Nubian Desert Nightmare (05/19/01)

In my last journal entry, I was in Atbara, Sudan waiting for the train to take me across the Nubian desert to the small village/port of Wadi Halfa, Sudan at the bottom of Lake Nasser. Lake Nasser is a man-made lake formed by the giant damn in Aswan, Egypt used to generate hydroelectric power.

Once a week a large ferry takes some 400+ people from Wadi Halfa, Sudan to Aswan, Egypt. Cars are not taken on this ferry--but motorcycles can be brought on board--with a little effort.

Each year, a handful of people make the journey across Africa from Cape Town to Cairo. Some do it by public transport, others by 4WD, and a very few by motorcycle. Of the motorcyclists, I have met only 2 that were doing it alone. Most travel in 2s or 3s. And the majority of all the trans-African travellers seem to do it north-to-south, that is Cairo to Cape Town, since it is the Europeans, rather than Americans and Canadians that tend to make this trek.

All this is to give you a sense of how few travellers of my ilk the immigration/customs people are seeing--especially going the south-to-north route. And thus, the paperwork, among other things, is hardly a simple or usual affair.

Back to Atbara. The train was having difficulties--it stopped in Shendi for several hours, and finally arrived in Atbara at 12:40am

Earlier in the day, much earlier, I had loaded my motorcycle onto a baggage car. I had just filled the tank with gas the day before only to be informed that I would have to empty it (I knew this was the rule for airplanes, but not for trains). I managed to get ahold of a 2-gallon container so that I could keep some of the precious fuel. The train officials said it would be no problem for me to carry the gas with me.

This seemed really bizarre -- gas in baggage car was dangerous, but taking it in the passenger car where people were smoking like fiends was perfectly acceptable. After I packed my motorcycle and most of my bags into the baggage car, they closed and everything seemed safe and secure.

When the train finally arrived, I scrambled to find my seat with my backpack and two-gallons of gas in tow. In turned out that the car for which my ticket was issued did not exist. I tried to find a seat on one of the first-class cars, but to no avail--I was summarily booted out of each cabin I attempted to enter.

Along the way, as I dealt with the crush of people--many of whom were smoking--I decided that I could live without my precious gasoline and I ditched the container on the train platform. Some lucky Sudanese no doubt will have made a nice profit from my abandoned "benzene".

Finally, a train official placed me in a seat in a car in 3rd-class. The car was packed with people--on the seats, on top of the seats, on the floors, in the aisles. I didn't care. I was going to endure this 18-hour train ride, get to Wadi Halfa, and then get to Egypt.

But alas, another train official came along and tried to boot me from my less than appealing place. When he asked for my ticket, I would only hold it for him to see, but would not let him take it. I had been through this process too many times in my travelling career. With one hand I held a flashlight, and with the other my ticket.

Words exchanged from each side--neither of us understanding the language, but each understanding the others intentions. He wanted me to move. I was not going to budge. I also pointed out that he wasn't concerned with looking at anyone else's ticket--several of the people surrounding me did not have one.

After I raised my voice and made clear that nothing short of force was going to get me to relinquish my seat, he relented and went away.

It was now about 1:30 in the morning and I was getting acquainted with the faces I would be crossing the desert with.

We sat and waited for the train to leave. And we waited. And we waited. And then we slept in every uncomfortable position imaginable. And after a few miserable hours of sleep, I opened my eyes to see what--the same train station. We had not left.

The train was having mechanical difficulties. The officials in charge of baggage whom had befriended me, told me that the problem was spare parts--America refused to sell them to Sudan. (I later learned that the engine was in fact German, not American).

Finally, at 12:07pm the train unceremoniously jerked forward and we were off into the furious heat of the Nubian desert. But I soon noticed that we had very little speed--no more than 50kph (30mph) and generally slower than that. Within an hour we stopped. And so it went for the next 24 hours -- going a little, then stopping.

It was clear that the train had some real mechanical difficulties. It was not clear whether we would make it to Wadi Halfa.

It was a hot, hot, dirty affair. The seats were covered in dirt and crumbs, and spilled tea, and food stuffs. There were babies crying; people sleeping in the aisles; packages precariously perched from the overhead luggage racks.

The family seated across from me had a small baby boy. He was nursing most of the time, and within an hour of the train's departure he soiled his father's robe in a big way.

The main issue for me, aside from sleep deprivation, and feeling really dirty, was water. The train basically parallels the Nile all the way to Abu Hamed. Thus, whenever we stopped, people would run to the Nile and jump in and fill their water bottles.

Unfortunately, I had learned in Khartoum that more than 1 glass of unfiltered Nile water at a time for me resulted in stomach pain and diarrhea -- neither of which I wanted on what was turning into an extended train ride.

Thus, I was drinking massive quantities of Pepsi and tea -- neither of which was completely satisfying. If I return home with cavities and/or diabetes, it will be due to my time in the desert!

We finally reached Abu Hamed, the half-way point in the journey, and the point at which the train tracks and the Nile go their separate ways -- the trains cuts directly across the desert to Wadi Halfa. (See your map).

