SUDAN
1611 Km – 26 Days
1 December – 26 December 2007
MAP
PHOTOS
1 December – Metema, Ethiopia - Galabat –
Doka, Sudan – 88 km
Not being early risers, it
was late before crossing the border from Ethiopia into Sudan at the scruffy
border town of Metema. The immigration office was no more than a mud hut under
thatch. Upon emerging from the dark and dingy room, one found oneself in super
conservative Sudan.
The day was hot and windy, and not feeling
100% riding became a struggle, only reaching tiny Doka towards the end of the
day. The tents were pitched in the vicinity of a police checkpoint at the
turn-off to the village. Camping close to the police wasn’t the safest place,
as the trouble in South Sudan was ongoing and police were continuously under
attack. The only reason for camping near the checkpoint was water availability,
and thus worth the risk. Checkpoints had plenty of water and we could wipe ourselves
down cook and fill our bottles. Water is a significant concern in the desert,
and fortunately, the police didn’t mind sharing.
Before setting up camp, Ernest and I first
rode to the market. As Doka was no more than a few simple homes, a mosque, and
a small market, only a few potatoes and tomatoes were available.
Laying in my tent, I grinned as never in my
wildest dreams did I think I would cycle Sudan twice!
2
December – Doka – El Gadarif (Al-Qaḍārif) – 90 km
The
next morning, we pushed onwards to Gadarif, a slightly larger town a further 90
kilometres north. The day turned out another scorcher, and again I had to drag
myself along and felt weak, nauseous and without energy.
Filling
our water bottles at a petrol station, a farmer befriended us and gifted us 50
Sudanese pounds (a substantial amount of money in those days). After thanking
him, we headed straight to the nearest hotel. Our benefactor will never know
how handy his donation came in. My entire night was spent vomiting and I could at
least do so in the privacy of a room.
3
December – El Gadarif – Migreh – 97 km
By
morning, I felt considerably better and could at least look around Gadarif’s markets
which are famous for selling sesame and sorghum. Anyone entering Sudan had to register
with the police within three days of arrival. Ernest and I thus proceeded to the
police station, where they appeared reluctant to perform this task. Staff informed
us it was “hard for them to do so”, and that it was better to register in
Khartoum, more than four hundred kilometres away and not a distance doable in a
day. Big eye-roll.
By
the time all was done, the time was 11h00. Thank goodness the wind died down a
tad, and Migreh was reached without too much difficulty. Once again, camping
was near a police depot with nothing but desert surrounding us.
4
December - Migreh – Desert camp – 110 km
Sadly,
the route north ran straight into the prevailing wind, thus not making for enjoyable
cycling. Nonetheless, it remained a task that had to be done. Encountering a
headwind is never a pleasant affair, but facing it daily became a mission. Most
days we had our heads down, one pedal stroke at a time.
I
was only 100% sure of one thing, which was nothing ever stayed the same.
Everything passes, and sooner or later, the wind had to subside. It was
apparently not going to happen that day. The only positive thing was the many small
settlements at regular intervals along the Nile to get a Marinda or Pepsi. The
luxury of buying something sweet to drink became a daily highlight.
Albeit
a tarmac road, it was in poor condition and congested with predominantly large
trucks. They were all seemingly heading to Port Sudan, Sudan’s main port
situated along the Red Sea. As a result, I was dead tired almost every night.
Ernest did the cooking, following which I usually went straight to bed. Not
that there was much else to do when camping in the desert.
5
December – Desert camp – Wad Medani – 41 km
A
short cycle led from our desert camp to Wad Medani, located on the west bank of
the Blue Nile and only 41 kilometres away. Being the centre of a cotton-growing
region, Wad Medani was quite a substantial town for the desert and had a population
of nearly 300,000. Moreover, the town was established due to the Gezira
irrigation scheme and consequently sported accommodation and food. Staying the
night was a no-brainer, and we spent the evening stuffing our faces with
falafel. To this day, I swear Wad Medani makes the best falafel in the world.
A good deal of the political trouble at the time was in the Darfur
region. Still, a strong military presence prevailed virtually everywhere. The killings
of villagers increased, and the government failed to disarm the armed militias,
known as the Janjawid, who continued to attack civilians in Darfur. As a
result, hundreds of civilians were killed in Darfur and Chad, and some 300,000
more were displaced.
6
December – Wad Medani – Desert camp – 81 km
It
was a good thing we were well fed as the next day was an exhausting ride in
blistering heat and into a howling wind. Sudan wasn’t kind to me and I felt
tired and nauseous - things were not going my way. Upon pulling off the road to
set up camp, I immediately had about 100 thorns in my tyres. This was the last
thing I needed. Ernest was a star and quietly went ahead and changed both tubes
and filled them with sealant. I had no energy to even think of changing tubes.
