I had to remember to walk next to him not loiter behind. I was reluctant to leave the other passengers. A few hours ago we were a cohesive unit, smug and loud at Khartoum airport, the lucky few heading north. In the aeroplane we ate the same food, faced the same direction and acknowledged each other with nods and small smiles. Now we were to separate, dazzled by the bright lights of the terminal, made humble by the plush carpeted floors, chastened by the perfect announcements one after the other, words we could understand, meanings we could not. From the vacuum of the terminal where all sound was absorbed we would disperse into the cloudy city and soon forget the pride with which we purchased our tickets and left our home. He dislikes it if I walk a few steps behind him, what would people think, he says, that we are backward, barbaric. He sneers at the Arab women in black abayas walking behind their men. Oppressed, that's what people would think of them. Here they respect women, treat them as equal, we must be the same he says. So I have to be careful not to fall behind him in step and must bear the weight of his arm around my shoulder, another gesture he had decided to imitate to prove that though we are Arabs and Africans we can be modern too.