Made. In. Iran.

That's what it said on the side of the freight train that passed by me on the bridge this morning. (Yes, that's right, out for another walk by the Nile again - I just can't get enough of it now that the weather is so, well, tolerable! Was up there taking in the scenery and watching the water pass under my feet on the bridge when I heard the train come across behind me on the other side. Ok, well it was kinda hard to hear over the Jay Z/Linkin Park, Cheb Khaled, and other tunes I had blaring on my ipod, but, I digress . . .)

It's not everyday that you see something like that, not even way-out-here on the other-side-of -the-planet-Khartoum. And it got me thinking . . .

If we had more goods from places like Iran in common circulation, would it affect the way we conceptualize the Other? What would most Americans think if they were out on the road and saw those big, black, faded letters in Farsi and English on the side of a train?

And it got me thinking about fear. Fear has been on the brain quite a lot since coming back to Sudan after a few weeks in the US over the holidays. At first, it was this thick, heavy fear of the unknown: If John and his driver were killed, well, then, it could be any of us! Then it was dull and pervasive fear: Hmm, no, I don't think we can go to that restaurant . . . tables are too close to the road . . . Why don't we just eat in tonight?

Then it was confusing: On the one hand, we have heightened security requirements from the authorities. On the other hand, everything still looks pretty much the same to me. My friends who work for other organizations here are still going about their normal lives. People are still exceedingly friendly to me in random interactions in and around our neighborhood:

• The guys in the cardboard hut at the corner with the new road have jumped up to hold back their dogs on multiple occasions when I approach for a jog. We exchange greetings.
• They're right next to a group of squatters with, like, 10 of THE cutest kids. When the kids shout out to me, the whitey, running in the street, I talk to them and greet their parents.
• If I'm out walking anywhere other than on the sidewalk by the Nile I'll get all kinds of people who stop and want to give me rides. (No, I don't get in . . .) But still, and this is men AND women we're talking about here.
• Just this past week I lobbed my tennis ball over the wall and as I was out looking for it, groups of children and adults came over to help.

The examples go on and on. Our experiences here are dominated by frequent random acts of kindness. I think it comes from the communal nature of the culture. As soon as it is clear that we are human (as opposed to some strange white aliens), people are pretty quick to extend a hand and whatever it is they might have to share.

Now I'm not sure what to be afraid of. The tension seems to be dissipating. Experience is teaching me beyond fear. Be careful, yes. But also be curious! Be loving. Be engaged.

I chanced upon a herd of goats on the sidewalk

Is that what you even call a group of goats? I can't remember. But, yes, it must mean that we're back in Sudan . . .

This wasn't just a couple of billies and nannies on their way to be dinner for a big celebration. Nope. This was a full-fledged tribe of some 30-40 little guys. Right there on the sidewalk - you know the one sidewalk in town? The one by the paved road. The one right by the Nile - the Blue Nile that is.

Long, light, white gallabeya billowing, the goat-herd was coaxing them from one grazing field to another, just as I was out for a morning walk. Is there anything cuter than a little goat kid calling out for her parents??!! I don't think so. It was a great start to the day.

And that's a good reminder of the kind of crossroads we find ourselves in here in Khartoum. On the one side of the street is a developing residential neighborhood. Multi-story buildings in process, construction machinery, scaffolding. On the other side - the pastoral life of centuries gone by.

I've mentioned before that there is a thin stretch of green between the dust and bustle of the city and the Nile here. It was amazing to watch the seasons pass in those fields. When we first arrived everything was parched. Green, but only because of the system of hand-dug irrigation ditches scratching their way from crop to crop. At the end of the summer everything floods and all the farming families had to seek higher ground, either on patches of hills in their fields, or temporarily in other sections of the city. Now we're prepping for the duststorms and then . . . then it will be summer. I'm sweating just thinking about it.

Right now is a great time to be in Sudan. Well, let me say that it is a complicated time to be in Sudan. We were deeply saddened at the news of the deaths of colleagues John Granville and Abdel Rahman Abbas over the New Year. That has shaken all of us in a deep way. Communities come together during hard times, though, and it's my feeling that we've done the same. News in Chad is also frightening as we wonder where the conflict will spread next.

But with heightened security measures, we have an excuse to invite our friends to OUR PLACE now instead of the usual house-hopping we tend to do for socialization. Recently we had a group of local friends over for brunch and they ended up staying all day. We talked and talked and talked . . . . and ended up getting out this new game we got for Christmas - Apples to Apples. Do you know it? It's a word association game and it's a blast. Even with one of us not speaking any English we were able to make a bi-lingual go at it. Hilarious.

And there's the puzzle. The enourmous map of the world that came home with us from the Mall of America (along with a bunch of other stuff I don't remember buying - how does that happen??!!) it made its way onto our dining room table and has precluded any additional parties involving formal food service, but has also made for hours of home entertainment for us.

So, we're doing ok. Being careful. But still being open when we can, and enjoying this rich and diverse culture. From the recently launched zmail program which will deliver email to mobile phones throughout the country to the goats, sorgum, and braying donkey across the street. Life at the crossroads - we feel lucky to be here.