P n J`s Adventures of The Sudan

P n J`s Adventures of Sudan

The ferry crossing from Egypt to Sudan over Lake Nasser

The ferry didnt leave Egypt for a great number of hours. We thought we had an idea of just how cramped it would get. We did not. The deck was packed elbow to elbow. And so we would lie for almost 30 hours. The alternative was to sit the whole way in the gallows which stank of petrol. Luckily we befriended a guy working on the boat who gave us his blanket. Up on deck, we burned the whole duration of the day, then we would have frozen the chill of the desert night were it not for the blanket. Neverhthless, sleep was impossible. Every few minutes the people either side of you, (by that I mean the up to ten people surrounding you) would shuffle in their sleep and this meant incessant nudges to the ankle or a digs to the ribs.

Thank goodness for the blanket

At around 5am there was a massive comotion and reshuffling of the bodies. I think I was finally dozing off, when the call (rather, shout) to prayer would blast out on the tannoy for the next half hour. And so it happened than when the ferry passed Abu Simbel temple around 7am, I was in no state to stir.

Packed elbow to elbow

The only pleasure afforded one, was an escape trip to the cafe to pick up some tea. We had made some new foreigner friends. Everyone wanted to do the rounds. Even a trip to the toilet was a delight, regardless of the stench. It meant you could stretch.

This photo is deceiving. I actually stepped up and let Peter sleep in the hammock

Finally. Sudan was approaching. We docked at Wadi Halfa in Sudans north western province. It seemed there was no transport out of the town that night. We had picked up a Canadian, Dale, and together the three of us marched out of town. Dale spends his summers planting trees in Western Canada and the rest of the year roaming the earth. He was in northern Africa to learn arabic, and so would prove useful in getting us by in this land of Arabs.

Scenes from Wadi Halfa

The locals must have been bemused at the site of three white guys, with big backpacks, strolling with the evening sunset out of town and in to the desert. We didnt really know what we were doing. We had no idea how far away the next village was. I guess being couped up on the ferry for so long meant we didnt care. We just wanted to move. Vaguely we planned to hitch hike south. Towards Khartoum.

A quick cup of Tea before we hit the road

No vehicles passed. It then got dark. We had walked some 7 or 8 km. There was no way we would head back into town. We would have to camp the night by the side of the road in this Nubian desert. We knew nothing of possible dangers: snakes or scorpions or bandits. We huddled together behind a dune and went to sleep, newly exhausted from our walk, and everyones lack of sleep on the ferry. Before drifting away, we counted a plentitude of satelites orbiting the earth. That`s how clear our desert night sky was.

Three unlikely figures walking into the unknown

It would mean nothing to tell you the road distance from Wadi Halfa to Dongola. If I told you it was three hundered kilometers, I wouldn`t expect you to understand that the journey takes two to three days. Such are the condition of the roads through Saharan Sudan.

Waking up behind our dune; our early morning view; We are never far from the Nile

Hitching this road was now a necessity. We saw no public transport for 3 days. Usually, we were picked up by trucks who were building the roads. One such driver, was refuelling water from the Nile, to be used in spraying the road during construction. We passed his village on the way, where we stopped so he could feed us and offer US gifts. In his house was nothing but the plain four walls. I wonder if he managed to feed himself that night?

Three of us Hitching; our friend the driver; filling up from the Nile; he feeds us his only food!

We arrived in the afternoon in a village of no more than 200 people. It seems that each and every household wanted us to join them in their house for tea. This part of Sudan is where the muslim Nubian people live. Converted from christianity centuries ago, one local confided in me that some of them still have Christ in their hearts. So whereas in Egypt we were afraid of striking up a conversation with a female, lest we were acting culturally inconsiderately; here, we were giggling and chatting with all the girls in the village. The children gathered around us and sang us the only song they knew in english: “Every day I brush my teeth, brush my teeth, brush my teeth“!

