The 'Good Girl Complex' In Sudan

Interestingly enough I decided to become a better listener.

I read an article about the importance of listening and how most of us only 'listen' to hear when the person we are communicating with will stop talking so that we may speak. The article explained that this is not listening, and actually, listening is a skill - some people are born with it while others need to learn it.

Although I had come across this idea before, something in the way that this article was worded got through to me - so I decided to learn how to listen.

 I learned that listening includes but isn't limited to audio hearing - it includes watching, thinking and analyzing and most importantly, it involves never giving your opinion as this may mislead the speakers trail of thought.

Thanks to my new skill I have come up with a new theory about Sudanese culture - The Good Girl Complex.

I have grown fascinated by the deep rooted misogyny of this culture and their use of religious text to enforce it. My greatest challenge to date has been accepting that the misogyny is not only preached and practiced by men (which although unfair would seem rational) It's the very fact that women seem to enforce it too - even though this goes against their benefit. You would think that they would be wise enough to realize that at the very root of their practices lies the reinforcement of a system that will never approve their rights to freedom - the same rights boasted by men in the very same culture... However after careful consideration and some 'listening', I realized my own ethnocentric bias... these women may be through my eyes unaware and limited, but through their own they are happy and content.

In this culture roles are very important, men have a role and women have a role and these become more apparent as children become teenagers. Females are expected to participate in chores and give drinks and tea to guests whereas males are expected to drive, grocery shop and carry luggage or even leave their rooms to sleep on the floor in a random part of the house if a guest is over.

This distribution leans towards making men protectors and women protected - and the bias comes to play when exploring other aspects of human behavior such as the need for curiosity. When young, children are allowed to play freely, but the older they get the more restrictive the culture becomes for women and the more open it is for men.

A typical good girl in Sudan would abstain from smoking cigarettes, shisha, taking drugs, drinking alcohol or having extramarital activities. If she is ever caught participating in any of these (particularly the latter) she is very likely to be ostracized from her community and her family however a boy can enjoy these freedoms as long as he keeps it secret, and even if the secret is exposed, if he simply decides to 'change' or 'grow up' he is accepted no doubt. The reasons for this are still unclear to me however the 'good girl complex' is a school of thought that reinforces this ideology.

Although there are many girls and women who abstain from all of the things listed above, unless they live under a rock, they know what these things are or they know their effect or consequences - yet the culture demands they pretend that they don't.

When a conversation came up about the effects of alcohol the other day from a Sudanese male who drinks and was complaining from a hangover, a female immediately pretended she did not know anything about alcohol or it's effects or even what a hangover was. He immediately branded her a good girl and she followed through with the innocent act.

I stayed very quiet, knowing very well that this particular girl's father was a heavy drinker and she knew very well what a hangover was. I also know that she has never drank in her life and so was curious why she would take such a stance when she has nothing to feel guilty about...

And then it hit me - the fact that she needs to pretend that she doesn't know anything, reinforces the idea that women need to be 'protected' from curiosity. The outcome of women becoming curious is unknown in this culture and therefore the culture collectively fears it.

The men in this culture are under a delusion that women only abstain from things if they are completely unaware of them and therefore they restrict female curiosity from very early on in life - women understand this and feed it by pretending they don't know, to reassure the man - and so we have 'The Good Girl Complex'

It's interesting to say the least.

Are Mixed People Better?

Me: Sis, what do you think life would have been like if we were half English?

Sister: *Doesn't even hesitate* - dunno, we would probably just have been even more confused.

Would we have been?

Everyone knows that being mixed is combining two separate races - genetically you would be stronger than both your parents, with stronger in this context meaning healthier and more able to survive as an offspring. You are genetically from two separate geographical locations, and most of the time, you are more attractive than both of those races and well equipped to deal with both the climates of your parents.

But what is it really like to live not belonging to either race? Or what is it like to belong to two races and look like neither?

