Listening for The Unspoken (1) - Emmanuel Iduma

Untitled - Khartoum (Ray-Daniels Okeugo)

Our work in Khartoum is as big as finding anthropological details, and probably bigger.  Which means we must be careful to ask questions in order to understand better; I consider it a crime to make photos of people for the simple reason that they are photogenic, or that their faces or dresses or workplaces are breathtaking. If photography is art then it is not simply a question of aesthetics, for this is not hard to find, neither are alluring faces and beautiful landscapes. If photography is art then it is an attempt by the photographer to reveal, picture and (re)imagine the trans-ordinary; then it is an attempt to achieve the goal defined by Guillermo Gomez-Pena. “The ultimate goal is to look for images that will create a disturbing sediment in the consciousness of the spectator, images that the audience cannot easily escape from…”

I consider that the events of our latest day in Khartoum are premised on a collective attempt to listen for the unspoken. Which is why I do not consider it less productive that we spent bulk of the day indoors, preparing for a workshop with Sudanese photographers.

Before the workshop, the team granted an interview to Isma’il Kush Kush, a freelance journalist with CNN.com. The interview went the way of most interviews – the questions posed were questions of who, what and how. Yet, one thing led to another, and soon we were talking about what the word ‘Africa’ meant, our place in the continent, our divergent differentness, and the history of mal-representations. I noticed how, although the interview had ended, Emeka spoke enthusiastically about a trans-African Africa. I should note that this struck me as a selfless act. Even more because he emphasized that Invisible Borders was not a personal thing; how 20 years from now, travelling from across borders will be unnecessary if we achieve what the Projects hopes to achieve. Who knows if our enthusiastic response to Isma’il was triggered by the artistic feel of Papa Costa Restaurant? Papa Costa is the oldest bakery in Khartoum, once owned by a Greek. There is an exhibition of some paintings in the inner part of the restaurant. And MTN Sudan provided free wifi service in the restaurant. Is it just me, or is MTN Nigeria greedier than their Sudanese counterparts?

Emeka said, “We are not road builders. We build artistic highways.” Our workshop with Sudanese photographers was organized, I believe, to achieve this; trust me, it did. Even before we arrived (almost late), the venue of the workshop was filled with the photographers chatting amongst themselves. We joined, and began to exchange pleasantries, introducing ourselves – there were myriad of names, names I forget, but faces I remember. The workshop was simply an exhibition of sorts, where the works of Invisible Borders, both of 2010 and 2011 were presented on a projector screen to the photographers. There were applauses, giggles, acclaims, more or less an exchange. I hope this extends beyond an event, becomes a practice, and that Invisible Borders becomes a workshop in motion, a “moving residency” as Emeka once described.

Cross section of attendees at the workshop (Image: Ray-Daniels Okeugo)

The night ended with Sudanese food. I doubt we will ever forget falafel, or the bread, or the fish stew. Our host was a young Sudanese photographer, whose energy was infectious, and who spoke about the culture of Sudan with the confident knowledge of a person who had spent his life questioning and finding answers. His lady friend declared, “all Sudanese people have an identity crisis!” At first, that sounded inordinate and inappropriate. But upon a careful consideration, I realized it was something being said without words, for even when Ala noted that “Khartoum is not Sudan”, he sounded as though he was not speaking, as though the identity crisis was an evident blur.

By identity crises, our friends considered the wideness of Sudan, in terms of culture and size. They considered how some Sudanese people did not think themselves African but Arabic. There is, for instance, the East of Sudan, where people do not know the simplest political detail about ‘Sudan.’ There is no point in reaffirming that not every fact is replayed in the media; I have realize that there is an ease in blaming the media for misrepresenting Sudan, or Africa, or a people’s reality. Yet, there is hardly an attempt to individualize our own representation. There is no gainsaying that the words passed from mouth to mouth in that apartment where we had dinner was some form of individualized representation, and which hopefully, will become a constant feature of conversations between young artists and students living in Africa.

Or how else will the story of our Sudanese driver except through such individualization of reality. This time, his gestures transcend being Sudanese, or being welcoming. I consider that he is making an effort to engage with our alienhood; he gave us small stick-ons for our phones, he does extra time, takes us to buy things, plays English music in the van, and when occasionally he does play Sudanese music, he introduces us to it. All of this is despite the fact that I have never asked for his name (and might never) and despite the fact that he speaks little English.

If all I do is write a short paragraph about people I meet in Sudan, summarizing their stories as I know it, I will feel satisfied. But this is a duty I cannot fulfil given our tight schedule and itinerant life. One day, perhaps, that will be possible. 

Khartoum: Wide City Work - Emmanuel Iduma

Promenade - Khartoum (Emeka Okereke)

We woke with the determination to make an open city our workspace. The experience of the previous night was still fresh; particularly, I was interested in investigating the modes in which Khartoum had, despite reaching out for modernity, retained its past. Good enough, our encounters were laced with historical anecdotes and references to Khartoum’s past.

