1 December - Metema - Galabat - Doka – 88 km
Not being early starters, it was already late in the day 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, and on
emerging from the dark and dingy room, one found yourself in super
conservative Sudan.
The day was hot and windy, and not feeling 100% it was 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 due to the availability of water.
Checkpoints always had plenty of water, and we could, therefore, wipe
ourselves down and have water to cook as well as fill our bottles. Water
is always a major concern in the desert and, fortunately, the police
didn’t mind sharing. Before setting up camp, we first cycled to the
market, but as Doka was no more than a few simple homes, a mosque and
small market, all we could find were a few potatoes and tomatoes.
Sudan was a conservative Muslim and desert country and never in my
wildest dreams did I think I would cycle it twice!
2 December – Doka – El Gadarif (Al-Qa-ārif)
– 90 km
The following day we pushed on to
Gadarif, a slightly larger town a further 90 kilometres north. It turned
out another scorcher, and again I had to drag myself along and felt
weak, nauseous and without energy. While filling up with water at a
petrol
station, a local farmer befriended
us and gifted us 50 Sudanese pounds (a substantial amount of money in
those days). After thanking him
profusely, we headed straight to the nearest hotel. Our benefactor will
never know how handy his donation came in, as the 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
The next morning, I felt much better
and could at least look around Gadarif’s famous markets selling sesame
and sorghum. Anyone entering Sudan needed to register with the police
within three days of arrival, and Ernest and I, therefore, set off to
the police station. The police appeared reluctant to perform this task
and informed us it was ‘hard for them to do so’, and that it would be
better to register in Khartoum, a distance of more than four hundred
kilometres and not a distance I thought we could do in a day. Big
eye-roll. By the time all was done, it was already 11h00. Fortunately,
the wind died down a tad, and Migreh reached without too much
difficulty. Once again, camping was in the vicinity of a police depot as
there was nothing more than desert as far as the eye could see.
4 December - Migreh – Desert camp – 110 km
The route north, unfortunately, led
straight into the prevailing wind, and there wasn’t much pleasure in
cycling. It was, however, a task which had to be done. Encountering a
headwind is never a pleasure, but having to cycle into the wind day
after day becomes a mission. Most days it was head down, one pedal
stroke at a time.
I was only 100% sure of one thing,
and that was nothing ever stayed the same. Everything passes, and sooner
or later, the wind had to stop. It was apparently not going to be that
day. The only positive thing was the many small villages at regular
intervals along the Nile where one could get a Marinda or Pepsi. Having
the luxury of buying something sweet to drink became the highlight of
the day.
Although cycling on a tarmac road,
the road was in poor condition with heavy traffic (large trucks) all
seemingly heading to Port Sudan, Sudan’s main port situated on the Red
Sea. I was dead tired almost every night, and Ernest had the job of
making food after which I usually went straight to bed, not that there’s
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, situated 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 that is, and had a
population of nearly 300,000. The town was established due to the Gezira
irrigation scheme and came with 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 it was the best falafel in the world.
Although
most of the political trouble at the time were in the Darfur region, a
strong
military presence was visible just about everywhere. Killings of
villagers were on the increase and the government failed to disarm the
armed militias known as the Janjawid, who continued to attack civilians
in Darfur. Hundreds of civilians were killed in Darfur and Chad, and
some 300,000 more were displaced during that year.
6 December – Wad Medani – Desert camp – 81 km
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 as again I felt tired and nauseous -
things were just not going my way. As we pulled 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 sludge. I had no energy to even think
about changing tubes.
Being winter, it got dark almost
immediately after sunset, and best to find camping at around 18h00. The
mozzies were ferocious; I had no idea there were that many mosquitoes in
the desert, and it felt they had been lying in wait for unsuspected
cyclist to set up camp. The safest place was in the tents, at least
until way after sunset.
7 December – Desert camp – Truckstop – 71 km
On waking to the violent flapping of
the flysheet, I knew it was going to be another day battling the wind.
