“You know what? You’re so incredibly upfront. Sometimes even too much. You always say what you think. What you like and what you don’t.
We don’t do that here in Sudan.”
I first heard something similar in Saudi Arabia from my Egyptian friend, who says she likes this trait about me, but my Sudanese sister-in-law is a little less enthusiastic about it. The remark surprised me a bit, because I have always placed myself among polite and diplomatically skilled people. At the same time, I’m sure I’ll never hide my honesty about things that really aren’t my cup of tea. I believe that kind words and a smile can go far without sacrificing one’s own and other’s dignity.
Do you perhaps have such an experience, when a cultural difference might have been pointed out to you by your foreign friends, but you weren’t even aware of it?
***
“You really do say please and thank you for everything,” my sister-in-law told me again in astonishment this year. “For the slightest thing, even when you’re addressing Tamer … And me. Well, we’re family, you really don’t need to ask in such a manner.”
Again, I found myself in a situation where I wasn’t quite sure if this was cultural or just a difference in character. But I really have no problem saying please. Or thank you. I’m really honest in having this such a habit. Both out of courtesy to strangers, as well as with closest friends and family.
“So you don’t say please to your friends,” I asked her.
“No, why? We’re close, we don’t need to be so formal,” she tried to explain.
Then I shared my point of view: This year, when I’m no longer the bride, I’m no longer a special guest in this house, because I’m “part of the family” … I sometimes get a strange feeling when they tell me “bring this … you’re going to slice the onion etc.” I admit to her that this kind of interaction seems completely foreign to me when I don’t hear a please and it makes me want to reply childishly:” What’s the magic word?”
Isn’t it curious and marvelous at the same time, how different everyone is?
***
“So we can’t spend the night at the hotel?” My nightmare was becoming more and more real. Fine, I’m exaggerating a bit. But I really just wanted to go to bed. I would sleep like the dead.
“No, the owner doesn’t want to rent us the rooms for just one night. Maybe if we paid for at least 3 nights,” Tamer explains to me, just as tired from a full-day adventure in the desert.
“Do these people hate money? How can they turn down customers and have an empty hotel,” I frowned and despaired in the back seat of the car.
“Don’t fret, we’re going to Saif’s relatives. He’s already called them, they know we’re nearby,” my husband tries to reassure me, oblivious to the fact that this alternative was exactly what I was afraid of.
Sudanese hospitality. Anyone who visits Sudan hears about the friendly locals and the incomparable hospitality with which they receive anyone, be it a relative, friend or stranger.
I was having a one-woman-show in my head and she was rambling on:
“When we get there, it will be 10 o’clock in the evening. We got up at 5am so we were able to reach the pyramids in the desert. It’s too late for the bus back to the city, we have no choice. But I know what awaits us. That damn hospitality. When you are tired to death and your ankle hurts cause you hit a rock while awkwardly climbing a camel, you are simply not in the mood for the socially dictated smile, even though you know, you should be grateful that a stranger’s family will accept you into their home, they will even offer you a meal. But they also want to chat with you and introduce you to every single one of their playful children and the aunties and possibly a grandmother.”
“You can lie down and rest,” my sister in law Malak translates to me from Arabic the kind words by the hostess a good hour later when, as I had anticipated, we had dinner and ended up sitting on beds with the grandma and a few kids. The beds again. Just like in any Sudanese household.
“Thank you, but I’d rather sleep in peace when we all turn in. I can’t sleep otherwise,” I reply visibly tired but still forcing a smile, hoping they will understand my hint and won’t be offended at the same time.
After a few minutes, Malak and I were finally left alone. We fell asleep quickly, and Tamer’s promise to leave early in the morning was also bringing me a peaceful mind. I made my request in advance because I didn’t want to “be right” again the next day when, at the benevolent but intrusive request of the hosts, we would have to stay until breakfast. This meant, that at best, we would head towards the bus station at noon. Sudanese get up very early, and first thing they drink tea and fill their bellies with biscuits or other homemade cake. But the “real breakfast” doesn’t follow until around 11am. “No, no, no. I can’t. My leg hurts. I just need to go home,” I was having another inner monologue as I played out the possible scenarios of the following day.
I woke up on my own just a few minutes after 6am, because I already got the hang of the early morning routine after only a couple of weeks in Sudan. Tamer was also awake and the three of us with Malak started the “we really have to catch the bus, so unfortunately we can’t stay much longer” protocol. Despite my ill-concealed bad mood and fatigue the night before, the mistress of the house, the children, and the grandmother all greeted me warmly and wished us a safe journey. Still, they expressed their surprise with: “Why are you leaving already … You could stay a bit longer. Why don’t you stay for breakfast?”
Before Tamer’s friend Saif took us to the bus station, we said our goodbyes and as a foreign guest I received a parting gift. They handed me an ordinary transparent bag, which I sniffed with pleasure, because I already knew what was in it. “Oh, bakhour!” Because I recognized the special type of incense, I made an even better impression on our hosts. They were very pleased I accepted the gift with such genuine enthusiasm. And I truly was grateful to them. For the bakhour and for the bed to sleep in. For the late dinner and the morning milk tea. For sincere hospitality, which I still don’t comprehend quite well. It will remain in my memory with this letter. Maybe I’ll read it before the next trip and look on everything they do differently in Sudan with a much better understanding.