Sudan

Visited: December 2004

Duration of visit: 11 days

Capital city: Khartoum

Population: 30 million (2004)

Estimated reading time: 17 minutes

• Vicious circles for obtaining travelling permits when crossing the border from Egypt and for visiting the areas south of Khartoum.
• Extremely harsh travelling on converted trucks in the northern areas from Wadi Halfa.
• Friendly people who were always willing to help me and many times invited me to their homes.
• Drinking tea in primitive street teashops, people watching and chatting with locals.
• Admiring resourcefulness and patience of tea-ladies in the uninspiring capital Khartoum.
• Tall and skinny, dark skinned people with tribal scarfs.

Sudan in 2004 is a challenge from any standpoint. Entering the country, leaving it, travelling around, finding food, getting permission for local sightseeing. I will shortly sum up my diary and try to keep the positive perspective, while in my subconsciousness I will never forget how difficult and challenging it was to backpack around undeveloped country.

One of the most sorrowful realities concerning Sudan is that it has experienced the longest civil war in Africa’s history.

The conflict lasted 22 years from 1983 to 2005, killed at least 1.5 million and displaced over four million people.

On the other side Sudan has over 200 pyramids (more than Egypt), built by the ancient Nubian civilization from as early as 2500 BC. Unfortunately, I couldn’t visit any of them due to security or logistical constrains.

Sudan was part of my overland trip from Europe, through the Middle East and East Africa – the African Big Tour. The first week was so intense, unique and weird, that I will describe it, so the reader can get a better perception of reality in this country, at least the one I experienced.

My travels from Egypt to Sudan continue on a cargo-passenger ship, which provides an extraordinary expedition up the Lake Nasser and Nile River to Wadi Halfa in Sudan.

The journey from downtown Aswan to the port requires a two-hour bus ride in the early morning, including the procedures for customs control and immigration formalities in Egypt prior to departure.

The next step is acquiring a ticket for a ship to navigate Lake Nasser and registering alongside other passengers. I join approximately 50 local people (predominantly Sudanese) in a passionate quarreling, pushing and even fighting, during which we actually relocate the tiny sale booth to edge of the pier. After all the hassle I realize that the whole drama was a complete nonsense, since we wait for the rest of the afternoon, before the ship is ready for sailing.

The official ship capacity of one 40” container and 150 passengers is exceeded easily.

We are approximately 400 people and 7 trucks of goods, when I board the upper deck. During the next 5 hours another 200 passengers and 10 trucks of goods are loaded. When the engines finally ignite at 6:00pm, we resemble a group of emigrants packed onto an excessively loaded cargo vessel, vulnerable to sinking with the smallest wave.

We finally leave the port of Aswan at 6:30pm.

After a sleepless night on board of the ship (in the sleeping bag with soft mattress, made of old newspapers), we slowly steer until 3:00pm, when we dock at the port of Wadi Halfa (Sudan). It is time to use my elbows again and break through to an official, who is giving passports back to the passengers.

When we want to disembark the ship, we are pushed under the deck, where everybody starts to panic: “Get us out, we are sinking!”

The panic spread around immediately without any reasons, but shouting helps us to be released up the stairs to the deck again. We have to wait for about an hour before the exit doors are unblocked of goods.

The adventure continues at checkpoint with a tough emigration officer:

“You should pay 5.00 US$ custom duty for your CD Player!”

My 5-years old CD player is for personal use and without any commercial value.

“I am not paying anything!”

After some time, he realizes that I am a small fish with limited budget, therefore he lets me go without paying, rather focusing on real traders.

Most people are gone by the time I enter the town of Wadi Halfa, where I decide to stay overnight. I check some places that remind more of huts for illegal emigrants than tourist hotels, and settle down in a guesthouse without permanent electricity.

“No worries, electricity will be here for two hours at night,” a kind manager calms me down.

The place doesn’t have running water either, but I am extremely happy to bath in mud water from the river, which is reserved in two enormous tanks. Dinner is simple: small fish from the Nile river and bread. I splash it down with tasty tea on the street stall.