Arriving in the village; some cute Nubians; singing "Everyday I brush my teeth"; Peter sings in

We are kindly invited to have tea with a lady and her children

Giggling and chatting with the Nubian girls

A local runs out from his house and shouts to us: "Come. Tea".

Our next big lift was in a 4x4. A contractor sent from Khartoum to the very north was now on his way home. We spent the next two days with him. We stop for food. He insisted on paying for all of us. This happened at every meal. For the night we stayed in a Nubian village at his friends parents house. We had arrived late in the night, but a veritable feast was prepared for the distinguished guests nonetheless.

Our very good friend who payed for everything; our luxurious 4x4 ride

Bright and early, after a veritable feast of a breakfast of course, we head to Dongola where the road splits. We were now headed inland, through the desert and away from the Nile; our driver home to Khartoum. Over a farewell lunch which we insisted that we WILL pay for, he left, then as we went to pay, found out that he had already done so in secret. The Nubians/Sudanese will be remembered always for their profound generosities. I had now been in Sudan for three days and hadnt spent so much as a cent!

Locals working in the "Nile Petroleum" gas station; me acting like a local

We arrive in the town of Karima by our first paved road in 3 days. The bureaucracy of this country was becoming more and more immense. First you remember the complications for getting the visa in Egypt, which already at 100usd is by far the most expensive in my Africa. Then we hear from some other tourists that you have to register with the police. They had paid 50usd. Outraged, we were determined to evade this cost!

On the road to Karima

I tried to check into my first hotel. “ Where are your papers“, asks the check in guy. He explained that I had to go to the local security office, register, then I could check in! Seeing as I didnt`t have my police registration, I couldn`t do that. For the rest of my time in Sudan, I will have to duck and dive all manners of authorities and sleep rough or with friends. Welcome to The Sudan!

Waking up to the Pyramids

This would be our fourth night of roughing it, only this time we were in the desert surrounded by the Pyramids of Bakur. As we were constantly reminded by the locals, indeed even in southern Egypt: “Giza isn`t the only place with pyramids you know!“
The early morning sunlight reflected a bright orange glow off the thousand year old Pyramids. Time to wake up and catch the bus to the place where the Nile splits into two: the nation`s capital Khartoum.

Our roasting bus ride to Khartoum, Peter help himself to free water

There we rejoined another Canadian friend Mike. Mike is born in Poland, but lived most his life in Toronto. He is 24 but has the wealth of knowledge of 94 year old. He is travelling for 5 years around the world and wants to return to Canada speaking 10 languages fluently.
We were now four large, sweaty, unshowered, filthy from the desert men; who were about to invade the home of a kindly Greek girl who invited us all to stay with her. Ismini works for the United Nations so we got to know a lot about the political situation in Sudan. I dont think she quite agreed with Colonol Wahid`s assessment that: “Darfur is safer than Dover“.

Mike joins our possey; Ismini bakes us a Greek treat

The main attraction, for me at least, was to visit the bridges spanning the Nile, then ultimately, where it joins/splits. South east from Ethiopia comes the Blue Nile, and from the south west in Uganda, the White Nile.
The guys weren`t intersted in walking the bridges, so we agreed to meet later at Lord Kitcheners boat. Crossing one bridge I take many fotos and videos. Then a motor gives me a lift to the next bridge. From here I take a picture of myself with the bridge in the backround. I didn`t realise but I was right next to a military barrcack, and one of the soldiers was shouting at me to come over.

Advertising on the Nile; sunset from a bridge; where the Nile splits into two: White and Blue

He is very suspicious of me, and as I try to show him the innocence of the foto, he shouts: “Delete, Delete“!! I tried to explain that I wasn`t photgraphing the barrack. “Look, only the me and the Bridge“, I exclaimed.

Things start to get more hectic. Soon I am surrounded by half a dozen heavily armed military. My concern now was they didn`t try to take my camera and accidentally delete all the fotos. At that moment a guy in civilian clothes pulls up to the bridge on a motorcycle. I thought he was my ally asking them to give me a break. Then he lead the charge. He was more at unease with me than the soldiers.

