Thu 28 Oct

I am getting into this teaching thing. It is 8am and already hot; another sunny day in "The Sudan". I set off on foot for the University of Khartoum, Education Faculty, southern campus. My route takes about ten minutes passing Mahdi's tomb and Kalifa's House. The policemen on the gate are settling down to another dizzy day of being employed by the government. They give me a hearty wave and I promise myself to chat with them on my return journey.

The campus is shady, the beds are well watered. Some of my students are waiting outside in the gardens.

I try discussing "Climate Change" with 24 women in their early thirties. Key questions in response to my text are what is the meaning of "global"? (I do not think they are being philosophical), and regarding greenhouse gases what is the meaning of "concentration"? As an aside I ask them how to make the Ramadan drink "abri". This is much more familiar ground; they become animated.

In between classes and campuses I find the market is suffering a power-cut. This dashes my photocopying plans somewhat so I continue on up to the northern campus. I give my work-sheet masters to someone for copying. She goes to find the "woman who can". Moments later the "woman who can" appears with my papers. I ask for 15 copies of each and (naively) if I am not here please bring them to the classroom. The "woman who can" goes off to find the photocopier. A well spoken teacher teases me that the task is yet far from accomplished. Will the room be unlocked? Is the machine switched on? Maybe a power cut? Is the old guy around; the only one who knows how to coax it to make one more copy? Is there paper? Toner?

The copies are not ready. I start the lesson with a question and answer session. Where do we read, see, or hear news? What have you heard recently? At university, on the bus, in the market, on the radio, newspaper, internet, TV? So we start talking about Darfur; analysing the problem, and then looking at solutions. One student suggests we cannot discuss solutions because it is not our responsibility. Simple or complex? We hear insistence that it has all been horribly exaggerated by the media, and we hear eye-witness accounts of atrocities. The discussion is heated but respectful. Afterwards we go out into the gardens for a photograph. There seems to be a resident photographer walking around the campus for just such occasions.

When I meet my next class 30 minutes later, one of the girls is dressed as a black letter box. Fortunately they had taken a class photo on my first day so she is able to point out to me how she looked then. "So what happened?" I asked, "Have you converted to some inner sanctum of fundamentalism?"

"Na," she said (you have to imagine the Luton accent), "iss jus fashn."

The power cut now includes the campus so after 30 minutes sitting at desks in a stuffy classroom we decide to sit outside in the gardens; somewhere in the shade. This is cooler and more comfortable but I have not bargained on the interruptions of ringing mobile phones from nearby students or the seemingly continual stream of passers-by stopping to shake hands with everyone in the class.

"Asalam alaikum."

"Alaikum salaam."