Quirks of Living in a Sanctioned Country

I've officially been in Sudan two months!!!

The US (and other partners, like the EU, Canada, etc.) have a web of sanctions and embargoes on Sudan that make doing business in Sudan the equivalent of threading a needle. I'm not going to go into the details of these sanctions (if you want to waste a few hours and have your eyes glaze over, feel free to peruse the US Department of the Treasury's website here), but because of all these sanctions, I need to conduct all financial transactions over a VPN which, to be fair, is a best practice living in any foreign country. As such, I have a VPN downloaded on my computer and to make sure I never forget, I ALWAYS activate it before going online. I'd hate to have my brain freeze lead to a frozen bank account or credit card.

A beautiful Sudanese sunset over the Nile.

Now that I have all my stuff, including my printer, I decided to plug in my electronics to make sure they all work. And my printer does work...mostly. It's a wireless printer and the plug-in cord doesn't actually fit on my computer, so I happily send things to it wirelessly. But remember the previous paragraph and VPNs and all? Yeah, my computer has a VPN, but my printer doesn't, so my printer has a Sudanese IP address and my computer has a US one. Therefore, sending a document to the printer wirelessly doesn't work, and it took me about 20 minutes of troubleshooting this morning before I realized that I will forever have to disconnect from my VPN in order to print. At least the printer works and I didn't have an ink disaster when unpacking?

In another quirk of a sanctioned country, I have an iPhone here but the Apple Store doesn't let Sudanese data plans/IP addresses download apps. And if you have an iPhone and have experienced the PAINFULNESS that is AppleMaps, you know downloading GoogleMaps is an absolute necessity. Thankfully some people here have VPN routers so I was able to connect to them to download apps I need/want. But now the apps won't update because, oh wait, I'm not on the VPN router all the time so it thinks a Sudanese data plan/IP address is trying to update. And I'm back to the big no-no part. So as a quirk of living in a sanctioned country, anytime I want a new app, or want to update an app to get rid of that super annoying number on my phone telling me that I have apps that need updating, I will need to go to a friend's house with a VPN router set up. The perfectionist in me--the same one that must have 0 unread emails in my inbox--is dying because of this.

I'm sure that in two years here I'll find other quirks. I'm already adjusting to the all-cash economy, although not being able to get cash at any time is a bit of frustration. At least things are relatively cheap, so I don't go through the cash all that quickly!

And while this song has nothing to do with this post, I really like it. So enjoy Lauren Aquilina's Sinners.

Censoring Music in a Conservative Country

Khartoum has two radio stations that sometimes play Western pop music, although neither does so exclusively. One of them usually plays acoustic covers in the mornings on my drive to work, and on the way home I listen to the other station and hear one Western song followed by two songs in Arabic. A few weeks ago I was shocked when I turned on the radio and heard Drake speak-singing "You used to call me on my cell phone." I was intrigued to find out how a song like Hotline Bling would be received in Sudan's conservative culture, especially since the lyrics are suggestive but never explicit.

I can't tell if the government requires music to be censored or if the radio stations do it because they know their listeners. Even in the US, Alessia Cara's Here is often censored surrounding the line "I'll be here/Somewhere in the corner/Under clouds of [marijuana]" not because people can't say marijuana on the radio but because a lot of radio stations apparently decided that their listeners didn't want to hear that word, at least not in the song's context. So in the US, when a word or phrase is censored, the music continues in the background but no word is sung or spoken. However, that's not how music censorship is done in Sudan. Instead, it sounds like the record is skipping, which makes Hotline Bling such an interesting song. It barely goes for more than a few seconds before jumping over the next "questionable" lyric.

For example, take this censored lyric:

'Cause ever since I left the city

You started wearing [less] and going out more

Glasses [of champagne] out on the dance floor

Hangin' with some girls I've never seen before

Or this one, which was painful to listen to because of the intense skipping:

These days all I do is

Wonder if you're [bendin' over backwards] for someone else

Wonder if you're [rollin' up] a backwoods for someone else

Doing things I taught you, [getting nasty for someone else]

You don't need no one else

It took me aback the first time I heard it, and then I realized what was happening, and it became entertaining to try to figure out why some of the lines were considered questionable and whether other lines coming up would be just as problematic (answer: in Hotline Bling, the station clearly went overboard...on other songs, they were a little less intense). I haven't heard any profanity-laced songs yet in Sudan, and I'd like to think that Sudanese radio knows to stay away from those lest a 3-minute song be reduced to 1-minute of hearing every other word!

While on the subject of music popular in Sudan, it feels like Dami Im's Sound of Silence is played on repeat sometimes. I recently discovered that it was Australia's entry into the Eurovision 2016 contest, which makes me enjoy it even more.

Europe, according to Eurovision

Sadly it placed second, although for the health of Eurovision that is probably a good thing. It'd be weird to host the 2017 edition in that lovely European country known as Australia....?

A Tradition Borne Out of Necessity

In 2008, I spent my first American Independence Day on the African continent. I was studying abroad in Tanzania at the time, and my classmates and I were searching for some good old fashioned American food to eat. But we weren't in Dar es Salaam, the largest city in the country, or Arusha, a cosmopolitan city in the country's northeast. No, on July 4, 2008, we were in Mwanza, a large city on the shores of Lake Victoria that exudes a small town feel. Restaurant options were limited, so we went to the most American restaurant we could find: a pizza place. Kuleana, the pizzeria, didn't have spectacular pizza, but it hit the spot and was about as close as we were going to get to our goal. I vowed to spend more American Independence Days in Africa and promised myself that if I did, pizza would become my holiday tradition.

Fast forward to 2016, and I find myself back in Africa and once again in a city where American food options are limited. What's a guy to do? Yep, you guessed it. Pizza it is. Debonair's, a South African chain, in fact. Is it good pizza? No, not particularly, but it isn't terrible and the memories it brings of 2008 makes it absolutely delicious. I've always wondered how people's random traditions are borne. Some are clearly passed down from generation to generation, some are clearly cultural, and some are definitely a result of necessity and happenstance. It's why, stereotypically, Jews eat Chinese food and go to the movies on Christmas. And now why I will have pizza on American Independence Day. It's all because I was in a far-off city and pizza was the closest thing to American food I could get.

Happy Fourth of July! To celebrate, enjoy some Bruce. There's little that's more patriotic than listening to Bruce.