Ala pointed to the Omburman Old Bridge, the oldest bridge in Khartoum, which had stood for close to 120 years. We crossed the bridge en route the Omburman market, an old and large market. The present buildings in the market had been built in the 1960s, but the market is said to be three centuries old. At the market, we were treated even better than at the newer market which we had visited the evening before.

I find it worthy of note that markets catch our attention in each city we have stopped so far. In this regard, therefore, the market presents itself as a useful marker in the collective existence of a city. The purchase and the sale of things, it seems, tells life. Is there any doubt that what is eaten, worn, used, narrates who an individual is – and by extension, who a people are?

Portrait of a Trader - Khartoum (Emeka Okereke)

Portrait of a Tailor - Khartoum (Emeka Okereke)

At the Omburman market, we were divided unevenly into small groups. Unlike the day before where we had Ala, Faisal and Yassir, there was only Ala who understood and spoke Arabic. We split, nonetheless. As we would discover, being human is stronger than speaking a language; true, language unites peoples, and might even rank high in the scale of social networking tools. Yet, I find that having a face, being able to gesture, being able to smile, lets a visitor into the space of his hosts. And being guests is a useful way to consider our Omburman experience. Almost at every stall, there was a welcome smile, a question about our origin, and often a request for a photograph. Emeka’s hair morphed him into Stephen Worgu, a Nigerian footballer based in Sudan. Once we mentioned that we were Nigerians, faces lit up, and some of the men we met sermonized on how Sudan and Nigeria were united in many ways. (Worgu, from a report I found online, was fined in 2009 for driving after drinking alcohol. It is noteworthy that Sudan, being an Islamic state since the late 1980s, illegalized the drinking of alcohol, such that ‘non-alcoholic beer’ is sold. As a necessary corollary, night life is practically non-existent. Ala tells us that people are in their houses by 11.00pm, at most).

There was a guy who had warned us not to take his photo. After we had interviewed a man at the stall before his, and given how exuberant and ebullient our interaction was with the men in the shop, he joined us, making a photo of Emeka and I with his phone. Such interaction, void of hypocrisy, clearly open, reminds me of Yassir’s comments the previous day, “Sudanese people are very simple people, and very humble.”

“Sudanese people are very simple people, and very humble.” Emmanuel with one of the traders

I stop myself from being verbose in describing the ease with which we have carried out our work here; this space is so different from N’djamena that suddenly it seems as though we have been idle all along (Emeka’s face, for most of the time, is furrowed into a workaholic frown; I think he has rediscovered photography, for the umpteenth time!) My interest, irrespective of being blessed with this open city, is to investigate the mode of living, the characteristic vestiges that stand out, pointing to Khartoum’s reality.

Which is why I was elated when, at the Goethe Institute, a member of staff spoke to us about her 18-month experience in Sudan, and what she thought about the country. She noted that Khartoum was experiencing what she considered a cultural identity crises, hanging between being Arab and being African. Her idea was that Sudan was on a waiting phase, given the changes that had occurred in the country’s political landscape. I liked this consideration, because after that moment, once I crossed the street to our van across, I saw the city differently. I felt that up till that moment, I had seen superficially, carried away by the smiles and the willingness of residents to converse.

The Gabbana Ladies - Khartoum (Emeka Okereke)

I am thankful for that shift because when, afterwards, we crossed some part of the Nile, and stopped over at Tuti Island, I walked ahead of the pack to find some instrospective crack in Sudan’s surface. I cannot say I was successful; perhaps things became clearer when Ala explained that Tuti Island was the hotspot of activities before Khartoum became prominent in the 1700s. Before the 1700s, Khartoum was a forest with a bunch of farms. In the 1800s after the British came, Khartoum became the seat of government. Clearly, politics changes things. Our pack was an interesting mix of Sudanese photographers and two Professors of Law from Tunis and Paris.

Tuti Island represented, for me, a place that had decidedly remained still and antiqual. Upon entry, it strikes as a locale that is placed between the past and present. Yet, it does not appear to seek a sync with Khartoum’s modernity; if anything it might have retained a grouse with Khartoum for stealing its show. Tuti Island is favoured by its closeness to the River Nile – even more by its closeness to the point where the Blue Nile meets the White Nile. (Although we were shown this intersection, it was difficult to see the colours that made the rivers ‘blue’ and ‘white.’ We are told that in summer, the colours are clearer and easily distinguishable).

Cabbie - Khartoum (Jumoke Sanwo)

There’s a Sudanese saying that when a person drinks from the Nile River, that person will surely return to Sudan. Nana took a sip from a paper cup filled with River Nile water, after Yassir shared the proverb with her – Yassir drank two cups! Since I had not heard the proverb before seeing Nana drink, I wondered what-in-God’s-name she was doing. Ala later explained that the water was so clean that on camp trips across the River, indigenes  usually did not bother to come along with extra water.