Ernest in front and me following closely behind, a difference to our
usual formation as I have 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 there was always water. Each village came with 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, we
came upon a truck stop with restaurant, showers and toilets where one
could camp at the rear and enjoy the luxury of a shower. While sitting
outside our tents, we were befriended by
a Sudanese man who spoke English, of
which he was immensely proud and showed us his English textbooks. The
conversation took a turn and became somewhat bizarre. He accused me of
lying as according to him a woman
couldn’t cycle such long distances
and there I was sitting all hot and sweaty. I wondered how he figured I
got there. He then continued to inquire whether I had any education, and
I confirmed I did indeed attend 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 guess). Fortunately, the questions
weren’t very hard, LOL, more like general knowledge. Still not happy, he
insisted I wasn’t able to drive a car, on confirming I had not one, but
two vehicles back home he exasperatedly exclaimed, “But you can’t climb
a mountain!” By then, I had lost interest in the conversation as we were
clearly worlds apart. One couldn’t blame the man as it was what he had
been made to believe from a young age. It once again confirmed my belief
that children shouldn’t be exposed to either political or religious
beliefs at a young age and that both should be taught as a scientific
subject at school; otherwise, it’s nothing more than brainwashing.
8-11 December – Truckstop – Khartoum – 50 km
Finally, we cycled into Khartoum
where camping was at the Blue Nile Sailing Club, a favourite amongst
overlanders and the place I camped on our way from Cairo to Cape Town
two years before. The sailing club had a wonderful location right on the
Nile with a gentle breeze coming off the water. Outside was a shack
which sold fruit juice consisting of half mango and half avocado in two
distinct layers. The stall was immensely popular!
The sailing club was also where one
met just about anyone on their way either north or south. It was,
therefore, no surprise meeting Clive and Denise, a British couple on a
1954 Triumph on their way from London to Cape Town, and 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
two motorbikes heading south. It was a blessing meeting them as it was
from them we learned the places one could find water further north. The
route to Wadi Halfa involved an open desert crossing, meaning one left
the Nile and water; therefore, a serious problem.
The next four days were spent in
Khartoum trying to extend our Sudanese visas (without any 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
It was Wednesday 12 December
(winter) before finally cycling out of Khartoum, and another day
battling into the wind. By five o’clock, we’d only done 105 kilometres.
When cycling Africa, it’s best to do
so north to south as the chances of the prevailing wind being in your
favour would be far more likely.
Camping in the desert usually meant
there was no one around and we could go about our business undisturbed.
When, however, there were people in close proximity, the pitching of
tents and hauling out cooking equipment was understandably of huge
interest to them. Mostly, they kept their distance and observed the
madness in wonderment and awe.
13 December – Desert camp – Desert camp - 86 km

The following day, we left the Nile
to take the desert road and, in the process, cycled straight into a
desert storm. I have to add here, that on leaving the Nile, there is no
reference and within a few minutes everything looks the same. The wind
was exceptionally fierce and whipped up sand to such an extend
visibility was down to a few metres. With bandana-covered faces, we
pushed the bicycles through the thick sand. No road, no direction, not
even a path, hoping we’re heading in the right direction. At one stage,
I lost my cool, threw the bicycle down, kicked it and shouted to the
wind, just to realise I might have broken my little toe in the process.
Feeling defeated, I had no choice but to pick the bike up and, by then,
limping, pushed the bike into the wind. What a sad sight we must have
made - two lonely cyclists at snail’s pace through the desert.
14 December - Desert camp - Desert camp – 81 km
On this day, we only managed 81
kilometres from one desert camp to another. There were hardly any water
stops, and it was heads down pushing into the wind until time to set up
camp. The only water stop found couldn’t have been more interesting.
These places often had a dhaba (a basic stall selling food, usually only
one dish) and were, therefore, a place no one ever passed without
stopping. We sat in wonderment, staring at Sudanese men, dressed in
jallabiyas, eating raw goat.