Being
winter, it became dark almost immediately after sunset, and it was best to find
a camping spot at around 18h00. The mozzies were ferocious! I had no idea there
were that many mosquitoes in the desert. It felt like they had been waiting for
the unsuspected cyclist to set up camp. The safest place was in the tents, at
least until way past sunset.
7
December – Desert camp – Truckstop – 71 km
On
waking to the violent flapping of the flysheet, I knew we were in for an
additional day grinding into the wind. Ernest in front and me following closely
behind, a difference to our usual formation as I’ve long learned he didn’t like
taking the lead. Still, little headway was made all day.
There
might not have been beer in Sudan, but at least all settlements had water. Each
community had a shelter where pottery urns filled with water were kept and not
once were we refused this glorious and lifesaving liquid. The water stayed
surprisingly cool in those pots, even in the extreme heat of the desert.
In
the dying moments of the day, a truck stop with a restaurant, showers and
toilets came into view. Here one could camp at the rear and enjoy the luxury of
a shower. Sitting outside our tents, a Sudanese man who spoke English
befriended us. He was immensely proud of his English and showed us his English textbooks.
The
conversation took a bizarre turn. He accused me of lying because, according to
him, a woman couldn’t cycle such long distances. I wondered how he figured I
got there. He then inquired whether I had any education. I confirmed I attended
school for 12 years, after which I spent quite a few years pursuing further
studies. Not believing me, he threw me a few questions (to check, I guessed). Luckily,
the questions weren’t awfully hard, more like general knowledge. Still not
happy, he insisted I couldn’t drive a car. Upon confirming I had not one, but
two vehicles back home, he exasperatedly exclaimed, “But you can’t climb a
mountain!” By then, I’d lost interest in the conversation as we were clearly worlds
apart. One couldn’t blame the man as he was taught that from a young age. His
way of thinking confirmed my belief that children shouldn’t be exposed to political
or religious beliefs at a young age. Instead, both should be taught as a science
at school; otherwise, it’s nothing but brainwashing.
8-11
December – Truckstop – Khartoum – 50 km
In
the morning, we turned the bicycles in Khartoum’s direction. Once there, camping
was at the Blue Nile Sailing Club, a favourite amongst overlanders. It was also
the place I camped during my ride from Cairo to Cape Town two years previously.
The sailing club had a superb location on the Nile, with a gentle breeze coming
off the water. Outside was a shack that sold fruit juice consisting of half
mango and half avocado in two distinct layers. The stall was immensely popular!
The
sailing club was where one met practically anyone travelling overland north or
south. So, it was no surprise to meet Clive and Denise, a British couple on a
1954 Triumph en route from London to Cape Town. As can be imagined, they had
enough experiences to keep a conversation going through the night. Also camping
at the club were Charles and Rensche on motorbikes heading south. Meeting them
was a blessing as we learned where to find water further north. Unfortunately,
the route to Wadi Halfa involved an open desert crossing and therefore a serious
lack of water.
The
next four days were spent in Khartoum trying to extend our Sudanese visas
(without success) and registering with the police. The rest of the time was
spent (as usual) eating anything in sight.
12
December – Khartoum – Desert Camp – 106 km
We
finally rode out of Khartoum on Wednesday, 12 December (winter). It became one
more day battling into a stiff breeze. By five o’clock, we’d done a mere 105 kilometres.
When
biking in Africa, it’s best to cycle north to south as the chance of the
prevailing wind being in your favour is far greater.
Camping
in the desert usually meant one could go about your business undisturbed. Pitching
tents and hauling out cooking equipment when people were nearby typically
brought a crowd of spectators. Generally, they kept their distance and observed
the madness in wonderment and awe from afar.
13
December – Desert camp – Desert camp - 86 km
The
following day, our path left the Nile and led straight into a desert storm. It must
be mentioned that when leaving the Nile, there is no reference and the
landscape looks similar whether one looks north, south, east or west. The wind
was exceptionally fierce and whipped up sand to the extent that visibility was
down to a few metres. With bandana-covered faces, we dragged the bicycles
through the thick sand. By then, there was no visible road, direction, or path;
we could only hope we were heading in the right direction.
At
one stage, I lost my cool, threw the bicycle down, kicked it and shouted to the
wind, only to realise I might’ve broken a toe. Feeling defeated, I had no
choice but to pick the bike up and, hobbling, pushed the bike into the wind. We
must’ve made a sad sight - two lonely cyclists at a snail’s pace through the
desert.