Lord Kitcheners boat

The military seemed to recognise this guys authority, as, when he commands me to get on his bike to whisk me away, the soldiers dont interfere. “Where are we going I asked him“.
“Downtown“, he replies ominously. Still I felt safer with this guy than back on the bridge. At any point I could jump of this bike and run for it. Who was this guy? Where the hell was he taking me? Was he just trying to steal my camera somehow?We pull up beside an official government buiding. The sign reads: The Republic of The Sudan National Itelligence and Security Agency. “Are you like..........the American version of the C.I.A.“, I asked. The reponse was affirmative. Somehow I now felt safer. All I would have to do now, is go in there and convince them I`m not a spy. No problem.

"The" photo that almost got me a mock execution

Whilst maintaining that I wasn`t taking fotos of the military compound, I started to show them more pictures. Ones I`d taken of the bridge from the other bridge and pictures of the other bridge. Bridge, bridge, bridge, me, bridge, me, me and bridge. See. Tourist photos. I`m a toursit!

This is where the bureaucracy started to become absurd. It turns out this is exactly the problem. To take ANY photos in The Sudan, one must have a permit. Once you receive the permit, there is a list of things on it that even with the permit are strictly forbidden. The list goes on and indicates mainly buildings of government or military importance, but the only thing that is written in CAPITAL LETTERS at the very top of the list is: BRIDGES.

Commiting a felony, the ultimate criminal photograph: a bridge

Who am I? Have I been to Israel? Am I a terrorist? What am I doing in Sudan? Am I a reporter? (they had never seen a camera like mine before). Then the dreaded question: Passport?
Though it was right in my pocket I had to lie and tell them it was in the Hotel. Where is my hotel? I was staying with Ismini and didn`t even know the name of a single hotel. I made one up.

Why didn`t I just show them my passport? Surely they were going to strip me down before beating me anyway right? I wasn`t registered remember. Effectively I was illegally in the country!
Then the most dreaded of things you could possibly imagine to hear in these situations: “We are going to move this interregation to another part of town“.

My soon to be interregator - torturer

No! Why! This is fine. I like it here. There is an official sign outside. Please, I thought. I don`t want to undergo a mock execution, indeed a real one in these tumultuous times in this part of the world.
“Wait a second, wait a second. Maybe we can clear this up another way“.
I produced from my pocket a business card. White but in golden print read the name of Colonel Wahid. Wahid was the Sudan visa director back in Cairo. He had given me his card so I could email him the picture we took together, plus my opinions and experiences of Sudan.

Personal friend of my BEST friend Colonel Wahid

“How do you know Colonel Wahid“, their temperament immediately changed.
“We are friends“, I replied
“How good friends?“
“Very good friends, call him and see“.
His number was written on the card, but it was in Egypt and I knew they wouldn`t call it.
It turns out they knew the Colonel. They graduated through the academy together. They were now offering me tea, apologizing to me.

My freedom returned, I can visit the central square of Khartoum - a parking lot!

They let me keep all my pictures of the bridges, we even took pictures together. We had a few giggles and chats then they organised a lift for me back to the Nile where I was an hour late for meeting the boys.
“Oh Yeah, that`s why you`re late“, they exclaim none too impressed with my tardiness.
More stories and fuul and falafel were exchanged back at Isminis place. Poor Peter. Where I had promised him new culinary delights, we were confronted with not only the exact same food as in Egypt, here it was even worse. Of course Khartoum has all manners of wordly cuisine, but not when you`re affording yourself only local muck.

Our last night in Sudan together

The next morning we bade farewell to Dale, he was to remain in Sudan, thanked Ismini for her immense hospitality and the three of us, Mike, Peter and I headed to Ethiopian border.
Our only problem now: to get out of Sudan. Get past immigration without our registration papers.
For all we knew, they could imprison us, fine us heavily or what. We would find out early the next morning.

Coming up next in

“P n J (and M later to be L)`s adventures of Ethiopia