I am fully North Sudanese which to most people is considered an oxymoron. Being 'Fully North Sudanese' is like saying I'm 'Fully Arab and African mixed' but because the mixture occurred such a long time ago and there are so many of us it's just silly to say we are mixed. However that's not to say that Sudanese from all over Sudan are not aware of this mixture.

Being raised in the UK played a huge role in my personality formation no doubt, I feel it everyday when I am in Sudan, I know that I am different and so does everyone else but that's more the effects of 'mixed culture' than 'mixed race' and I will post about that at some point - but for now let's keep it about race.

In Sudan people are aware that they are Arab and African - however many shy away from identifying themselves as African. Our names are Arabic and our culture has morphed to suit Arab values and beliefs and embedded within Arab beliefs is 'misogyny' - therefore you find that those with Male Arab ancestors identify themselves more Arab than they do African whereas those whose mother is Arab identify themselves as African.

It's interesting to say the least and at first sight seems harmless, but as I searched deeper I realized that there was much more to this self attributed separatism than just differences in geographical regions. With any mixed child we realize the difference between one race and the other - although your parents might not come from this school of thought, a large portion of the world still attributes one race to be in some way superior to the other. In Sudan Arabs are considered superior to Africans - a prime example of how this is portrayed in the culture is demonstrated by the beauty standards and marriage norms.

A beautiful women is 'White, and has long straight soft hair'. By 'White' they mean of light skinned olive complexion (ranges from Rihanna's to Kim Kardashian's tone) - this standard is more suitable when describing an Arab woman from the UAE or Kuwait - not a Sudanese women who is born with brown short hair of curly/rough texture and a chocolate complexion.

Also,  when an 'Arab' Sudanese wishes to marry, they are faced with great family/societal difficulties if their chosen spouse is more African than Arab - Now, this is where the confusion kicks in.

Aren't we a mixture of Arab and African? So why is it a problem in society for us to re-mix? What on earth has made these people not able to see their African heritage when they look in the mirror? And why do they shy away from it?

What I find interesting is that Sudanese people who were raised in Western society tend to feel more comfortable identifying themselves as black more-so than Arab - whereas the ones raised in Sudan or the Middle East tend to identify themselves as Arabs. It's very interesting to me why the need to choose sides is prevalent.

Perhaps it's time for a dual identity? I am very comfortable being both - and on top of that, I enjoy that I have a mixed personality and some conflicting beliefs. I think that being from both races, and both schools of thought (western and eastern) I am able to identify complexes within both cultures/races without needing to prove one wrong or pick a side because I truly am both.

As dark as my complexion is, I am still Arab.

As light as my complexion is, I am still African.


      

Why are Muslim Men and Women Segregated?

First of all I would like to express my deepest respect for any mother out  there. I did not realise how difficult it is to spend 24 hours with a toddler. Let alone do this daily! Hats off to all mothers.

It seems bizarre to me why this occurs. All Muslims believe the concept of 'Hijab'. Hijab is modesty and covering - they vary however in their interpretation of how to portray the hijab. 

Some believe it to be a headscarf accompanied by long  clothing. Others believe the clothing must be loose. Some believe women have to cover their faces too while others believe hijab is a symbolic act and not a garment and therefore it is about your behavior.            

      

Men too have hijab however little disagree on what a man's hijab is so for the purpose of keeping this short I won't go into specific details about male hijab but if you'd like more info I'm more than happy to discuss it in the future.

Considering that the whole point of the hijab whether it be behavioral or dress-able or both,  is, to allow men and women to mix freely - why is it that they often don't?

I noticed this more-so during dining parties and funeral dinners - when male guests arrive the women are immediately partitioned, even though they are often dressed according to the dress code ideology of hijab which is considered the most risk free interpretation for most Muslims.   

So what's the point in making women cover in the first place if mixing is not allowed to occur anyway?

Surely the purpose of the 'hijab' in whatever context one takes it, is to allow men and women to mix without there being any discomfort to the man or the women due to undesired harassment, so if segregation must occur, what is the point in the hijab in the first place?

