Sudan

At last we were on dry land, or so we thought, as our initial eagerness was tempered by the otherís calm. They had been in Sudan for a while and had learnt that nothing happened quickly.

The first official on board had was a large man in flowing robes and a turban who was immediately nicknamed ìMr Tweetyî because of the cartoon characters on his socks. He turned out to be the head of customs. He marched around issuing a bewildering stream of instructions in poor English, before pointing out the customs hall and leaving. Fortunately the others had become used to his way of talking and could translate. He would need our Carnets and a list of the electrical items we had brought with us. First though we would have to go through passport control.

It turned out this was two men who came on board with their stamp and vanished into the crewís quarters on the barge. We all, crew included, followed them in clutching our documents. There we found the captain enjoying a quiet sheesha. He was moved over and, bubbling gently to himself, watched over the proceedings.

From there we were directed up the quay to the customs shed where a soldier directed us to line the cars up before going to find Mr Tweety. He was stood behind a counter clutching a pad of forms and a sheaf of carbon paper. All around him people were being searched. It took us a while to realise that Wadi Halfa was a small port and cargo only came from Aswan, so they must have arrived on the ferry two days previously. We were relieved to be out the same day.

Once in Sudan we had three days to register with the police as foreigners. Unfortunately, we escaped customs too late to do it that day. As it was Thursday we faced a decision, wait until Saturday or leave and register in Dongola. It took us a moment to decide to leave. The others were very relaxed, but clearly itching to escape Wadi Halfa and after a tour of the town we could see why. Little did we realise that we would find the rest of Sudan to be very similar.

We set off in convoy the next morning after spending the night camped just outside town with John and Helen, Eric and Danielle, Loek, Rupert, his children and the four Swedes. The Swedes left early as they were in the greatest hurry leaving the rest of us to look after Rupert on the track that led south. We also picked up Martin after his first experience of a Sudanese hotel.

    John and Helen

    Danielle and Eric

    Rupert and the children

From the outset it was clear we were traveling at very different speeds. This difference was compounded when Rupertís campervan had a small electrical fire and he had to stop to bodge a new section of wiring loom. He was also taking it steady because of the children, and obviously didnít have quite the same off-road capability as the rest of us. Fortunately J&H and E&D had got into a very relaxed mindset and were happy at his pace, so we could leave them together and push on with Martin and Loek without worrying about him getting stuck.

    Loek

The track was pretty poor quality but very dramatic, plunging and rolling over the rocky desert. We set a pretty good pace as it was 400km to Dongola and we only had two days. We caught the Swedes up, mainly as they were having problems with their auxiliary fuel tank. They had met Ali in his landy, and there was a certain amount of smug joking about a Toyota breaking. We didnít see them again until northern Ethiopia, and it turned out they later also broken a suspension spring so they had to limp to Khartoum at about 20kph!

    Nile at Sunset

We pushed on until late, finding a spot to camp as the sun set. It was also the spot chosen by someone to dry their firewood. Acacia firewood. As Loek pulled up there was an ominous hissing from one of his wheels. I was keen to help, as I had yet to use our hi-lift jack and I thought a bit of practice might be useful. The following morning I had some more as another of his tyres was flat. That helped ease our guilt about using some of the well-dried acacia for a fire.

    Fixing the Puncture

    Loek and the Acacia

The road took us over stretches of desert interspersed with sections along the Nile. These were well populated, and the colourful Nubian houses lining the road provided welcome relief. The heat was oppressive, and while we waited for a ferry to the west bank the temptation to go for a swim was enormous. But we resisted as we had seen the dried crocodiles adorning the houses en route.

        Nubian Houses

We arrived in Dongola in plenty of time to register and headed straight for the police station. There we spent three hours being passed from office to office until finally we had registered. We each had another small stamp in our passport costing (after negotiation) 6900 Sudanese dinars ñ about 35GBP.