Entering Sudan requires more than a simple stamp in the passport. A formality that takes 2 hours and requires to visit 5 offices (minimum 4 times each) can drive impatient people crazy and normal people desperate. Bored officials are sending me from one office to another, asking for stamps, signatures and forms. When I am directed back and forward to the same offices twice, I am pissed off for the intentional manipulation.

I finally sit down in front of the boss.

I look seriously to his eyes and claim with a strong voice: “I am not going anywhere, anymore. I will wait here until you issue me the permit to enter your country. I have been walking around these offices for the last 2 hours, waiting and filling up all kind of forms. You should put your people to work and stop bothering foreigners who bring money to your country.”

He apologizes, signs all necessary paperwork and delivers me the permission in five minutes.

Beans and bread are on the menu for lunch again. Foul is a stew of cooked fava beans mixed with olive oil and cumin. Since there are not many other vegetarian options, this is often my breakfast, lunch and dinner in Sudan.

Bus departure towards the town called Abri is announced for 1:00pm. After two hours of waiting, a colorful truck, converted to a bus arrives at 3:00pm. Before picking up all the passengers around the village it is already 4:00pm. The next hour of driving around, calling passengers, watching people to say goodbye from family members, is extraordinary.

Up to twenty people gather to say goodbye, hug, cry and make screaming noise with a tongue.

The driver continually honks the horn for up to 5 minutes per session without a break, creating different combination of high, low, long and short sounds.

We drive through desert for 4 hours. Practically no road is visible, only traces of other vehicles in the sand are guiding us, but the constant vibration that moves every single part of my body drives me crazy. Even my brain hurts, I am hungry, thirsty and tired.

After the sheep is removed from the area of my legs to the roof of our bus, I have at least a little bit more comfort.

An afternoon snack is included free of charge for all passengers – hot chocolate – the finest desert sand, mixed with humid air in my mouth. When we finally arrive to Abri, the only hotel in the village is already fully occupied.

We are directed to a house under construction where, my new friend (a police officer) offers me a metal bed structure without mattress. The house possesses two stars less than the hut of previous night.

No toilet, no water, no shower.

I am pleased that the bed structure in front of the house is solid and the night sky is illuminated by countless shining stars.

Early in the morning we head to the tiny Sae Island, surrounded by the Nile River. I am invited by a guy named Safie, whom I met the day before during the bus adventure through the desert. I couldn’t resist his offer: “Come to my house for some time, so you can take rest and recover.”

Following a late breakfast at 11:00 AM, which consisted of beans, homemade bread, and date sauce, we took a stroll around the island. In the distance, I notice a caravan of a several hundred camels on the way to Egypt, moving slowly and gracefully. Too far to catch it with my camera.

We take a closer look at another group of camels. Guides are friendly and gossip with Safie as if they had been friends forever.

Afternoon is reserved to rest and wound healing from yesterday’s ride. The house is busy all the time. Safie’s brother is getting married soon, neighbors pop in for conversation and tea constantly.

After dinner comes an unexpected news, that I need to extend my stay on the island for another day. The reason: no transport until the next day. It is Friday, a day off in Islamic world.

Rest day, walking around and observing techniques of Nubian house building made out of mud, drawing Henna on women’s hands and cooking. Most of the houses are big, but only with the ground floor. They are surrounded by high walls, scarce trees or bushes that protect properties from wild animals. Everything is simple in the household.

No wardrobe – only some hangers to put clothes away; a small hole in the ground and a bucket of water for toilets and bathroom; firewood encircled by stones for cooking and a big plate of food on the ground instead of a dining table with silverware.

All family members unite to eat with right hands, sitting on the ground around a big bowl: beans, bread, spaghetti, dates sauce, eggplants and lots of tea.

Bathing is simple and efficient with a 2-liter container of Nile water. The river can also be used to quench thirst if you do not bring bottled water with you. am grateful that I still possess a sufficient supply of bottled water.

After crossing the river on a small canoe, I say goodbye to my friend Safie. He doesn’t want to accept any payment for hosting me in his house. At 9:30am we start driving towards the city of Dongola with a local transport – a converted truck again. Driving through the desert will leave speechless even the most eloquent commuters, who dare to open their mouths during the long ride. The wind blows continually through open windows.

