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Sudan justice: Day I was threatened with 40 lashes
With a British teacher jailed for naming a teddy bear Mohammed, Helen Hughes relives her own nightmare in Sudan.
MY Sudanese employer stood over me and thrust his face so close to mine I thought the foam from his mouth might drop on to mine. "I could have you down at the police station," he raved, "and you'd have 40 lashes before any questions were asked!"
I leaned back in the chair and looked across the desk at the meek, puppet headmaster, who didn't speak any English (or if he did I never heard him), and he remonstrated "Hallas" ("Enough") to my interrogator.
Half an hour of abuse and threats followed, however, after which I had to return to my class of five-year-olds and teach them sums and reading.
I actually got off quite lightly. One of my colleagues – a woman in her fifties, incidentally – was threatened with death: "You could be found floating down the Nile and no-one would know what had happened to you!"
I had been recruited to the school through a reputable London agency, and had met the monstrous person described above at interview, where he was pleasant, thoughtful and encouraging. I had no qualms about going to Sudan because I basically knew what it was like, and I had spent time in other cultures, including three years in Kuwait. Khartoum was also in the news at that time because of serious flooding.
My time there was very happy until I offended this person by objecting to the way he had treated other members of staff.
There were various matters of concern in the school which we felt parents should know about but which were blocked by the despot.
Some teachers put together a letter to parents to be distributed without his knowing. I refused to take part in this but mentioned it to no-one. It was found out, however, and a staff meeting called at which those responsible were taken to task in a humiliating manner. I spoke up for them, and for the principle of free speech, and the boss was very shocked at my behaviour, as I had hitherto been a very amenable worker.
Those of us who had thus crossed him were thereafter ignored at meetings, snubbed around the school, and called into the office on the slightest pretext to be harangued about anything he called to mind.
I was one of several teachers who eventually resigned because of his despotism, and in my letter of resignation to the board of governors I stated why.
He hated and hounded me from that day on. On the day of the interrogation, he sent the secretary to summon me (one dreaded the appearance of the poor man at the classroom door) on the pretext that I'd left my class alone. They were actually at their Arabic lesson, but the real reason for the summons was to berate me about the resignation letter. After his abuse I returned to my class and still have no memory of how I got through the rest of the day.
Innocent that I was, I anticipated being eventually forgiven. Not so. I never had a pleasant or positive word from this man, even on social occasions. Most of the time, however, I managed to avoid him.
Nor did I take his threats too seriously. I never heard of a foreigner come to actual harm, though there were plentiful stories of the lower classes of Sudanese being mistreated by this man.
This was some years ago, but it seems little has changed. I feel for British teacher Gillian Gibbons. She is the same age as I am now, and appears to have a similar temperament. She went to Sudan for a fresh, positive adventure and to contribute something, and found a nightmare.
Khartoum is a fascinating place, full of lovely people, both Arabs and Black Africans. Some of my neighbours had next to nothing, but were always happy. The power was often off in the evening and I could look out from my flat balcony into pitch darkness.
We used to hitch-hike everywhere without fear, and everyone was friendly. A four pence ferry fare took us to Tutti Island, a trip back about two centuries, as there was no motorised transport or modern tools. We would walk through fields ploughed by water buffalo to a beach where we swam in the Nile surrounded by beautiful birds. It was like paradise.
The children I taught, all Sudanese, were a delight. Their parents were cultured, affable and kind. The school staff, both British and Sudanese (with one British exception), were good teachers, loyal colleagues and sensitive human beings.
But as with all big cities, there are the darker sides. On my day off I used to help at the local orphanage, where skeletal abandoned babies fought for life. (Some of the ex-pats lounging by the pool at the British club said they were too sensitive to do that – it would upset them too much). A friend who flew supplies to the warring south was killed when his plane was shot down. A Sudanese reporter friend told me stories of torture and oppression.
It's a different world out there. If you live, work and play in a community of ex-pats and natives who are familiar with your culture, it's easy to feel that you are cocooned in a society governed by your values. You are not. The moment there is any problem or misunderstanding the mindset of the host culture will dominate.
Being fully informed of the culture is essential.
Even if it seems trivial, it's necessary to seek advice on anything that may be controversial and if you are offered advice you didn't seek or don't agree with, swallow your pride and take it.
Some cultures are very hierarchical, even though this may not be obvious. My boss was fond of screaming at me that I was a "little teacher", meaning I'd got above my station. Short of being Uriah Heepish, it pays to be humble.
In some places it's difficult to know where the power actually lies. My employer was the most charming, kindly host until he was crossed. Even then, we didn't think a school supervisor could actually have much power over one's life. But we came to realise he had a formidable influence and some power in the government. His threats were not entirely idle. After I left Sudan I heard from an old colleague that he had finally been removed from office at gunpoint by a band of angry parents.
Realise that Embassy powers are limited. It may sound unkind, but I could write at some length about the uselessness of British Embassies around the world when it comes to helping ex-pats with even minor problems.
They are usually kindly disposed and will do what they can, but that is often precious little. Some of my colleagues who felt genuinely threatened appealed to the Embassy, but there was really nothing they could do.
At the end of the school year when the plane tickets were handed out, those of us who were not returning didn't get one.
I managed to buy the last cheap ticket available for Sudanese currency on the black market.
I wept as the plane took off and flew over my home and the school. I was saying goodbye to precious associations and leaving a country with some sad problems. I have since continued to enjoy an international teaching career, including some hair-raising times in China, but that's another story.
There will be elements in the Sudanese government who want to use the case of Gillian Gibbons to defy the world about their values, and to detract attention from the terrible situations in their country. There will also be those who are humane and compassionate and will feel for Ms Gibbons and wish to end her trauma.
A religious leader once said: "He who takes offence where none is intended is a fool. He who takes offence where it is intended is usually a fool."
Anyone with half an eye can see that Gillian Gibbons meant no offence. I trust common sense and humanity will prevail in Sudan.
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Saturday 26 May 2012
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