With a gale-force wind even pitching
a tent became challenging and, in no time at all, everything was covered
in sand. Ernest, eventually,
managed to light the stove, which
produced a sandy pasta meal after which 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 it can be both cycling into it and
camping.
15 December – Desert Camp – Al Dabbah – 111 km
Eventually, the route spat us out at
the Nile at Al Dabbah, and it felt like meeting an old friend. The wind
seemed stronger every day. Not only was it a challenge cycling into it
but setting up camp and packing up in the mornings were equally hard,
and I’m sure I lost half my belongings to the wind. That night, we
located an old derelict building and after dragging the bikes through
the thick sand set up camp behind it (even more difficult with a broken
little toe, and I vowed never to kick the bike again).
16 December – Al Dabbah – Sali – 92 km
It was a Sunday and the two desert
rats, (which we jokingly called ourselves by then, as I’m sure we looked
and smelled the part) cycled 92 kilometres from Deba to Sali. The route
led close to the Nile which always came with numerous settlements right
on the riverbank. On turning into one of the villages to fill up with
water, we were promptly invited in. 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, and I think they
gave us their sleeping quarters while they slept in the kitchen area.
17-18 December – Sali – Dongola – 71 km
It was a further 70 kilometres to
Dongola and, needless to say, another day into the wind. I was,
therefore, in no mood for petty bureaucracy on arriving in Dongela were
it was required to first register with the police before we could book
into a hotel. I suspected the reason being that I was a woman. I was not
happy and with my lip dragging on the ground set off by tuk-tuk to the
police station.
Interestingly enough, it was here
where General Herbert Kitchener killed 15,000 of the indigenous Mahdist
tribes in 1899. The British were brutal in those days. Not only did they
kill the locals but later proceeded killing the wounded, raising the
overall death toll to over 50,000.
The following day was also spent in
Dongola and, true to its location in one of the hottest and driest
regions in the world, it was sweltering and a good place to do
much-needed laundry, clean ourselves and stock up on provisions for the
road ahead. All while stuffing our faces for the next big desert starve
(by that time, the lip went back where it belonged, but I was still
limping. I never said it was easy!).
19 December - Dongola - Kerma – 54 km
After a well-deserved break, we left
Dongola while staying on the western side of the Nile, heading north to
Argo, where crossing the Nile was by a small ferry. On arriving at the
crossing point, there was no one in sight and, as it was prayer time,
there was nothing to do but wait until the boatman returned from the
mosque. Once on the opposite bank, the road left the Nile, making it
impossible to find your way and a good thing Charles gave Ernest the GPS
coordinates on where to meet up with the river afterwards. That night,
camping was on 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 it was about 53
kilometres to Kahli (not sure whether it was the name). The midges were
ferocious and got in everywhere - nose, ears, mouth and food. In the
evening, it was a matter of pitching the tent as quickly as possible and
hiding inside till after sunset when they miraculously disappeared.
By then, we were well entrenched in
the Nubian lifestyle of drinking sweet black tea, and could hardly wait
to pitch the tents and boil water (strange things one does when
there’s a lack of beer - my mother
would have been proud of me).
20 December – Khali – Desert Camp - 54 km
From Khali, we planned on doing the
infamous open desert crossing, moving away from
the Nile where it made a big loop
and where we planned on going straight as it was much shorter. We were,
by then, well into the Nubian desert which, surprisingly, wasn’t all
sand; instead, it became mountainous,
rocky and corrugated. In other
places we sank deep into the soft sand and it was with great difficulty
the bikes were dragged along and me still limping, I kid you not). As
can be 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 cycling and
sometimes pushing
(that toe was never the same again).
Irrespective whether one looked
north, east, west or south, everything looked the same. In the distance,
a structure loomed, and on reaching it, found not only the ruined
remains of a building but also four guys on motorbikes huddling together
while 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. They had problems of their own. Although going with the wind,
their motorbikes were much heavier and sank much deeper into the sand.