The amount of hot chocolate (desert sand) is so extensive that no other food will technically fit in my stomach today.

I’ve got the most adrenaline-fueled seats in the back row and, again, a sheep between my legs. Everybody who gets off/on the bus, steps on the head of the poor animal.

During a 30 minutes stop, I have difficulties drinking tea. My hands are shaking, my body is in pain, I am tired, hungry and thirsty, but without energy and strength. The only available water is preserved in big clay jugs, which keep the river water cold and probably filter some soil to the bottom. Foul and tea are on offer, yet I am grateful for my lack of appetite, considering that this food could cause lead to sickness.

Hundreds of empty bottles of Pepsi evidence that the fizzy drink is popular here or the business owner is not in a hurry to renew his stock. He doesn’t care about orderliness of his store either.

The whole afternoon is dedicated to an exciting ride to which roller coasters of Disneyland, Six Flags or Gardaland amusement parks seem as a quiet ride for kids. When we finally arrive at the hotel in Dongola, at 11:30pm, I am completely covered with sand: outside and inside.

Anybody said dinner? Not tonight. It is too late.

A retired, drunk English teacher is inviting me to his room. I decline politely due to tiredness and desperation for a shower. I jump in my sleeping bag and fall asleep immediately. After sometime my crazy neighbor starts playing loud music, screaming and dancing.  I am too tired to complain and fall asleep again.

Washing clothes is the first activity in the morning. Traditional breakfast with beans and bread turns into a daily routine, but this time is refreshing. I walk around Dongola, the capital of the state of Northern Sudan.

Not much to see, but it is the first bigger urban zone I see in Sudan. I am extremely happy to find a paved main road, but disappointed again with the menu in unpalatable restaurants: foul and falafel. Turkish sweets are delicious though. They make my day.

The new commodity in my hotel includes a shower with cold water and electricity all night.

Nevertheless, I am forced to shower only in the morning, because the low pressure doesn’t push enough water through the pipes in the afternoon or at night.

The alarm wakes me up at 4:00am.

At 5:00am, on time, a real bus with real seats kicks off toward the capital city of Khartoum. That’s right, today we’re going to ride in a bus that offers even working windows. Until 10:00am we drive through desert on a non-existent road, when I notice something black, smooth, straight and wide in front of us.

Is it asphalt mixture, commonly used for paved road? Is this possible? Definitely, yes, it’s my lucky day!

Only 5 hours more are enough to reach Khartoum. A piece of cake. I could continue like this for another day without problems.

I find a nice hotel and I treat myself as a king for dinner. No beans today. Spaghetti is on the menu. The shower works perfectly and electricity is available 24 hours a day. What a luxury and comfort. Welcome back to the civilization.

I expected to see a nicer capital city of the biggest country in Africa. It’s hard to call a city this bunch of buildings, mix of paved and unpaved roads and lazy people taking rest in shadows most of the day. Due to the war or conflicts in South and west of Sudan, migration to the capital has duplicated the population in the recent years.

All kind of tribes, colors or social stratum is present; black, dark, with facial scars, thin and tall men above two meters. White employees of international aid organizations drive around in luxury Toyota Landcruisers. Most people are extremely calm and peaceful; they seem to be reconciled with the disarray in the country.

The main highlight in Khartum is drinking tea in improvised tea houses and people watching.

The group of over 10,000 Khartoum’s tea-ladies should be an inspiration for anyone who struggles or thinks his life is complicated.

Most of them don’t have enough money to equip themselves with a decent teapot, cooker and chairs to attend the customers, who are mostly passing-by males.

Teapots are converted metal cans for powder milk, which are placed on embers that is precisely accommodated in any kind of metal structure. Chairs could be improvised, fixed many times or more often also empty cans. Tea-ladies don’t earn much money, but at least can support their kids with basic food.

One of the most sorrowful moments happened when my host, a kind middle-aged tea-lady, was surprised by an aggressive policeman, pouring water on her cooker and shaking ember on the floor. Maybe she didn’t have a permission, maybe she resented him, but my sadness at observing such action of punishment is immeasurable.

