I noticed that my tongue felt a bit fuzzy and everything tasted like metal. But cocoa is expensive so I ate them all anyway. So--can coconut oil go bad? Is it a coincidence that a few days after the brownies I was having the above screenshotted iMessage conversation with my mom? So many mysteries...

 A few weeks ago I got a message from my mom: "Is it really 59 degrees over there now?"

My answer: "Of course not. It's 37 degrees."

We can have conversations in multiple measurement systems because I know she was in Farenheit and she knows I was in Celsius, but one thing we agree on is that Yahoo is a terrible place to get weather information. Not only did we not have 64F weather and thunderstorms throughout the city of Sudan the day I took this photo, but also--SUDAN IS NOT A CITY. The weather in Khartoum is not the same as Geneina or Kadugli or Port Sudan or El Obeid, and Yahoo--you are stupid.

But at least Yahoo doesn't discriminate because I also got this weather report last time I was in the city of the United States. Hope you enjoyed your 27F weather, Hawaii! Don't let the 'partly cloudy' keep you out of the water! Alaskans definitely won't.