Say Chinese in Khartoum

We’ve arrived in the capital of Sudan, Khartoum.  It was here in 1998 that Bill Clinton decided to bomb a pharmaceutical factory to divert from the Lewinski scandal.  As can be expected, the locals have mixed feelings towards Americans.  I do not mask my being American, but I have found that upon learning where I am from, our conversation hit a lull.  As Africans know best, a bad government does not reflect from the citizens.  A common saying of theirs is, “Good people, bad government.”

 

Yesterday, a group of us walked into a typical falafel restaurant for dinner.  The owner spoke great English and struck a conversation with us.  I mentioned to a shop owner that I was American which followed by an expected lull.  Breaking the silence, I asked him if this was his only business.  “No,” he replied, “I have another one in China.”  Then asking him Ni hui shuo pu tong hua ma?[ Do you speak Chinese?]  He laughs and responds—in Chinese. 

 

Here I’ve found a Sudanese shop owner, who speaks respectable English and Chinese!  Two non-native speakers are conversing in Chinese in the middle of Sudan.  He asks if I have a Chinese girlfriend and I ask if he drinks baijiu(China’s infamous noxious alcoholic beverage).  He is Muslim, thus does not drink, but asks, Ni yao jiu ma?— Do you need liquor? 

 

Sudan is one of the few countries left that heed Sharia—Islamic Law.  This form of law governs by the tenants of Islam.  Examples are eye for an eye or a thief is punished by chopping off the offending hand.  As it is against the religion to drink liquor, it is illegal to drink, serve or sell alcohol in Sudan.  As no one else knows what we are talking about, in the late afternoon, in a busy market place, he is asking if I want liquor. 

 

Yao! Yes I need liquor!  We have gone nearly two weeks without a drink, and I begin thinking that it is the longest time I have gone without a drink in several years.  He makes a phone call and asks for 32 Sudanese pounds (about 16 dollars) and gives my money to an unscrupulous character.  I feel like a minor again, waiting and hoping that he returns with the contraband and doesn’t steal my money.

 

As I explain the situation to the rest of our group, two Sudanese walk up wearing sunglasses and carrying black nylon briefcases.  A quick slip of cash and my money disappears inside a pocket. The accomplice brings a yellow grocery bag concealing four Coca-Cola bottles filled with a milky-white beverage, and sets it in the middle of our table.

 

“This is strong, you must mix it with 7up or Coca-Cola,” the owner explains to me.  Xie Xie, Xie Xie, I thank him in both Chinese and English.  The other staff sits with dropped jaws at what just happened.  I’m glowing and grinning ear to ear.