Sudan is Better than You

I probably should have entitled this "Why Sudan Is An  Awesomer Place to Live Than Wherever It Is That You Are Living, Loser," but I thought that was a bit long. This post is mostly photos of awesome things about Sudan. I think you should all see this, so that you know how to plan for your next vacation. I also think the Government of Sudan, which should be carefully reading my blog now for security reasons, can clearly see from this post how much I love their country, and they should give me that multiple entry visa I am applying for.

So here you go. Reasons why Sudan is Better:

First, stop signs look better in Arabic. It is just a fact.

 Also, we have these.

And check out the great selection of creatively-named restaurants. Remember, that up until South Sudan's separation and possibly still today (the Office of Foreign Assets report on treasury.gov was a bit vague), Sudan has been under US Sanctions. Thus you will not find American chain restaurants here, but copyright law is also vague, so you can find many close "friends" of well-known American franchises.

I showed this one on Facebook, of course, but it is still one of my favorites. Not the best shwaerma I ever had, but not the worst:

Lucky meals are WAY better than Happy Meals. Plus you don't have to worry about creepy clowns.

Subday--Eat Fresh Food!-- at the Original Cheese-steak House. Suck it, Philly. 

Photo enlarged to show texture, and crucial sign details.

We have some great modes of transportation here. Observe the convertible bajaj/tuktuk/auto/rickshaw (whatever you prefer to call this ubiquitous 3-wheeled taxi):

Top down, shades on--enjoying the sandy Khartoum wind in their hair!

Also, the bajaj/tuktuk/auto/rickshaws in Sudan are badass. Don't touch.

Harley? Leather jackets? What's that? This bajaj is for tough guys in long white robes.

This salon has used the Rock's photo as an example of awesomeness, proving that they know exactly what awesome is:

These turtles chose to live in Sudan, so this must be a prime location for intelligent life. Also, I want one.

Who needs an Apple Store here? We customize our computers however we want. But this is the computer of the guy at the store where I bought a new cord for my MacBook Pro. Also, this is the third country I've been in when getting a cord for this computer and I now have 3 different plugs to use, one of which is very likely to fit in whatever outlet happens to be around.

I don't think we can really credit Sudan with this. This looks more like something we should blame Asia for, but I found it in the "Apple Store" where I  bought my computer cord.  Apparently, 3 friends move into an apartment over a secret spy base, and they get automatically recruited into the Biz. 

Totally Spies!! Totally Party!!

 Sand fortifications from the British back in the day--I think it's clear from this why they lost.

Crocodile skins. I knocked this off the shelf when I was looking at shoes, and when I put it back up, I accidentally touched the brain on the inside. That was not cool, Sudan.

I want one, but I want a live one swimming in a moat around my castle. Someday...

In Sudan we have this guy who sells legit used-swords in his antique shop. We are going to become best friends.

There is a horse blocking the street in our marketplace. You can't really see him, but he's there. Usually I find horses to be arrogant and evil, but the ones in Sudan seem to be less ferocious. This horse did not kick or bite anyone--another sign of Sudanese superiority.

We have this place, which smells incredible by the way: 

 I was wanting a better photo, but it's hard to get the one that I wanted--the point of this picture is that in Sudan when you want to get off the bus, you snap your fingers. I love it. I feel like a snobby princess diva every time. So fun.

Weather forecast often looks like this:

When the outside temperature is 100+ degrees,
 and your shower water is the temperature of the outside air,
you always have warm showers--if you have water.
Because sometimes you don't in desert nations.
That's why you're prepared with large buckets of water
 stored in your bathroom and kitchen, of course.

The above mentioned weather leads to beautiful floor dust-paintings observed here:

In Sudan we know the taste of "Special." Do you?

If you read Arabic, you can see that the flavor of this drink is "Special" in all languages.

These chips are technically made in Egypt, but they are sold in Sudan, which shows their excellent taste. There is no flavor of chip superior to "chili lemon." Also, in imitation of these chips, I made chili lemon Indomie--a Sudan/Indo/Rwanda hybrid (I used the second half of the eye-dropper bottle of hot pepper oil I got in Kigali). It was one of the best decisions I ever made in my life. Especially because they don't have mie goreng flavor Indomie here or kecap manis.

This was made in Turkey, and the flavor is inferior to Nutella, but the packaging is convenient for my preferred method of consumption: 

Also, one never has to paint one's fingernails here,
because after one henna appointment, your fingernails still look good.

Dresses like these are sold all throughout the marketplace. Note the strategically-placed spikes. The wearer of this dress will be protected from any unwanted…contact...

Finally (for now), Khartoum traffic involves donkey carts--always cool, though I do miss the Indian cows. They kept things interesting.

In conclusion, everywhere is awesome, and I'm sorry I called you a loser.

A collection of thoughts on my life before I head back to the States...not in any particular order...

 Traumatic events build unbreakable bonds between people. So do extra-long church services, I think. When I first met Sam, I was smitten but he was indifferent—not afraid, but uninterested. An hour into the service when he was being unwillingly pinned down in his mother’s arms, he became intrigued by me and my bracelet. Later when he was about to scream during the sermon, his mother, also initially hesitant about my presence in the chair next to hers, ripped the bracelet off my arm (where I had returned it once because Sam had been more interested in the cookie his mother pulled out from her purse) and handed it to him like a pacifier. It surprised me at first because it shocked me out of my deep thoughts about the sermon (of course) and trying to figure out if I had calculated my arrival date to the US wrong (I had), but it made me feel like part of a family in which no one has any embarrassment about taking what they need from someone else. And now Sam and I are pals.