Is segregation an Islamic or an Arabian concept?

Period vs Ramadan

‘This is absolutely ridiculous! Ha!

It will never happen to me. Nope. Never. These people are overly conservative. I couldn't care less’.

She said. To herself - Once upon a time when it was just a 'story'.

If you're wondering where that passage came from - it was my response during a conversation with a traditional Sudanese cousin of mine, when she tried to explain to me that women who eat in front of men during Ramadan are really rude.
 
During the menstrual cycle, women are not allowed to fast during Ramadan - they must eat, and they must then re-fast after the month is over to make up for the days they didn't fast. Women also do not pray during their menstrual cycle but they do not have to make up the prayers - just the fasts.

This is a well known fact to all Muslims. Women are commanded NOT to fast.

I repeat. Not to fast.

Yet there is a social convention that prevents them from eating in public places... I'm sorry let me re-phrase that - women are expected to become FBI food agents during their cycles.

It's rude to eat during Ramadan in front of a man. And this is not something only present in Sudanese culture - its everywhere - any Muslim country has the same taboo, which is bizarre because it is directly hypocritical to the religious teachings they are supposed to practice.

 As you can imagine, I found this absolutely ridiculous, I mean seriously, if I have to make up these days I'm definitely going to at least enjoy them now. After much head scratching and weighing out my options of how not to offend people vs not compromising my own morals, I decided that this was really silly and I would eat.

 Then... a colleague of mine, who was also not fasting decided to go to the Supermarket

Her:  'Hind you get out and get the food! I can't I just cannot!'
Me: Umm... Sure

I decided to go for something light, like a chocolate bar and a drink, basically snacks - the lady at the till was eyeing me suspiciously, and everyone was peeking... at the time I didn't understand why because they too were food shopping – but I later realized that my shopping was the only shopping that looked like ‘right now’ food. When I got back to my car I took out the food to my friend’s utter horror

Her: 'NOOO!!! Not here!!!! Let’s park somewhere remote where no one can see us!!!
Me: Err OK...

So I literally drove to a corner within a corner before she was comfortable enough to eat. After we finished the snacks my friend shoved the wrappers in a bag, which she tied in several knots, then into another bag and then placed them underneath a rock near rubble on the side of the road. At this point I was on the verge of crying with laughter but I knew I couldn't because she was so serious about this...

It was when we got back to the office that things took a turn. One of the staff as a joke asked
'Are you fasting? You look too energized today!

And just when I was about to answer my friend jumped in, in a nervously loud shriek

'YES!!! OF COURSE SHE IS!!! WHAT KIND OF A QUESTION IS THAT'.

He eyed us both suspiciously and then left the office at which she let out a massive sigh.

Up until that point I was fine. But now that she had lied on my behalf (out of very good intentions) it meant that I couldn't eat in front of anyone... I started to notice everything like how 'this drink leaves a red mark around the lips or those chips leave a lasting food smell therefore avoid eating those... it was completely ridiculous and annoying but as always I came to a conclusion.  

Even though there are many reasons Muslims can be eating during Ramadan – a women eating in public is the same as a woman holding a banner with ‘I’M ON MY PERIOD’ written on it, in public. 

The culture here is very conservative, therefore it is not perceived as a bold statement, but more as you being rude. I tried the FBI food agent thing but it felt too fake, so as a compromise I decided to just eat in private and not lie whenever I was asked. Eventually I think things will change but for now... FBI food agents - I feel for you. 

Is 'Black Face' Racist?

I'm late posting. I know. I apologize.

My life has been very busy... *coughs*

Moving on to the topic... unless you've been living under a rock for the past couple of weeks chances are your life has somehow been enhanced or on the contrary, inconvenienced by the antics of The World Cup 2014. Although I am neither a football fan nor a hater, the nature of my job means I have to discuss all topics which people like - and this is a particularly hot one.