To my pleasant surprise, a lot of people exited the train at Abu Hamed, and fewer got on. So, at least we had some breathing room for the remainder of the trip.

After having gotten only 35km outside of Abu Hamed, we stopped. And 10 minutes, turned into an hour, turned into 5 hours. First they said that we were going back to Abu Hamed. Then they said that they were taking the baggage cars off (my bike!). Then they said a new engine was being sent from Abu Hamed. Mind you, I'm getting this all second hand from the few people who spoke a bit of English.

In fact, two engines did show up. And at some point I saw the car I knew to have my motorcyle (and the bulk of my money in a locked piece of luggage) roll away.

We finally headed out again after a series of false starts in both directions (Abu Hamed and Wadi Halfa) -- noboby was really sure where we going.

But Wadi Halfa it was. The train engineer had told me during our extended stop that the problem was the "starter". He didn't speak much English at all, and based on the train's snail-like pace, I assumed that the starter was not, in fact, the problem.

There was nothing but desert. And I mean nothing, just sand, and small hills in the far distance. No trees. No tumbleweeds. Certainly no houses. Not even sand dunes. Just mile after mile of flat, golden sand.

Along the train track ran relatively new power lines, and every single kilometer was marked with a small, neatly placed grey marker. I began timing the train and using the markers calculated our speed to be ranging between 25-50kph.

The going was slow, but other than a few brief stops to allow for prayers, we kept going. And at 6am, Thursday, we arrived at Wadi Halfa. Our scheduled 18-hour trip had taken 54 hours! My pants were so dirty, they could stand up on their own.

We were supposed to have arrived in Wadi Halfa on Tuesday night. The normal course is that the next morning people get all the paperwork done, then get on the ferry for Aswan on Wednesday afternoon.

Since the train was late, the ferry had waited. It was now slotted to leave at 4pm on Thursday. So the mad dash was on to get the paperwork done. And it turned out, that the paperwork involved in leaving Sudan is the most complicated, Byzantine, mind-numbing process I have ever encountered in the 40 (yes 40) countries that I have visited!

The first step, the security check, was an omen of how things were going to go. The person who spoke the best English said to me, "Oh, you're American. America does ever by force doesn't it." What could I do but smile and shrug my shoulders. I just wanted to leave the country.

The next step was to buy a ticket for the ferry, since I didn't have one. The toothless old man at the ferry ticket office in Khartoum told me that buying a ticket in Wadi Halfa would be no problem. Apparently this was the case in March, but May was apparently high seaon. Many of the people on the train already had their tickets, and there was a crush of people seeking to buy one. From my perspective, it was Africans who did things by force, certainly when it came to forming a queue.

Additionally, I did not have enough money to buy my ticket. It was in my luggage. I know, I know, this was a big mistake. But to me, if the bike wasn't going neither was I. And I never would have imagined that we would be separated.

So I sat at the train station and waited. They told me the baggage car would arrive at 2pm--and miracle of miracles, it arrived at 1:30pm!! I had 2 1/2 hours to unload my bike, get my ticket, get through customs and immigration and get on the boat.

Well, we're at that point where I realize I've written too much at the front end, and now have to summarize at the back end. So here goes:

* After loading my bike, the Sudanese threw a bunch of cargo on top of it--broke my "engine kill" switch. Furiously tried to fix in the boxcar while the train jerked back and forth. Sweating, angry, and cursing like a sailor. Blew two fuses but got the bike running.

* Made it to the ferry only to be told there was no room. Later learned they kicked 65 people off the boat -- there was plenty of room!

* Spent a week in Wadi Halfa waiting for the next ferry. There was about 70 of us who suffered through the train ride together only to be stranded in Wadi Halfa for a week. We were like a little community of refugees--Egyptians, Dinka, Arabs, and 1 "howaja" (foreigner). We played soccer against the locals -- Refugees v. Wadi Halfa -- and won!

* Loading my bike onto the ferry, I slipped on the deck and fell (again!) -- show number 3 -- and sprained my ankle.

* Made it to Aswan, Egypt on Thursday night, only to be told I could not leave until Saturday at the earliest -- I had to be issued Egyptian plates for my bike. But, being in Aswan was such a contrast and a relief. And finally a COLD BEER :-)

Well, as you can imagine, each of the points above could be expanded into a chapter.

Let me just say, the Sudanese people were incredible. I'll hold off on my comments about the government there, but even then, when I dealt with the officials individually, I just couldn't help but like most of them.

I am indebted to Salah Abrahim and his family for hosting me for several nights in their home as well as Amro and Mah Zakaria for including me in many social events.

By the way, Aswan is a pretty cool city, right along the Nile with lots of fancy riverboats, horsedrawn carriages, and a Sheesha bar on every corner.

We're almost there!

Jim

P.S. In fairness to the Sudan Railways, the train the week before I went was on time, as was the one the week after. Just Moonrider luck I guess :-)