Sat 2 Apr

I roll up at Education Faculty just before 10am to discover crowds of people around the main gate, even a ribbon across the opening. No one has told me, but today is to be Graduation Day. Students who have completed their studies in the previous academic year are returning to hear the applause and collect their certificates. The recently refurbished gateway and driveway into college is to be officially opened by our guest of honour, the Chancellor of the University himself.

I meet the Dean at gate. He's always charming and welcoming. Today is no exception. Wait right here, someone will fetch me a gown. A band of Sufis are chanting and – one might say – entertaining the crowd while we wait. The Chancellor arrives with a motorcade and security befitting the President himself. He cuts the ribbon and we all, Sufis in all, gaily traipse along the avenue of trees towards the senior common room and the promise of breakfast. Now that's what you call an unexpected bonus, worth wearing parading in a gown any day.

But the obligations don't end there. The next assignment is a ceremonial march, led by the Sufis, all the way around the college grounds, contriving a kind of figure of eight to ensure no accidental passer is spared the sight. I parade with the Dean, the Registrar and the department heads. The embarrassment would have been bad enough but the challenge is heightened further by a most unfortunate sand-storm; always a problem for contact lens wearers and more so when it's out of the question to run for cover. Just keep marching, look like you're enjoying it. Never mind the excruciating pain behind the eyelids.

I never could have imagined being so relieved to enter the marquee, already full of graduating students and proud parents. I'm directed towards seating reserved strictly for VIPs. There follow a number of speeches; mostly long, mostly boring. I'm handed a paper picnic box containing individually wrapped sweets, popcorn and dried dates.

The most interesting words I hear are from the Dean who declares no lessons for a week - allowing visitors to inspect the work of each department – a kind of extended open day. Now this annoys me a little to say the least. My opportunities to travel in Sudan are strictly limited to non-teaching time and I invariably need to get some sort of paperwork filed in advance. An instant holiday is of limited use.

Fortunately, before I have a chance to jump on the next bus up to Karima I bump into Elham who has come to collect her gong. (Now how did she know about today and I didn't?). We have only a brief chance to talk but then later I am delighted when she phones and arranges to come around to the apartment. It is lovely to see her again and somewhat convenient as I have some reprints, from my visit, to give her.

Much later in the evening I pop back up to college for a music concert. It is an outdoors affair, using the basketball court as an auditorium. I sit at the back with MJG and a couple of other students. We chat a lot, not really paying attention and within an hour realise that it's not that interesting. Before leaving I go up to the front to see the musicians and their instruments. They sound a whole lot better up close; I even click my fingers (Sudani equivalent to frenetic, attention-seeking dancing). When I turn-around I realise the whole college is watching me. Admiringly they burst into applause; I think I've unwittingly boosted my street credibility.