14
December - Desert camp - Desert camp – 81 km
From
our desert camp, Ernest and I only managed 81 kilometres. There were barely any
water stops on this day. With heads down, we pushed into the wind until time to
set up camp. The only water stop encountered couldn’t have been more
fascinating. These places often had a dhaba (a basic stall selling food,
usually only one dish). They were places no one ever passed without stopping. So,
we sat in wonderment, staring at Sudanese men, dressed in jallabiyas, eating
raw goat.
By
evening, gale-force gusts made pitching a tent challenging; in no time, the
whole shebang was covered in sand. Eventually, Ernest lit the stove and
produced a sandy pasta meal. Not much later, we crawled into our equally sandy
beds. I know I’ve been harping on about the wind, but there are no words to
describe how challenging cycling and camping can be in such dire conditions.
15
December – Desert Camp – Al Dabbah – 111 km
Eventually,
the route spat us out at the Nile at Al Dabbah, and it almost felt like meeting
an old friend. The wind seemed stronger each day. Biking was challenging, but
setting up camp and packing up was equally problematic. I’m sure I lost half of
my belongings to the wind. We located a derelict building by evening and, after
dragging the bikes through the thick sand, set up camp behind it. With a broken
toe, this was even more tricky, and I vowed never to kick the bike again.
16
December – Al Dabbah – Sali – 92 km
On
a Sunday, the two desert rats (which we jokingly called ourselves by then, as I’m
sure we looked and smelled the part) pedalled the 92 kilometres from Al Dabbah to
Sali. The route ran close to the Nile, with numerous settlements on the riverbank.
We
were promptly invited in after turning into one of the settlements to get water.
The stove was hardly lit to make supper when a large tray laden with goat’s
milk cheese, olives and dates arrived. The desert folk were incredibly
hospitable. I think they gave us their sleeping quarters while they slept in
the kitchen area.
17-18
December – Sali – Dongola – 71 km
A
further 70 kilometres led to Dongola and it became another day grinding into a
stiff breeze. Therefore, I was in no mood for petty bureaucracy arriving in
Dongola where authorities required us to register with the police before booking
a hotel. I suspected the reason was being a woman. I was not happy and with my
lip dragging on the ground set off by tuk-tuk to the police station.
This
was where General Herbert Kitchener killed 15,000 of the indigenous Mahdist
tribes in 1899. The British were brutal in those days. First, they killed the
people but later killed the wounded, raising the overall death toll to over
50,000.
The
following day was spent in Dongola. True to its location in one of the hottest
and driest regions in the world, the weather was sweltering. Dongola was an
excellent place to do much-needed laundry, bicycle maintenance, and stock up with
provisions for the road ahead. All while stuffing our faces in anticipation of the
next big desert starve.
19
December - Dongola - Kerma – 54 km
Following
a well-deserved break, we departed Dongola along the western side of the Nile,
heading north to Argo, where crossing the Nile was by a small ferry. Upon
arriving at the crossing point, it was prayer time and thus not a soul in sight.
All one could do was wait until the boatman returned from the mosque.
Once
on the opposite bank, the road veered away from the Nile, making finding the
way almost impossible - it was a good thing Charles gave Ernest the GPS
coordinates where to meet the river afterwards. Camping was along the bank of
the Nile under palm trees which sounded far more romantic than it turned out.
20
December – Kerma – Kahli - 53 km
From
Kerma, a further 53 kilometres took us to Kahli. The midges were ferocious and
got in everywhere - nose, ears, mouth and food. In the evening, it became a
matter of pitching the tent in record time and hiding inside till sunset, when
they miraculously disappeared.
By
then, we were well entrenched in the Nubian lifestyle of drinking sweet black
tea and could barely wait to pitch the tents and boil water. Strange things one
does when there’s a lack of beer - my mother would’ve been proud of me.
20
December – Khali – Desert Camp - 54 km
Our
plan, after Khali, was to do an open desert crossing. We therefore continued
straight where the river made a big loop as it was considerably shorter. By
then, we were almost in the middle of the Nubian desert, which, surprisingly, wasn’t
all sand. Instead, the terrain became mountainous, rocky and corrugated. In
other places, one sank deep into the soft sand and the bicycles were dragged
along with great difficulty. As expected from a desert, the area was plagued by
windstorms which became our biggest nemesis. With bandanas tied around our
faces, we leaned into the wind, sometimes pedalling and other times walking (the
toe was never the same afterwards).