        Ferry across the Nile

We spent that evening with a Sudanese man who latched onto us to practice his English. He had obviously learnt this from a combination of gangsta videos and old war films, as good things were ìwell wickedî and bad things made him ìbrowned offî. We got on very well, even when Claire started discussing Islam with him. Suffice to say they agreed to differ.

After a night in the bug ridden and strangely expensive Lord Hotel (as in ìLord, this place is shitî) we crossed the Nile again on another ferry. There was a great deal of interest in us wherever we went, with people asking where we were from. One guy was somewhat wide of the mark when he suggested Japan.

We planned to visit Jebel Barkal near Karima, and were aiming to take a short cut across the Nubian Desert rather than take the long sweeping curve of the Nile. We had no guidebook, but had the GPS coordinates of our intended destination. We knew there were occasional posts marking the route but that they were unreliable.

    Martin

We started well but it soon became clear that we were heading slightly too far south. A farmer we asked pointed back the way we had come, but we met a truck driver who said we were on the right route and suggested we follow his tracks. These tracks soon turned off the main route into deep sand and Martin became heavily bogged. Even when we had removed all of his luggage he kept getting stuck and it took four of us to get him out and back on firmer ground.

    "Easy on the throttle, Martin"

It was clear we would have to turn back and find the proper route, and we asked at each hamlet we came to until someone pointed the way. This was still not the main route, but the ground was firm and there were tracks heading in the right direction. As we were in a group and we had plenty of food and water we decided to go. Soon the various tracks combined and became easy to follow. We drove for most of the afternoon, stopping when it was obvious how tired Martin was on his bike. As we pulled up in a suitable spot to camp there was yet more hissing from Loekís car and another chance to test our jacking skills.

Our meal that evening consisted of tuna and pasta. Tuna particularly was to become our staple in Sudan. It was one of the few things readily available, apart from fuul ñ mashed fava beans in oil ñ and cheese triangles. This resulted in Martinís quip ìWhat shall we have for lunch? Tuna with cheese or cheese with tuna?î Well, we found it funny. Itís amazing what a limited diet will do to your sense of humour.

About two hours into the drive the next morning we spotted a cairn on an old oil barrel on top of a sandy hill, we could also see a couple of buildings off to the east. When we got up to the cairn and took a look through the binoculars we could see the marker posts for the piste we were actually aiming for.

With a sigh of relief we joined the piste, and found that it was deep sand. Luke got stuck and needed a tow. But once we were clear of that the track improved, at least for us. Martin kept us in view but found it easier to stick to the rocky ground on either side.

The remaining section to Karima took only a few hours so we arrived in the heat of the day, driving past the pyramids when we looked for the nice hotel we had heard about. It was in the throes of redecoration, as they had a group arriving the next day and they werenít very pleased to have a bunch of dirty, smelly overlanders arrive. At first they even refused to let us use the loo. And they wanted $160! Claire and I were tempted but decided it was a ridiculous sum of money, so we went back up to the pyramids again with Martin while Loek looked for some diesel.

The tickets for all Sudanese sights are only available from a few places. We presumed initially that this is a measure to prevent local tickets sellers pocketing the cash, and had bought our tickets in Wadi Halfa. We realised the real reason soon after arriving at the pyramids: Itís because theyíre a bit pants. Weíre not sure if it was the heat but we were very disappointed, the pyramids looked ok from a distance but once we got closer we could see they were covered in graffiti. They were completely unprotected, and while it was refreshing to be allowed to wander around them without any hassle it was clear that there had been a great many people around who couldnít be trusted not to make their rather sad mark.

        Jebel Barkal - Karima

We decided at that point that we would push on on another desert crossing to Meroe to cut off another large sweep of the Nile. We just hoped the pyramids there hadnít been trashed.

We crossed the Nile again, which was flowing south this time, and started asking people the way. Unfortunately we got conflicting advice and spent three hours driving up and down the main road, investigating various side tracks and finding, among other things, various construction projects - including a part-built runway for the new airport. As night fell we started to look for a place to camp, eventually finding a decent spot well after dark.

A few local people came over to say hello, and we had some offers to stay in peoplesí houses and a local hotel. We declined as we had the tents up by that stage, and after the horrors of the Lord hotel were keen to stick with what we knew.