The lady timidly, without complaint, just looked at the ground, waited for the policeman to calm down and leave. Sometime later, she starts to prepare the kettle to cook a new tea as if nothing had happened.

Khartoum lacks visible museums, monuments, parks, or notable architectural structures.

I feel very safe and walking around in the dark is not an issue.

Khartoum is known as the place where the two Niles meet: White Nile and Blue Nile confluence could become a tourist attraction in the future, but for now it is an isolated and peaceful spot.

I comfortably travel from the capital Khartoum towards the east, in direction of Kasala, when, after half an hour drive, I am kicked out the bus by a remarkable police officer, shouting at me that I needed a special permit to visit this area of the country, which is supposed to be dangerous due to the civil war. I must return to Khartoum, where I spend practically the whole day to obtain an insignificant permit. I am again directed from one office to another, filling up forms, answering questions and losing my patience.

I knew before that Africa was an extremely strange continent, but I really couldn’t imagine that the system could be so inefficient and unfriendly to human beings.

I fill out the forms at the reception office first. I walk to the other side of the road, where I am supposed to make 5 photocopies of all forms, passports and stamps. The photocopy shop does not work because it does not have a tonner. I walk 20 minutes to find another photocopy machine and return to the reception office with a bunch of paperwork.

I am directed to the first floor, where the Intelligence office is operating. The officer in Office 1 leaves me to wait for 5 minutes, then nods to me to move to another office. When I visit Office 2, the clerk sends me back to the first office.

I think this is wrong, so I head to the Office 3, but when he sends me back to the first office also, I go back to the start point at Office 1. This time, I’m lucky, because there’s someone sitting behind the first clerk’s desk in Office 1, giving me the first stamp.

Why the hell did he send me to another office earlier if the stamp was issued by his colleague at the next table?

He later directs me to an adjoining army office, where I am attended by four extremely confident creatures, who seem to have done nothing but eating since they were born. When I ask them for another stamp, they reply with a smile that I am welcome to come back in two days.

Of course, they don’t know me yet. I am an experienced (read pissed off) backpacker, hard negotiator and I am not giving up just like that. I sit down right on the table and wait to see what they would say. They talk for 15 minutes as if I wasn’t there, ignoring me completely, before slowly explaining to me that there is nothing they could do. I insist to find a better solution.

After 30 minutes I am finally directed to their boss office. He immediately rejects any possibility of a stamp for today, but after half an hour of nice communication he softens enough, presses a green stamp on the form and sends me back to the reception office.

My old friend was happy after lunch, asking me for 20.00 US$ to fill out a few forms and disappear for an hour to his chief for the ultimate signature. At 4:00pm I obtain the travel permission for South-East Sudan. It is time for the first meal of the day in a decent restaurant. Chinese cuisine is not my favorite, but tasting it on an empty stomach in Khartoum, it tastes delicious.

Travelling with a proper permit to the area of Kasala and Al Qadarif afterwards is smooth. At numerous checkpoints the permit is carefully checked by meticulous soldiers, who are friendly and accommodating. Only basic, deteriorated infrastructure is available on the way; rundown guesthouses and unhygienic restaurants, where odd people gather; they seem to be immigrants or homeless.

The area next to the Ethiopian border reminds me of the first days in northern Sudan, after crossing the border from Egypt.

Border formalities to exit Sudan are executed fast and straightforward in the open air, under a bush tree. I am happy to have visited Sudan and excited about the next country: Ethiopia.

Despite all the difficulties and effort, I left Sudan with mixed feelings and believing that the most interesting areas are hidden in the south of the country, which was currently inaccessible to travelers due to the ongoing civil war. Sudan at that time was still one country, but it was a question of time, when it would split into two independent territories.

When the southern part of Sudan opens (or becomes independent), it will offer a real adventure: many isolated tribes, remote villages and complete lack of visitors for years. So far, I have been able to see a mix of Sudanese tribes in Khartoum, where war refugees emigrate from all parts of the country, especially the south.

Beside difficulties, bureaucracy issues and lack of sightseeing, Sudan impressed me with friendly people, tough life conditions and peaceful relationship among regular population.

Without a doubt, the experience from Sudan will remain in my memory forever.