Sam, his mother, and my bracelet

Strikes in India involve women in colorful saris wandering down the streets yelling into megaphones and carrying signs. It reminded me of the sister suffragettes and “votes for women” was running through my head even though this strike wasn’t about votes it was something about farming…if you have never seen Mary Poppins, you will have no idea what I am talking about. If you have seen it you may remember more of the “votes for women” song than I do—since that is the only bit that I remember.

Can you see the line of striking women? I took the photo from inside a store.

India (at least this part of India) doesn’t have our Western Christmas songs translated and installed in their appropriate church-song repertoire—at least not that I have heard and not that the two men I asked about it today knew.  Maybe that’s because I haven’t attended a Baptist church yet, but I am strangely disappointed by that even though I know that it is way more culturally appropriate for them not to have to sing awkwardly translated songs. But translated songs are great ways to have guitar sing-a-longs where everyone can sing whatever words that they want. Also translated songs are great for learning new vocabulary. Also I think it’s fun to sing songs in a multitude of languages. But Indian praise songs are enjoyable too, so I’m ok. If I don’t learn “Joy to the World” in Hindi, it’s fine.

India moving companies are only allowed into Patna after 11:00pm. My movers arrived a 12:30am and unloaded a large truck full of stuff from the Kolkata office.  It took 2.5 hours and left me with a house full of boxes and furniture. I walked around sideways like a crab for days.  We opted for a less sophisticated but equally effective option for moving the stuff into the new office: a parade of bicycle rickshaw drivers. I was told that they would arrive at 5am to get an early start. When I woke up with my alarm at 5am, I realized how dumb of me it was to actually believe that they would show up on time, so instead I called my mom and asked her for a recipe for something to make to serve them while they were in and out of my house carrying stuff.  As I get older, I’m realizing more and more what Asian/Jennie Stillman etiquette that has become deeply engrained in me. Most of that etiquette has to do with food, which is why I’m constantly baking these days to make sure that I never send someone’s plate back to them empty. And people keep giving me food, which is great but not actually a time-saver for me. On a related note, I kept thinking how awesome it was that I could call my mom at 5am and know that I will only be interrupting her dinner, not her sleep.  My phone etiquette, which I probably didn’t receive from Asia (which has no phone etiquette) or my mother (who would never call someone during dinner), was totally ok with this.  And while maybe 1 or 2 bicycle rickshawers were brave enough to try the beautiful cinnamon rolls, I ate them for the rest of the weekend that I spent running to and from the office without a second to spare for cooking food.

                                  

I have become wonderfully adept at small home improvements—these are improvements of things that no one else would naturally think of as things that need to be improved. That is why I can’t think of anyone in particular to call to help me with these things. You know, you can call a plumber if your sink is leaking or a mechanic is your fridge is buzzing. Who is the person you call if you need to unscrew a light bulb that is in the way of a giant lighted glass display case for fancy dishes with extra drawers underneath that you want to move? I couldn’t think of the name either, so I climbed up on a chair, and unscrewed it myself with my pocketknife because of course I don’t have any tools. And that is generally where I end up when doing home improvements: on a chair with a pocketknife unscrewing something.  And my pocketknife is one my dad got for me two Christmases ago as a free gift at a Christian bookstore in Indonesia. It says “Halleluya” on it. It isn’t one of those awesome chunky ones with tweezers, scissors, a retractable hammer, and a cappuccino maker. So clearly, it is the awesome person who is wielding it (yes, I mean me.) who has all the skills. I recently unscrewed two showerheads and then re-screwed in the one that was better in its original state, as I personally believe that one big stream of water pounding on one’s head is better than a tiny trickle spitting out in several scrawny drips.  Moving the large glass display case may have been trickier than unscrewing the light bulb and light blub socket and prying it out of the paint, but it had to be done.  Otherwise my washing machine would have to sit in the middle of the dining room. Now it can be barely wedged between the sink (yes, there is a sink in the dining room for post-dinner-eaten-by-hand-hand-washing) and the glass display case.  Of course, I still have to move it out to the balcony before using it to stuff the drainage pipe down the balcony drain so that the water doesn’t explode all over my house.  I learned this the hard way—by experience. My first load of laundry extended that day’s house chores to cleaning the floors and drying the furniture. I also made a dam out of an old table cloth that I found.to keep the water from getting into other rooms. I kept thinking to myself, “There must be SOME ingenious way that I could force the water to go out on to the balcony and then drain outside.” And I considered building a channel to redirect the water outside with cookie sheets (I am always in favor of using kitchen tools for multiple purposes.), but then I remembered that I only have one cookie sheet and a channel has two sides. I was wracking my brain for various water-proof objects that I could line up and use to trap water when I realized that I could pick up my washing machine and carry it a little closer to the balcony and the plastic tubey thing would reach the drain of the balcony.  Another brilliant solution to my house-keeping needs.

While I was in Sri Lanka I was informed that I have taken to doing the Indian head-nod. I am like a chameleon. I can adapt and change and morph no matter where I am. In the Middle East, I clicked my tongue and raised my eyebrows for ‘no’. And now I shake my head side-ways like a bobble-head doll outside in a hurricane.  I can’t say that it just happened. Initially, I worked on the skill and at least once I was told I was bobbing excessively. Now, however, I am pretty sure I’ve mastered the exact amount of tilt and shake. At least there have been no more comments about my head-nodding now.  I imagine I’ll get a few if I happen to use this new skill in the States though…

And now, here’s a photo of a goat in a rickshaw: