The Prodigal Son
12/12/2004 5:20AM (3:20PM Khartoum)
In the movie version of this morning CCR's "Fortunate Son" would be playing and I would be stepping off a bus in rural Alabama. As it stands I stepped off a 737 onto the darkened tarmac at Khartoum International Airport and boarded a bus headed for the terminal. The music was playing in my head as the bus pulled up to the terminal and we disembarked (my mother and I), stepping into the cool of the terminal building. Sudan has long had a love-hate relationship with its native sons. Whereas landing in the US one is greeted by a "welcome home!", in Khartoum one is greeted with suspicion and open dislike. Especially if you are a naturalized expatriate. So you can imagine my surprise when, upon finishing filling out my landing form, my passport was taken by a passport officer before I even got to the windows. He proceeded to go to the window, grab the stamps and finish up my entry procedure before asking me if I had any bags or anything. When I said I had one bag and my mother had two, he asked where my mother was and, when I pointed her out in the Sudanese nationals passport line, he expedited her entry as well. We got out of the airport with such speed that we were afraid there'd be no one to meet us outside.
My uncle, aunt, and two cousins were outside waiting for us. My mother had been deliberately secretive with the details of our journey so as to make sure that the entire family didn't show up at the airport at 3am to greet us. So just a few people were there and I found myself getting choked up - I hesitate to think about the spectacle I would have made of myself if there had been more. After more than three years of not seeing them, I was finally home. There are no words to describe the feeling of being in the place where you belong. It's a feeling of relief so deep that it's like sinking into a warm vat of honey. Everything slows down for a second and you are surrounded and lifted. We came back to their house which is one block over from our own home in Sudan, and stayed up for hours just talking.
Waking up this morning another of my cousins had heard that we'd arrived (through whatever faster than light communications systems the Sudan seems to have developed over the past several thousand years) and had come over. I woke up to his voice outside and after embracing we sat around talking over breakfast, tea and then a light snack. He is slightly younger than my sister and is earnest in the way that some young Sudanese men are, but with a quick, inquisitive mind that augurs well for his future. He immediately peppered me with questions about everything from my work to how certain types of technology worked. Before we had woken up a sheep had been slaughtered to give thanks for our safe and triumphant return to the bosom of the family. This will probably be the first of many sheep that will be sacrificed and then eaten during my stay.
It's mid-afternoon now by Khartoum reckoning, and so most of the house is dozing away their siesta time. I can't sleep, I'm too excited about the next two weeks, and still agonizing over the people I may not get to see. Still, I'm here and that's the most important thing.