The Sudanese people are certainly the friendliest, most unpretentious, spontaneous, transparent, candid, and sincere amongst all Arabs. This conviction of mine grew over the years that I worked with Shell there.
On my second visit to Khartoum, Abdel Rahman Swar El Dahab invited me to his home in Omdurman, where I was served the most delicious Sudanese food cooked by his wife, Arwa. At the Swar El Dahab residence, I was introduced to his sweet young daughters, and the many neighbors who popped their heads in to say hello to the visitor who hailed from Bilad Al Sham.
Arwa was quick to notice how much I had enjoyed the grilled pigeons she had served, so she came to an agreement with Swar to alert her well before any future visit of mine. In preparation, she pulled a good number of baby pigeons and fed them only sugar dissolved in water to render their meat tender for my eating enjoyment.
Hassan Issa, who during our first few meetings looked to be stiff and formal, proved to be even more pleasant than his colleagues. Being the marketing boss, he made it a routine to arrange an invitation to his club on every visit, and this was the gathering place for Khartoum’s business community. These invitations allowed me the opportunity to rub shoulders with many interesting industrialists, traders, and government officials, as Hassan’s circle of friends seemed to never stop growing. The Khartoum Club had derived its popularity from the old British colonial period and every aspiring man in the country wanted to become a member, despite the long waiting list and the endorsements required. Being there with Hassan Issa in the evenings, I was supposed to respect the routine traditions of the members. So, we sat on the spacious deck drinking brandy in the soaring heat until midnight. Then, as if an alarm clock had suddenly woken up all the patrons, they moved into the club house and started to order food.
I was not accustomed to this heavy drinking, but I had to respect the flow for the sake of my host and the image he kept drawing of me to his friends. However, on one of my visits, I sat next to a well-built grey-haired gentleman who looked like a just-retired army general. Soon, I discovered that this was indeed the case, and I became very surprised when he introduced himself as Abdel Rahman Swar al-Dahab. I thought him to be joking at the first instance, but soon I realized that this was his real name. While chatting, we found out that the two of us were not heavy drinkers, so he offered me a ride back to my hotel. En route, I found out that he had just retired from the army, as he was planning to run for the presidency of the Republic of Sudan. He would eventually succeed, becoming president in 1985.
Even my “countrywoman”, Marcelle Chaghouri, took turns in hosting me during my regular visits, firstly by starting a morning routine of carrying different kinds of Syrian home-baked biscuits and sweets to the office, prepared by her mother. Then, on one of the Fridays when I had to stay in Sudan, she invited me, Hassan, Swar and his family to lunch at the house of her parents, where we were served a sumptuous Syrian home-cooked feast.
Our work for the Shell Company of Sudan seemed to develop into the pride of the company’s management. In recognition of this ongoing achievement and in appreciation of all the cheese that I had brought, I was invited to Jack Von Buren’s house for lunch on a Thursday, as the afternoon was off. The general manager’s villa was located at the extreme end of Khartoum in a forest that housed what seemed to be the residential area of most of the expatriate company heads in Sudan. The Von Buren employed many Nubians. The security team wore khaki shorts and shirts, including khaki-colored turbans, while the in-house team were dressed in long Arab thawbs with thick red belts and white turbans.
As I entered the Von Buren’s villa, the aroma of the Dutch countryside in spring hit me. Up until that moment, I had failed to put my finger on how the graceful Mrs. Von Buren managed to achieve that. Nor how she succeeded in balancing Dutch simplicity – be it in color schemes, furniture, paintings, or lighting – with the harshness of the African jungle outside. The meal was perfect, served in ceremonial style by the Nubian waiters, and the coffee was a nice change to cap it all. This invitation was perceived as the ultimate honor amongst my Sudanese friends.
There are experiences in life that one never forgets, and amongst my Sudanese memories is a particular date. On 17 August 1972, I was standing at the altar of the Evangelical Church of Beirut waiting for my bride to enter, escorted by her father. I noticed out of the corner of my eye a black man walking into the church under the questioning eyes of all my guests. When the wedding ceremony ended and we lined up to receive the congratulations, Abdel Rahman Swar El Dahab finally reached me and whispered that he was at my wedding on behalf of himself, his family, Shell Sudan management and staff, as well as the many friends I had in his country. Later that evening, when I enquired about Swar during the cocktail reception, my brother told me that he had driven him to the airport as he was eager not to miss his flight back to Sudan.