We decided to separate from there as Loek had developed a nasty cough over the preceding few days and we were concerned it was getting worse. He was clearly very tired and another desert crossing seemed like a bad idea, so while we planned to head off with Martin he was going straight to Khartoum.

We were up early, thanks in part to the muezzinís call to prayer, and packing up the tent when one of the villagers came over with a bucket of water and a bundle of rags. We said ìSalaamî and thought nothing of it, until he reappeared with a goat. With a sense of foreboding I told Claire to stay in the tent for a moment as the man held the goat down and slit its throat, before wandering over to his bucket to wash his hands while it thrashed its last gurgley breath. He then strung it up from the tree we had camped under and proceeded to skin and gut it. This didnít improve our moods a great deal so we were a bit brusque when, once he had finished, he came over and asked if we would join him for some tea.

We said our goodbyes to Loek and set off again to try and find the track to Meroe, giving up after a couple of hours when it was clear that no one knew the way. We never did get there, but heard later that it was similar to the pyramids at Karima.

The road to Khartoum was a mix of good, new road and construction site until we got to within 200km and the road deteriorated drastically. There were sections of tarmac which were more hole than not, to the point that it was preferably to drive beside the road rather than on it. Frustratingly it would improve for a bit before weíd come across yet more enormous holes. In contrast to this the landscape around us was starting to look far more as we expected in sub-Saharan Africa, becoming less barren and turning into grassy savannah studded with acacia trees.

We arrived in Khartoum after dark; making our way across the city to the campsite we had the GPS coordinates for, the National Camping Ground. When we arrived it resembled a refugee camp more than a campsite, as it was full of people hanging around with their suitcases and bags. The reason for this became clear when we woke the next morning to find crowds of men formed up in lines waiting to be dispatched to their units for their national service. Every so often a truck would roar off loaded with cheering youngsters, but we noticed a few teary faces in the crowds.

There were a few jobs that needed doing to KT, so we provided a distraction for the recruits but while I was under the car I noticed that there was a slight leak from the fuel tank. The Landrover dealer didnít have a new one so we decided to get it welded, but the bolts holding it were well and truly seized. I was wary of shearing them so we decided to cover them in WD40 for a couple of days before having another go. As we felt we had spent enough time in Khartoum by this point, the campsite had become a car park for a convention and the leak wasnít bad we decided to head for Ethiopia and either replace it or weld it there.

As we headed south the soil became a deep red colour and was clearly very fertile as the fields of corn stretched off to the horizon. We also started to see cattle, and only a few camels, around the mud hut villages.

The road was good again and we made good time until the final stretch to the border when we were back on corrugated track again. We camped rough just off the road and were up early for the last few kilometres, but as we got closer to the border we were held up at a police checkpoint.

This was our first significant stop by the police in Sudan and we were concerned we might have failed to get a stamp or travel permit, but the police explained that the president was visiting and we would have to wait. No sooner had we been told this than another officer came over and let us continue, telling us to be quick.

We needed no more encouragement and soon overtook a truck laden with cheering, banner waving men. It only dawned on us then that weíd seen a few trucks like this, and they were clearly off to see the president. It also explained the presence of the large military helicopter overhead.

A few kilometres further on there were armed soldiers stood every 50 metres or so and we noticed the helicopter circling ahead. As we came round a bend it was landing just off to the side of the road in a cleared area surrounded by soldiers and armoured pick-ups. The soldiers were waving us through, so we drove past, waving cheerfully back at them, and presumably the president.

    KT's grandmother still working hard

When we arrived at the border we were first directed to a shack to check in with the police. With a sense of unsurprised dread we found it was empty, but within moments a policeman had arrived and taken our details before pointing us towards the customs office. In a state of bemused shock we went over to be greeted by a similarly efficient official who stamped the carnet and showed us to immigration. We were out and on our way to Ethiopia within half an hour of our arrival. It seemed like the Sudanese couldnít wait to get rid of us.