Eventually, they wished us good luck, and with renewed energy we set off
into the wind.
21 December – Desert camp – Desert camp - 52 km
The past few days, we could only
manage approximately 50 kilometres of cycling and at night camped in the
wadis (dry riverbeds), cooking our fast-dwindling supply of rations. The
nights and mornings were bitterly cold and reluctant to get up, it was
nine thirty or ten before we got going.
22 December – Desert camp – Desert camp - 72 km
The next day, the desert rats
managed 72 kilometres, a distance we were pleased with as, with leaving
late and the sun setting around 6 o’clock, cycling days were short.
During the day we found a dhaba selling foul (pronounced fool) and aish
(warm pita bread), a dish which became our favourite while cycling
Sudan.
We tried our best to do longer
distances, but the going was dreadfully slow and catching the weekly
Wadi Halfa/Abu Simbol ferry on the 26th, appeared more and more unlikely
by the day. The interesting part was that camp was amongst the ruins of
a deserted town and to this day I wonder what the history of it was, but
Maslow was right and all I was concerned about was food, water and
pitching the tent.
23 December – Desert camp - Akasha – 74 km
We tried leaving earlier but still
only got away at 9 o’clock. Our eyes were set on the small community of
Akasha about 74 kilometres away. At least we were on a road of sorts,
but it deteriorated as soon as it left the Nile. Conditions were getting
worse by the day, not only the wind but also sand, corrugations and
mountains. At least Akasha was reached before dark, where we bought a
few items from the little shop. The shop had a rather limited supply,
but we were thankful and excited about buying more tea and a few sweets.
We also filled up with water before
heading out of the village to camp in a nearby dry riverbed. So happy
were we that Ernest warmed water for me to wash, as it became downright
freezing after sunset (and I don’t do cold very well).
24 December – Akasha – Desert camp - 59 km
We woke to another freezing morning
and after our sweet tea set off. It became another day of pushing the
bikes through the sand and over stony terrain. There were
no water stops or villages, except
one about 30 kilometres into the day.
After a further 30 kilometres, we
came upon a road camp where the staff were kind enough to fill our water
containers. We, therefore, had enough water to cook and
wash. Our days mostly consisted of
shivering while drinking our sweet morning tea, followed by pushing our
bikes into the wind through sand or over stony parts in the heat of the
day, and at night setting up camp in the wadis.
25-26 December – Desert camp - Wadi Halfa – 72 km
We were up early and 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 Abu Simbel
in Egypt across the Aswan Dam.
Being a weekly ferry, it was of
utmost importance to get the boat the following day or we’d to wait
another week. With that our visas had already expired more than a week
before we were desperate to get the coming days’ ferry.
We were, therefore, immensely happy
to find the last 30 kilometres into Wadi Halfa paved and were all smiles
cycling into town where there was the luxury of a dirty room with a
sagging bed and plenty food stalls.
27 December – Wadi Halfa – Aswan, Egypt
The following day was an early start
to purchase our ferry tickets, and get our police stamps and a million
other stamps to exit Sudan. Even with all the checking and stamps, no
one said a word about our expired visas, and we couldn’t wait to board
the ferry and get out of Sudan before anyone noticed. It was an
overnight ferry which left at four a.m., and I splashed out and treated
us to a cabin on the boat.
The border between the two countries
ran somewhere through the middle of the lake and after some time a
speedboat came hurrying along, police jumped aboard, and our passports
were nervously handed over. Fortunately, no one noticed the dates, and
we were free to go. Phew!
With all the formalities done, we
could relax, chat to the interesting other travellers and enjoy a
beautiful sunset over the Aswan Dam.
The ferry from Wadi Halfa, Sudan
arrived in Aswan, Egypt at around nine o’clock the following morning.
We, however, only managed to place our feet on Egyptian soil at about
eleven. The saying that, “Egypt was like a visit back in time”, appeared
true in more ways than one. |