City Scape - Khartoum (Jumoke Sanwo)

Our day ended with the Nile River. Jumoke, Ray and Kemi had some Sudanese coffee, which later made the ladies exuberant as though they had taken some liquor! This is understandable, given the illegality of alcohol; who knows if Sudanese people are seeking alternatives to getting drunk!

We are scheduled to have a workshop with local photographers. Ala says there is a Facebook group 3,000-member strong composed of Sudanese photographers. This encouraging development is akin to the work the Goethe Institute is doing in the Sudan Film Factory, providing an avenue for the training of filmmakers, and the production of Sudanese films. A copy of the first film by the Factory was given to us, and we are taking turns in seeing for ourselves this mode of telling Sudan that is unpopular.

Hang Out at the Blue Nile, Khartoum (Emeka Okereke)

I received an email from a dear friend who noted, profoundly, that one should not blame the talebearer but the one who hears. He stated that he would not believe my single story of Khartoum. My friend intends to combine my ‘single’ story with that of CNN, Richard Dowden, Tade Ipadeola, Paul Theroux, and every other narrator who has­ written about Khartoum. I am hoping that as our Khartoum story unfolds and is told, all those who read and listen to us will not think of our work as exhaustive, or as wholesome narratives.

For in the multitude of representations, reality is safe.

Khartoum: Receptive Terrain - Emmanuel Iduma

Fresh Morning, Khartoum (Emeka Okereke)

Just as I began to write this, the noise of passing trucks on the road beneath our window ceased, and the noiselessness made me think of the words I had once seen, “No two days are the same.” Khartoum emphasizes these words, in ways I will speak of, and how different it is from other cities we have travelled through – nowhere else have I felt as honoured to be a visitor. Even being a stranger seems a good thing.

At the Khartoum International Airport, there is a huge welcome sign by MTN, ending with the words, “hope you brought your camera.” I notice this first, then the smartly dressed policemen, then a family returning from Ethiopia, I think. I am taken over by the inability to distinguish between the Sudan I expected to see and the Sudan I was seeing; I could tell from the excitement lingering on the faces of Jumoke and Kemi that it was the same for them, too.

Upon leaving the airport, we were driven at Ala Khier’s direction to an apartment which was unpainted from the outside, and which bore the look of an abandoned building. Ala had booked for us a different place, but when our plans changed, we lost the place. We climbed a flight of stairs, leading us into a newly furnished apartment, the opposite of what one expected after seeing the building from outside. A while later, we were taken by Ala and Fasial to a restaurant, where we ate – the food was so good Emeka joked that one of us could be found the next morning waiting for the restaurant to open.

There has not been much flurry of activities since then. When we woke the next morning, Ala helped with SIM cards, a wireless modem, and permits from the Sudanese government allowing us to make photos in the city. Emeka and Kemi went shopping; now that we had an apartment with a kitchen, we agreed that it would make so much sense to cook our own food. After the provisions and food stuff arrived, we made so much noise dividing the food between the guys and the ladies, disturbing the neighbours in the process. We apologised with gestures; Arabic is Sudan’s first language, English is second; most people we have met speak more Arabic than English. Being lost in translation reinforced my decision to learn Arabic, as I have been fascinated and interested in Arab culture since my third year in university.

We were taken to the market to make photos, joined by Ala, Fasial and Yasssir. The words “no two days are the same” is instructive in an attempt to tell how welcomed we were in the market. This is given the fact that we had just left Tchad, where carrying a camera automatically made us disadvantaged. Here, as we walked around the market with our guides, we were beckoned on, the martketpeople who were not shy wanted their photos taken.

Perhaps this results from Sudan’s culture of openness, and travelling culture. We are told that if we had travelled by road, there would have been no need to look for hotels at each stop – in each small town, a resting place was provided by the chief for travellers. I had mentioned in an earlier post how important it was that we sought to purge ourselves of every trait of strangeness, and find remain, simply, as visitors. In the face of things at the moment, given how no two days are the same, I am not sure that assertion should be taken cogently in Khartoum.

When those marketpeople beckoned on us, asking where we were from, smiling with us when they saw that we spoke no Arabic, being a stranger suddenly seemed novel. I do not argue that we should remain estranged from Khartoum’s way of seeing, or that we should remain irrelevant to Khartoum’s residents; I argue instead that our friction with Khartoum would be smooth and pleasurable, if the signs we are seeing remain.

I figure that when it is time to reminisce on this project, Sudan would be a ready example of a city that has made conscious effort to blur its borders. No lies should be told, these borders exist; Khartoum is an Islamized town, bursting forth with every dint of Islamic life. Yet, there seems to be a collective decision to hybridize, to welcome diversity.

The road beneath our window is a busy one. Every second a car zooms past. It reminds me of the work to be done. When a city opens itself so wide as Khartoum has done, what remains is the (sub)conscious affinity for creating work that tells in detail what it means to have crossed into a receptive terrain.