But recently the discussions turned from amazing football strikers, excellent goal keepers and the best player being injured to racism in the stadium - and it wasn't your regular black and white racism (pun unintended but welcomed nonetheless) where something is racist and punishable... The situation involved an act depicted by one culture as extremely racist, while to another it was playful and innocent.

It all began when Germany was playing Ghana and two men, then, identified as Germans supporting the German team painted their faces black and had 'Ghana' written on their T-Shirts. This caused total offence to an African American lawyer from Alabama who expressed it to the men, but to his utter surprise, their response was not one of mockery, but bewilderment.

They did not see why he was upset or offended. From the viewpoint of the American, 'Black Face' is associated with minstrel shows which existed in America in the 1930's. They depicted white people, who painted their faces black mocking blacks by portraying them with negative characteristics attributed to them by the white community at the time.

In Germany however, black face is not at all a big deal... in fact Angela Merkel was recently photographed with a young boy dressed in black face to depict the black king from the three kings who famously visit Jesus at his birth in the nativity play which children portray at school in christian western society. Black face is merely face paint to indicate the racial origin of a person - not to mock it.

The two men turned out to be Dutch, and were actually supporting Ghana - but the American argued that they should have just worn the T-shirts, instead of using 'racist' connotations to depict their support for Ghana.

Which then begs the question - Who decides what is meant by 'Black Face'? Is it the case that because the use of it in the 1930's in America was negative that any white person painting their face black is racist? What about people who do it without thinking being black is bad? - Does that mean it is racist to not think being black is bad? Should 'White Face' be made racist too? Or should we use the positive stereotype of black face to destroy the negative association?

A very strong part of me feels that the best way to combat racism is by reducing the power that racist words or actions have. An example is that of Dani Alves, when a banana was thrown at him on the football pitch, instead of taking it as an insult attributing his race to a monkey - he simply ate it. This immediately made the racist gesture lose its power. Although I feel that this was a very powerful statement I am unsure whether or not this would work with words like ni***r - Would not taking offence eradicate a word's negative power? And if so, would this be a good thing or would it lead to us deleting parts of the word's history?

The 'Bikkah' The Bizzare Sudanese Funeral

Shortly after the passing of my haboba, my 16 year old cousin was calling me continuously. For the first time in many months I’d forgotten to make my phone Silent before I slept. It was ringing and ringing and I became very irritated because as a broadcaster, I have to be up by 5am every morning and I have to be in a good mood. 

Our house is divided, the top floor is sectioned off with its own staircase and door, and we live there. The bottom floor is where my haboba lived and so, during the summer holidays all of her children and grandchildren would come and stay with us to see haboba.

I got out of bed, and walked towards my charger and then the ringing stopped, just in case it rang again I decided to take my phone and rest it besides me not once thinking of calling her back –she was on her school holiday break and I knew that her and the other kids stay up all night and pretty much mess around until they got tired, I figured it would be something trivial like ‘I forgot my blanket upstairs’.

It rang again, this time I answered.

‘Hind, Open the staircase door’ Came a forceful voice from my cousin

‘Aseel, Get Lost’ ‘Came an irritated voice from me.

‘Haboba died. I need to tell your mum’.

Silence...

At that moment I didn't know how I felt about haboba, my main focus was on my mother who had been suffering throughout the entire course of my haboba's illness. How would she take the news? What should I do to make it easier?

Aseel and I walked up to where my parents were sleeping, I sat down next to my mother and noticed that the story had changed.

‘Haboba is really sick! You need to call aunty in the hospital’

I darted her a strange look before realizing that she was simply just too afraid to say it. She whispered to me,  'should I tell her'!?!?

I held my mother in my arms and nodded.

My mother’s response was shock and prayer, she asked God to make her mother from those who make it to heaven and then took her phone and started calling her siblings. What came after that was something very new to me. Sudanese Culture is a mixture of African and Arab heritage as well as Islamic traditions. The way that they deal with anything is always a combination of these, but more predominantly than Islam, the African and Arab heritage show themselves.

