Laconda Raid

Sudan Studies, Number 8 (May 1990)

A 'laconda' is a very cheap Sudanese hotel akin to a dosshouse but low on sleaze. A typical example in central Khartoum is situated between the Gasr an-Nil and Saalih hotels. I once took some Save the Children Fund workers who'd never before eaten fuul beans, to have supper at this establishment. Patrons sat outside on straw birish mats to eat, while streams of taxis, lorries and Toyota pickups buzzed up and down, only inches away from the diners' ears, droning like oversized flies. My aid worker acquaintances, who thought the cheapest meal to be had in the capital cost ten Sudanese pounds from the Sahara Hotel, enjoyed their first taste of the ubiquitous bean and were astounded to learn that it was available in the city for as little as 75 piastres.

Months later I was back in Khartoum staying at the Gasr an-Nil. From my third floor window I had a perfect view of the boys from the laconda as they transformed their stretch of unpaved sand and dirt into a 'restaurant'. A long trestle table facing the traffic held bowls of salaata, a type of yoghurt called mish, a peppery sauce of red shatta and a wide-diameter metal pan for barbecuing mutton. On the ground at the end of the table, a charcoal burner as big as a household dustbin supported a pot shaped like a huge hip flask. This was the specialised utensil for boiling fuul beans. There was also an enormous aluminium container full of water, with a communal mug adrift on the surface.

The sheyaa stall beckoned with enticing tendrils of steam and smoke which arose from the chunks nof mutton hissing on the hot pebbles and smouldering charcoal. Sunset was approaching and the city was pleasantly warm instead of punishingly hot. I stepped out of the Gasr with some companions into the heady atmosphere of the street and wandered down towards the laconda, relishing the sound of the birds fighting in their hundreds for a place to perch in the roadside neem trees and savouring the various smells which crept into the open at nightfall. We walked up to the trestle table and ordered some fuul and sheyaa. While the others sat on the birish with beans and bread, I waited by the table until our quota of meat was charred enough to be edible.

We had been sitting on the ground eating for about ten minutes when a lorry stopped level with us and the twelve or so men, who'd been balanced on the back, descended - and with mute, uniform efficiency began to dismantle the rudimentary restaurant, throwing its paraphernalia into the back of their lorry. The barbecue went in, the bowls of yoghurt and salad likewise. The boys managed to drag the fuul pot back inside the front gate of the laconda but were not so fortunate with the water container. A member of each faction held a side of the water pot and a silent tug of war ensued.

The entire raid passed off without the exchange of a single blow or angry word, a surreal dumb show unfolding before our eyes. I remember trying to eat as fast as possible for fear that our supper was about to be whipped away from under our noses, but for some reason we were not disturbed, unlike the Sudanese customers who had their evening meals unceremoniously snatched away. Their task completed, the men boarded the truck and were driven off into the night.

The only explanation we could pluck from the mass of rumours and fictions which constantly swarmed around Khartoum like locusts, was that the newly-elected government was cleaning up the capital and was putting unlicensed traders out of business. Half an hour after the raiders had swooped, I saw the smoke of scorched meat rising from the roadside once again. the boys had hastily reconstructed their 'restaurant' and were doing a brisk trade. Earlier, the boy in charge had wished us farewell from the ruins of his establishment with a grin wider than a broad bean and the words, "Sudan is a very bad place".