South or North, the heart has its own compass

I'm often struck by the perception gap between the older and younger generations. For the elders, tribal status and lineage are valued with utmost importance, whereas these affiliations do not matter among youth. We are content to identify ourselves as Sudanese, while acknowledging our diversity from north, south, and east or west.

Expatriate Innocence

In the early 1980s, my father was working for Saudi Aramco, the state-owned petroleum company of Saudi Arabia with the largest oil reserves in the world. Growing up as an expatriate in the Eastern Province, I was constantly reminded of my foreign background since I had little in common with Saudi culture.

The coastal city of Al-Khobar, highly populated by non-Saudi communities, was known as expat heaven.” Bahrain, where alcohol consumption is legal and extreme Sharia law is not practiced, is just a 45-minute drive away.

Read also "North or South, the heart has its own compass" by Reem Abbas Shawkat

I longed to be among the people with whom I shared a nationality, culture and identity. But whenever I’d ask my parents, Why can’t we go to Sudan?” They would always respond, There is war; when peace comes we’ll return, inshallah.”

I was too young to remember much from our visit to Khartoum in 1988. After the coup a year later that brought President Omar al-Bashir to power, we did not go back; there was too much uncertainty in light of the political instability.

On weekends in Al-Khobar, we gathered for barbecues with our Sudanese friends for kofta and tea. Most of the expatriate community, having come in search of better opportunities, worked for local and international firms; other Sudanese came for political reasons. Although we were a diverse group of families, I never once felt we were different, even if some of us did not physically look the same.

As a close-knit group, we didn't refer to each other as northerners” or southerners.” At times we joked about stereotypes of different tribes or ethnic groups, but this was more a tendency of the older generations. As youth, we never fully understood the concept of tribe because we had never lived in Sudan.

Meeting the Other”

After the Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) was signed in 2005, it was finally safe for us to visit Sudan again. Now that I had a chance to meet my people at last, I was overwhelmed with joy.

On an afternoon walk through my neighbourhood in Khartoum North, I passed a group of people sharing a plate of foul, the popular Sudanese bean dish.  I was taken by surprise when they greeted me and asked if I’d like to join them. It was the first time I was ever invited to eat with people I didn’t know.

The first two weeks in Khartoum were nothing short of a honeymoon. It was only later, when I noticed how often the words northerner” or southerner” were used to describe people, that I felt something wasn’t right.

Although these words are considered a politically correct way to speak about one’s race or a certain group of people, they still smack of discrimination to me.  In conversation, people did not ask me which city I came from. Instead, they’d bluntly ask, you’re a southerner, right?”

Such labels generally promote preconceived ideas that someone is either part of the emerging middle class or an illiterate, a beggar, or worse: a petty thief.

By contrast, the term northerner” is taken as a compliment, implying someone wealthy and educated who supposedly exemplifies contemporary Sudanese culture.

In fact, our cosmopolitan traditions are very similar. We all burn bukhoor (incense) in our homes; we decorate our bodies with henna and pay dowry. And let’s face it: wherever we’re from, most of us have a difficult relationship with time -- we are always running a bit late.  

In some eastern Sudanese wedding traditions, a dance party jointly hosted by a bride and groom symbolises the couple’s new life together. This tradition has since been widely adopted. Khartoum is a place where differences are not highlighted, but integrated in a city where all cultures meet in one big melting pot.   

So what divided the country? Is it about race or does it have something to do with religion? While this subject can be debated, it’s worth remembering that intermarriage is also a strong tradition here. Much of the power of separation between us has roots in the verbal delineation of northerner” and southerner.” While Sudanese use these words freely now, we still have more in common than these labels suggest.

Generation Next

After studying at a university in South Africa for four years, my return to Sudan last November was more than a geographical leap; it amounted to an immense emotional journey. I thought I knew what to expect when I arrived in Khartoum; instead, I had a case of culture shock when I tried to socialise with other Sudanese women. The irony was not lost on me: sometimes I felt as much a foreigner in my own country as I had in Saudi Arabia.

I didn’t seem to share the same cultural ideals and aspirations as most young Khartoumians, which led to feelings of alienation. But Reem Abbas provided the perfect antidote. Having lived abroad like me, we saw similarities in our differences and forged a friendship of solidarity based on our similar world views.

Seven months after my return, I’m still getting accustomed to Sudanese lifestyle. Despite the state of transition here, I’ve managed to find a circle of friends who do not discriminate against me for being a southerner. Regardless of Sudan’s separation, they consider me a friend, sister and compatriot.

I am especially grateful for having crossed paths with Reem. She knows that whenever she needs a vacation from dusty Khartoum, Juba and Bor are waiting to welcome her with open arms.

Ajaa Santino Anyieth is a freelance graphic designer based in Khartoum.

Editor: Alexa Dvorson