I am sitting in Joanna’s home having a cup of coffee and writing. I could be in a home anywhere and once again I have the bizarre feeling that I am back in the world as I know it. I feel as though I have woken at home, and that a housemate or family member will stroll in any second now. Then I hear the mosque prayers, the whistling from the football pitch and the sound of the water pump, and I remember that I am far away.
Gareth and I went to the fanciest restaurant in Khartoum last night – I had a fillet which cost the equivalent of R60 – not all that expensive really! We went in order to get the wireless connection, but in reality were in search of some small comforts. Walking down the dimly lit main road, with concrete construction slabs blocking pavements, and the Khartoum equivalent of Black kombis pulling up to offer us lifts, I saw a familiar sign. Steers. Debonairs. I have never before felt the urge to take a photograph of a fast food franchise.
I have just been told by the owner of this house that the whistling I referred to was not from the football pitch. It seems that Khartoum now has a rubbish lorry. Even more impressive is the young man that walks around 10 minutes before the lorry arrives, whistling a reminder that it is coming. That is organisation! I’m told that there is also a rattle for the shoe shiner! This is 3rd world business at its most enterprising.
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