Whether
looking north, east, west or south, the landscape remained one vast desert. Yet,
in the distance a structure loomed. Upon reaching it, we discovered not only the
ruined remains of a building but four men on motorbikes huddling together,
trying to have a bite to eat out of the wind. Astonished to see us, they
offered us a few chocolate biscuits, a prized item in the desert. Albeit going
with the wind, they had problems of their own. Their motorbikes were significantly
heavier and sank far deeper into the sand. Eventually, they wished us good
luck, and we set out into the wind, fuelled by the chocolate biscuits.
21
December – Desert camp – Desert camp - 52 km
The
past few days, we could only manage approximately 50 kilometres of riding and at
night camped in the wadis (dry riverbeds), cooking our fast-dwindling supply of
rations. Moreover, the nights and mornings were bitterly cold. Reluctant to emerge,
the time was usually nine-thirty or ten before getting underway.
22
December – Desert camp – Desert camp - 72 km
The
next day, the two desert rats managed 72 kilometres, a distance we were pleased
with as biking days were short when departing late as the sun set around 6
o’clock. During the day, we uncovered a dhaba selling foul (pronounced
fool) and aish (warm pita bread), a dish that became our favourite while
cycling Sudan.
Even
though trying our level best to do longer distances, the going remained
dreadfully slow. Therefore, catching the weekly Wadi Halfa/Abu Simbol ferry in
four days seemed more unlikely by the day.
The
fascinating part was that our camp was amongst the ruins of a deserted town. To
this day, I wonder about its history, but Maslow was correct and all I was
concerned about was food, water and pitching the tent.
23
December – Desert camp - Akasha – 74 km
Albeit
trying to get underway earlier, the time was 9 o’clock before getting going. Our
eyes were set on the small community of Akasha, almost 74 kilometres away. At
least we were cycling along a road of sorts, but it deteriorated as soon as it
left the Nile. Conditions were becoming increasingly challenging, and the wind,
sand, corrugations, and mountains seemed even worse. At least Akasha was
reached before dark, which sported a tiny shop where one could buy a few items.
The shop had a relatively limited supply, but we were delighted and excited
about buying more tea and a few sweets.
With
full water bottles, we headed out of the village to camp in a nearby riverbed. Later,
Ernest warmed water to wash as the weather became downright freezing beyond
sunset.
24
December – Akasha – Desert Camp - 59 km
It’s
surprising how cold the desert gets in winter and after drinking our morning tea,
we packed up and departed. Unfortunately, the day was again marred by soft sand
requiring walking the bicycles through sand or over stony terrain. Although there
were no water stops or settlements, we came across a road camp approximately 30
kilometres into the day. Staff were kind enough to fill our water containers, allowing
enough water to cook and wash that evening.
Our
days started to follow a familiar rhythm of shivering while drinking our
morning tea, followed by pushing the bikes into the wind through sand or over stony
terrain, generally, in the oppressing heat. By evening, we pitched the tents in
the wadis while dressed in our warmest clothes.
25-26
December – Desert Camp - Wadi Halfa – 72 km
Awake
early we were keen to get going as this was the final stretch to Wadi Halfa. The
only way to get from Sudan to Egypt overland was by ferry from Wadi Halfa to Aswan
in Egypt across the Aswan Dam.
Being
a weekly ferry, it was essential to get the boat the following morning or wait
a further week. Unfortunately, our visas expired more than a week before and we
were desperate to get the coming days’ ferry.
Great
was our surprise to find the last 30 kilometres into Wadi Halfa paved. With
smiles and an immeasurable sense of relief, the two desert rats made their way
into the small port town of Wadi Halfa. I was relieved (and I’m sure so was
Ernest) being out of the desert and in a dirty room with a sagging bed. We were
even more delighted with the many food stalls and being in time to catch the
Aswan ferry.
27
December – Wadi Halfa, Sudan – Aswan, Egypt
The
following day was an early start to purchase ferry tickets and get our police
stamps to exit Sudan. Even with all the checks and stamps, no one said a word regarding
our expired visas, and we couldn’t wait to board the ferry and get out of Sudan
before anyone noticed. Being an overnight ferry departing at four a.m., I
splashed out and treated us to a cabin.
The
border between the two countries ran somewhere through the middle of the lake.
After some time, a speedboat came hurrying along, police jumped aboard, and our
passports were nervously handed over. Then, mercifully, no one noticed the
dates, and we were free to go. Phew!
The
remainder of the evening was spent chatting with fellow travellers and enjoying
a beautiful sunset over the Aswan Dam.
The
ferry from Wadi Halfa, Sudan arrived in Aswan, Egypt around nine o’clock the following
day. We, nevertheless, only managed to place our feet upon Egyptian soil at around
eleven. Thus, the saying, “Egypt was like a visit back in time”, seemed accurate
in more ways than one.
