The
Dark Cloud
An American Muslimah reflects on life in Sudan
J. Khadijah Abdullah
With our noses pressed against the window, we watched the dark cloud
coming. It encompassed everything and suddenly we could see nothing.
Although it only lasted a few moments, it seemed like a lifetime. When
the "haboob" (dust storm) finally cleared, there was dust everywhere.
Cleaning up was quite a chore. We all laughed about it later. But at
the time, we all thought it was the end of the world. All the ladies
in the neighborhood talked about it for days. It took our minds off
the fact that our water reserves were getting low. There had been no
running water for three days. I was already used to that, so I had made
the proper preparations well before hand.
We lived in a modern house, my five children, husband and I. We had
a generator, for when the power went out. A water pump for when the
water was off. A gas and electric stove for when either one was out
or off. Funny thing though, you need gasoline to run the generator.
And you need the generator to run the water pump and the electric stove.
So, of course, our well laid out plans, did not last long. The country
was out of gasoline! I learned to live as the people lived and not like
a visitor. I was there for life. Or so I thought.
The best thing about living with and like the people, was the great
comradeships that the ladies in the neighborhood had. Every single morning,
right at sunrise, one or more of my neighbors would knock on my door.
"Do you have enough bread for today?" "Here's two loaves." "Here's some
ice for you." "Did you get your coal stove going today?"
At first, I was shocked at the intrusion. Americans don't just pop
into someones' house at sunrise. And all this concern? I wasn't used
to it. Talk about culture shock! Well, these were Muslims.
The thing that amazed me most about the Sudanese people, was how they
put Islam into practice in their everyday lives. As an American convert
I had studied Islam quite a bit. I had even memorized An-Nawabi's Forty
Hadith. And here were a people who never heard of An-Nawabi and didn't
own any books except a Quran. Most households had one Quran. I had 4
different translations, the whole set of Bukhari, Muslim, Al Muwata.........etc.
etc. So much knowledge, but where was the practice. As I got to know
the ladies, I saw the ayats of Quran and the ahadith come to life. Islam
was in their very blood. They didn't know how to behave otherwise.
Everybody has different experiences. And I can only write about what
I experienced. I found the Sudanese families and the women, in particular,
exemplifying the best of manners. This is how the companions of the
Prophet (saws) must have behaved.
When I visited homes of poor families, they would use the last of their
sugar in order to give me tea. And they would have their children run
to their neighbors to get sweets to offer to me. I would beg them to
keep it for themselves, but they always reassured me by saying: "Allah
will give me more."
I learned the true meaning of patience in my three years in Sudan.
I learned how to rely on Allah in a very real way. No more instant gratification.
I learned how to make catsup from scratch, and even mayonnaise. We used
to make pancakes and syrup from scratch too. And we had to grind the
meat for hamburgers. In fact, cooking took a lot of time. Fortunately,
I had two servants who did everything else. And I lived like a queen.
I had a cook, but my children wanted fried chicken and french fries,
etc. She couldn't deal with that. So, I took over the cooking.
I went to Al Marquis Al Islami Afrique, a local school, where I studied
arabic and fiqh. My oldest son was on scholarship at the school and
they opened a special class for the american wives and mothers who were
there. Everyday was a new adventure. The birth of my son in Sudan was
one of the most interesting things that ever happened to me. My husband
had made all the necessary arrangements. We had two back up plans. I
always believed in a plan A and a plan B. But in Sudan, you better have
a plan C as well.
Well, the night I went into labor we had made arrangements with three
neighbors for a ride. We checked on them everyday to make sure somebody
had gasoline in their car, so they could drive us to the hospital. On
that night, however, one family was out of town, another one had no
gas and the last one's car was not running. We started walking, my husband,
his good friend Ali and I. We started walking towards the main road,
about a mile away from our home. The labor pains were getting closer
and closer. This was my fifth child and I knew the time was very near.
Ali was from Nigeria, and I turned to him and said: "You're from the
bush, right? So you know how to deliver a baby, right?" "No way! No
way! No way!", I could hear him yelling in the darkness as he scooted
up the road. In five seconds flat he was back from the main road in
a cab. We got to the hospital in record time. I don't think the driver
knew the meaning of the words "Use your brakes!!!"
I laid in what we would very loosely call the labor room, when a nurse
came in, looked, saw that the head was presented and nodded her head
at me. I laid there waiting for the little bed with wheels to carry
me to the delivery room. And the nurse just kept nodding her head. Was
I supposed to walk to the delivery room? Walk? Yes, she was saying:
"Come on, Come on." Miraculously, I got up and walked to the delivery
room.
Husain was born at about midnight. A doctor came into our room around
sunrise. He asked me how I was feeling. I told him I felt fine. He told
me: "OK, you can go home." And indeed, home I went.
Alhamdulillah, my neighbors waited on me hand and foot for the next
forty days. They didn't allow me to get up out of the bed, except to
go to the bathroom. Thank Allah for them.
We went to make umra with the children in 1988 and ended up staying
a year and making hajj with all of our children, even little Husain.
When we returned to Sudan we found that the war between the north and
south was escalating and the government refused to extend our visa.
They wanted the americans to go safely back home. We protested, but
to no avail. The next thing I knew, our plane was landing at Kennedy
Airport.
It was raining in New York that day. I watched the rain go down the
sewer and thought about the 10,000 Sudanese people who died, and the
100,000 Sudanese homes that were destroyed, when it rained just one
day in Sudan. All because they have no sewer system. It was the sadest
day of my life. I stayed packed for 2 years. We had thirteen trunks,
all packed and ready to go. But Allah had closed that door and we were
back here, in the place we used to call "Darul Shaitan." Once I got
over the depression, I realized that Allah had put me back here for
a reason. I have since tried to dedicate myself to the establishment
of Islamic Education here in the US. And I try to keep my hopes high
that one day I will live in Darul Islam, and Allah will remove the dark
cloud of kufr.
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