Roundtable

A man of Darfur western Sudan, dozen years out after eighteen months’ transit in Egypt. In Egypt he had worked for five pounds it might have been monthly. Early sixties sporting a rust red dyed moustache. Overcoat against the wintry day with sunglasses that were later removed as the conversation progressed. How had he attained such good, confident English was unknown. Otherwise the man spoke only Arabic, understanding very little of the Dinka at the next table. Earlier days he had known some. All the current trouble in Africa was tribal-based, not religious, according to the man. In Darfur for example they were all Muslim. In greater Sudan everything stemmed back to the friction between the nomads and the settled agrarians. During the British period there had been a designated kilometer wide corridor for the nomads with their herds; after earlier trouble some decades ago in Yemen across the water an influx of refugees from the north had disturbed the equilibrium. The rust red man’s tribe was the Benihealba. They had the same bulls as the Dinka, though whether they were nomadic herdsmen did not emerge. 4pm the man needed to pick up his son from school; a madrasa probably. On parting there were brief words with the Dinka group by the door, the divide apparent. Apart from Mr. Aguar the Dinka at the window table by the door were not regulars today. The men had met by arrangement it seemed; the intent listening at the table suggested. As the turns to speak were taken the men sat quietly without stirring. There were no crossed legs; close attention directed at the speaker. When Faisal bought into the conversation from the side with some kind of witticism one of chaps responded in kind; indeed made capital of the opportunity and produced belly laughs from both Dinka and Tiggrinah in back. A couple of the former did have big bellies too; older men in their fifties and sixties today. The younger crew was noticeably absent. The youngest who had joined last was more than content sitting and listening. What would a junior like that know, for whatever he had seen? Toward the end of proceedings – Faisal apologized for having to close up shop – Aguar had asked the young chap about the book he was holding. Byzantine Jesus with an aureole on the cover. A nod the most that was given by Aguar, who may have been pure animist himself. Earlier in the year Aguar had been in South Sudan. He was another with a ready MS in search of an editor, in his case some kind of constitutional legality the focus. Principles had been taken from the UN charter, from the EU and the British legal framework, Aguar had said some days earlier. A half hour before closing America had been put down for zero at the Dinka table, and then Uganda the same—clear English zero. Aid most likely, or meaningful support. Six Dinka men. Suit jackets, shirts, shoes all. Two ties. The elder Morwell was still over in Adelaide collecting the remainder of his belongings. Morwell had made the decision to move to the larger community here; had he been in Melbourne no doubt Morwell would have been at the table. In Morwell’s absence Aguar and two others were the principal speakers. Listening the others looked keenly and drank in the words. After his turns had passed even Aguar listened closely. (In conversation sometimes Aguar’s concentration could wander.) The young chap would have learned much at the table today.