Tue 26 Oct

I wake with an evil streak running through my mind. Today I shall do something different, something really naughty. Today, this 12th day of Ramadan I shall go for lunch at the forbidden café.

The café is much the same as many eateries in Sudan, the big difference is that this one is open during the daytime. A doorway from the street leads into a dust dampened compound. In the immediate area, shaded by reed matting, are metal frame chairs and tables; once painted blue. There are a few early diners, none of them wearing "tagia" (hat) or jalabeya (tunic). Beyond a screen and around the perimeter of the courtyard are a few more men. They are drawing softly on shisha pipes, or savouring miniature glasses of sickly-sweet, mint-flavoured, black tea.

A man near the entrance has buttons of different colours and shapes. Each represents a different dish on the menu. Customers pay here, collect some bread and then exchange the token at the serving counter.

Not reading Arabic I proceed directly to the serving counter. The cook cannot explain what he has and invites me to come in to the kitchen to look for myself. This means going back out into the street round the corner and in through the doorway of what looks like a private house.

I see fresh fish served whole, two to a portion, meat stew overwhelmed with potatoes, "kibda" (liver), "ful" (brown beans) and "addis" (yellow split peas). I go back to the customer entrance and ask for kibda. Suddenly the price has changed; perhaps he is charging me for something else? Eventually I get a bowl of liver and two bread rolls for 100 dinars (40¢ or 25p).

I choose a table, unsurprisingly on an angle, but thankfully not too littered with fish bones and sit myself down. A server scoops a dented aluminium bowl from a large dark-blue plastic barrel of water and puts it on the table. This is to drink. I motion I would like to wash my hands and he brings a plastic watering can, they are standard issue here for ritual washing; helpfully he pours while I rinse.

The liver comes with various supplementary offal including shredded lung. It is delicious. A young man joins me, he has the fish. I am struck by his appearance. His skin is black, I mean really black; his hair curly. He is wearing a red round necked shirt. Across his forehead are tribal scars. He is from the south; I think he is Nuer. He smiles and asks me about my religion, who created me, and can he tell me about paradise? I do not think he likes my answers. After eating we order sweet tea and when it is time to go we exchange a hearty handshake.