‘Bait al Bikkah’ which literally means, ‘the house in which we cry’ is the place where people must go to give their condolences to the family.The people who host the ‘Bikkah’ are the deceased’s spouse, siblings, children and grandchildren, these are the people to whom you must give your condolences.

Now, the way that you give your condolences is very interesting, you make a prayer, before hugging and crying into the arms of the person who has had a loss, then they too must cry. Crying, even if fake is seen as a sign of respect.

We left our house at 4:00am to go to my uncle’s house, which became 'bait al bikka' for the next three days. As I entered I felt that there was so much sorrow, yet there were only 13 people.  Crying hysterically and yelling and screaming. My haboba’s younger sister was crying and weeping, she was chanting 'why did u leave me I needed you still, you were my mother and my sister why why'. She said this repeatedly and paced up and down the room, her sorrow was infectious and made everyone more and more miserable. I kept thinking that she's known haboba for at least 40 years longer than me and that the pain i feel is probably nothing compared to hers. She reminded me of the things my haboba used to do for me, like hide me away when my mother wanted to punish me, or give me sweets from the secret stash in her cupboard when I was good.  I felt pain and loss, and many people were hugging me and crying.

After hours and hours of people constantly crying I couldn't take it anymore; my tears fell dry and my head started aching. By the time it was 11am, the Sudanese bikkah ritual finally began and although my back and feet were aching, I was grateful for it. We were expected to provide guests with water, food, tea and coffee continuously.

 There were so many people, the men and then women were divided and we had to cater to all of them. Some people were very astonishing to me because even though this was a funeral, they were very happy to ask us to return their tea if it was too heavy or light for another cup. Although this was aggravating I made sure I didn't get aggravated because I know that to haboba would have wanted her guests to be honored,  even if they weren't honorable.

There were many fascinating mentalities at the Bikkah, Although we were expected to provide food, there was also a social convention which meant that the guests shouldn't eat - and if they eat they should eat 'sadly'. We, as the people of the bikkah need to persuade people to eat as well as provide them with food and only then is it OK for them to eat. 

I found this fascinating and couldn't help but try to figure out the root of this way of thinking. The guests should fake cry, and fake not wanting to eat and you have to persuade them... you have to convince them to do something that you yourself don't want to do... It's almost like a game but the outcome is that you end up reassuring yourself that eating is OK. It also seems that the whole point of having a bikkah is to keep you so occupied that you no longer have time to grieve. You are just busy, all the time, and for the most part that’s exactly what happened.

I was also taken aback by the number of cousins around my age whom were helping us who we had never known before. We formed very close bonds as we worked together providing food and drinks, we laughed together and some even stayed the night. The next couple of days were the same, the crying affected me less and less and it got much less anyway. But when all was done, and the bikkah was over reality kicked in.

I couldn't really accept that my grandmother wasn’t just in the bathroom or in her room, I still experience moments of great sadness that creep in from time to time but overall, I think the bikkah is an interesting idea, and it really does help occupy you. 

What My Grandmother Taught Me Before She Left

My maternal grandmother passed away on the 9^th of June, 2014 at 3:30am.

As a young child I stayed with my grandma or as we call her in Sudan ‘Haboba’ (meaning the loving one) for a period of six months while my parents were away with my sister who at the time needed surgery abroad. My unmarried twenty something year old uncle lived with her and my young married aunt came to take care of us. I didn't get attached to my aunt because I was five and frankly, she couldn't cook.

My grandma used to wake up at the crack of dawn, pray and then she would go to the kitchen and make something called ‘Kisra’. This is the traditional Sudanese alternative to bread – it looks like a very thin pancake and tastes very salty and bitter. I've always hated it but haboba used to make really nice curry with it which disguised its taste, so I ate it. She also used to tell me that it was up to me, but if I didn't eat it I would stay young forever and my hair would never be long (the things I feared the most in life)

At around 1pm she would take a nap, she had a cat who took naps with her and I remember really wanting to take naps too, but because I couldn’t I would climb behind her and lay there with my eyes closed for as long as I could, (probably a couple of minutes) and then entertain myself with the nearest object until she woke up. At night time I used to get very irritable (when I was sleepy) and she would calm me by telling me a story about the sheep whose sister ate all the grass of a farmer who wasn't her keeper and refused to return home because it was my favorite story - she did this until i fell asleep.

