The Foreign Service Journal, October 2006

100 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / O C T O B E R 2 0 0 6 R EFLECTIONS Two Rivers Run Through It B Y S COTT R. R IEDMANN I awoke this morning to the undu- lating rhythm of the Muslim call to prayer, summoning all those within earshot to bow down and give praise to God. How hypnotic it can be to hear a call that you don’t compre- hend but fully understand. Meaning isn’t necessary; only faith is required. The sky is pinkish-orange, creating the perfect backdrop for this siren song. I look down from my balcony and see some of the faithful shuffling to the mosque. Others pray in the street or wherever they happen to be at the time. This is morning in Khartoum. On the way to work, I am shielded from the intense glare of the desert sun, hidden behind dark, smoky win- dows. The faces I pass cannot see my examination of them. They only see my large white SUV. Donkey carts shuffle along. Tea ladies sell glasses of hot liquid laden with sugar. This road- side delight helps drive out the chill of the desert night. The car takes me past the Blue Nile, one of two rivers that run through Khartoum. The Blue Nile and the White Nile converge to become the great one. How lost one feels in such a place, a place filled with extreme devotion— an unquenchable thirst for salvation. Their faith flows like the rivers that dissect this city and is as relentless as the dust that shrouds it. Their religion is peaceful and loving. The truly faith- ful know this. Despite the overt religious devo- tion, there are some whose faith is not so gentle, not so pure. Their hearts are not filled with peace, but with anger. They crave retribution, cruel and swift, for some crime that only they understand. Their anger melds into the dominant feeling; it covertly converges with the more peaceful idea, blending and becoming part of the larger sentiment that surges through the heart of this city and its people. I sit in my office, at the embassy, and the clamor begins on the street. Outside, men in white gowns and women robed in black chant and scream and throw whatever they can find at us — but not us really, just the idea of us. Be gone! Get out! Just go! One morning I visit the Omdur- man Souk, a local market, as the ven- dors are gearing up for the day. They rarely see foreigners here; it’s not a tourist destination. They don’t pay much attention to me, but go on about their business selling — python-skin shoes, camel-hair rugs, donkey whips, teapots and gold jewelry. A gentleman comes up to me from inside a shop. “Come,” he says. “You are welcome here.” I know he is right. My instincts have not alerted me that there is dan- ger. He and his friends smile and bid me good day. They are curious to know about me. Why do I venture to where few of my kind come? We share tea and exchange pleasantries as well as two people can with limited capabilities in each other’s language. He shakes my hand and wishes me “peace.” As I leave the market a group of young men spot me and begin saying things I don’t understand. Their eyes are not kind; they are brimming with frustration and anger. But they don’t threaten me. They just don’t want me there, in their market, in their country, in their thoughts. Driving away I realize that, like the two Niles, there are two currents flowing here: devotion to a religion that is peaceful and loving, and resentment of what the West repre- sents, what it imposes. While I may disagree with the latter’s validity, the former is all but certain. These two currents come together and become something different, a stronger potion. Like the two rivers that become one, these feelings inter- twine. They become lost in each other, forming something new. Scott R. Riedmann joined the Foreign Service in 2000. He is currently deputy consul general in Nairobi, hav- ing also served in Quito and Merida. He wrote this article while on TDY in Khartoum. There are two currents flowing in Khartoum: devotion to a religion that is peaceful and loving, and resentment of what the West represents, what it imposes.