Where Arab hospitality trumps the Western day planner

A visit to a Sudanese midwife takes longer – and is more satisfying – than anticipated.

from the June 21, 2007 edition

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Unfortunately, Kultoon doesn't have a successor to take over when her time is done. "I'm always encouraging young women, but the response is weak," she says. "Young women just don't want to become midwives." In fact, for those villagers who can afford it, a trip to Khartoum to the maternity hospital has become more fashionable than a free visit from the local midwife, she says.

Our planned half hour has already turned into an hour, but when we rise to leave, Kultoon bars the door and becomes gravely serious. "I have been preparing lunch for you people since 8 o'clock this morning. If you leave now, I will never forgive you. We have become friends, but now, if I see you on the street, I will walk right past you."

There it is again, the word "street." Out in the courtyard, Kultoon's brother, the new sheikh, rounds up wandering UN personnel like a shepherd rounding up sheep. Arab hospitality trumps the Western day planner.

We call up our next appointment, cancel it, and settle down for a massive lunch of okra stew with spongy injera bread, grilled chicken, lamb stew with flat bread, spinach, and rice. The sheikh has a playful glint in his eye, and he inquires about the marital status of each of the women in the UN team. Finding out that I'm married to an Indian woman, he says with a dreamy look in his eye, "Ah, yes, Indian women have long hair."

Even here, Bollywood has cast its spell.

Washing our hands in a tin basin, we prepare to leave. We came as strangers, we part as friends. Men pat their right hands on the shoulders of other men, in the Arabic way, and women hug likewise. Kultoon crosses the gender line and hugs us all.

Three hours of road await us, but all I can feel is gratitude for choosing to stay longer than half an hour.

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