My Haboba had 3 rules.

       You had to look nice always, your hair, nails, outfit – you must be presentable by 5pm at the latest.

       You have to tidy your house/room/wardrobe daily (even if its tidy)

            You have to eat. (I later learned that saying ‘I’m hungry was a scapegoat for any situation)

Everything was very routine and predictable, things were very organized, she never swore, rarely raised her voice and was the only person who could tell anyone what to do.

Shorty before she passed away by around a couple of months she started to mix up peoples identities and forget things, sometimes it was really funny because she would be gossiping about my mother, with my mother thinking she was talking to my aunt. But other times it was a little painful because when someone who used to love you so much doesn't really recognize you, you can’t help but feel a loss.

My Haboba couldn’t read or write, everything in her life was very routine, and it seemed to be that her most major concerns were the three points above, as well as where I was, who I was with, what I was doing and when I would be back home - but it wasn’t until I grew up that I realized there was much more to her than what I had previously believed.

My first encounter with her intelligence was when we were faced with a very awkward family situation – her ability to completely conceal any negative implications from the children, who were the centre of it all was impeccable. She ensured the smooth going of all situations and always knew exactly how to act. Always.

She also knew very well how to gracefully deal with liars, cheats, people who have wronged her and most of all, what impressed me the most was her approach towards men.

When it came to anyone, regardless of their intentions, if they came to her house, she would make sure they were fed, entertained and welcomed. She had one friend who was a thief and it got to the point where we all knew, even she knew that her friend comes to our house, steals from her and then leaves – my grandmother knew this, but if anyone of us pointed it out she always asked us. ‘Did you SEE her steal anything?’ – then she followed it with ‘Then let her be and do not talk nonsense’

I had great trouble with this concept at first because my haboba did not like thieves. She was very anti-theft. If someone asked for anything she would give it to them, but theft was a red line for her – she used to brag about how my grandfather would chase away thieves and was very brave, but with this particular lady she was very forgiving.

Although she knew the woman was stealing, she nonetheless fed her, joked with her and asked her to stay as long as she pleased. I later realized that the woman had an illness, she couldn’t help it, no matter how much you give her, she needed to steal something, even if you gave her $50, she would rather steal $5. My grandmother had realized this long before I had.

When it came to men her approach was very different, although never educated, she knew her value well. She was very strong willed and would do her best to honor and respect a good man, as long as he knew his place – but she had no fear or being alone or losing a man and she never needed one, my grandfather passed away shortly after my mother’s wedding and although she cared and respected him deeply her greatest fear after his death wasn't that she would be alone, it was that her youngest son, at the time 10 would lose out of having a father figure.

In Sudan it is a common ritual that every evening just after sun-set (magrib prayer time) the entire family surrounds haboba and has tea. This is the time we talk about our day, visitors come over to drink tea and basically it’s the time when everyone is in one place. At one sitting my sister brought up the topic of a woman who had undergone plastic surgery because of her husband’s preferences – to which my haboba astonished me.

 ‘Change my being for a man?’ Why on earth would I change what god has given me to impress a man? If he doesn’t like me the way I am then he can go and look somewhere else’.

I was very astonished to hear her say this because she was raised in a generation where men pretty much ruled – or was that just what I thought? Is that the generation I was raised in?

My haboba knew very well her value, she was very grounded and she was very well educated in the way you should behave and act. There was a lot of depth and wisdom behind her sometimes bizarre decisions and I will always remember the lessons she taught me.

When it came to her funeral however, I experienced a new way of thinking that I never thought possible.

TBC…