It’s very pleasant to be back on the water and traveling with a purpose aboard a working vessel. We are fortunate to have an air-conditioner blasting out cold air and this mixes with hot air coming in through our open porthole to create a very convivial climate. Christi and I both slept very well and awoke naturally at 8 am. Overnight, the MV Sinai continued to make lazy progress towards Wadi Halfa. The gentle passage of the boat through the water is most soothing, while the low sandy hills that line both banks are not too taxing on the eye. It’s the ideal time to kick back, relax, and not worry too much about the fact that we are about to enter Sudan. We do this while munching on the snacks we brought with us. Surprisingly the crackers and canned tuna are quite tasty.
At 11:30 am we arrive at a boring spit of land that forms Wadi Halfa port. We are finally in Sudan. It takes a further hour to escape the confines of the MV Sinai, however, as we and all the other passengers have onboard immigration forms to complete. These forms are then collected as we alight from the boat. I’m sure the system makes sense to the Sudanese. And so we stagger out on to Sudanese soil to be greeted by…well…no one. We have arranged a program with our fixer, Midhat Mahir, but the lines of communication have been rather sketchy of late and while we had hoped he would be here to greet us, Christi and also have to face the prospect of being self-sufficient.
As with other international arrival points, there is a lot of activity. We watch as people weighed down by goods newly purchased in Egypt carry them towards public buses or private cars. These vehicles fill up quickly and zoom off in a valedictory fart of thick black smoke, leaving Christi and I completely flummoxed and most conspicuous. I approach various vehicles and using a combination of hand signals and some English try to get us rides to the supposedly nearby town of Wadi Halfa, all very unsuccessfully. There is a feeling of distrust in the air. But then a knight in shining armor appears. His name is Mazar and he is Midhat’s brother. He apologizes for being late. I’m so relieved to see a friendly face I could have kissed him, but content myself with a manly handshake. Mazar shows us to a shiny silver Toyota Landcruiser, but instead of heading into town, he drives towards a massive shed that proves to be the customs hall. Each person’s luggage is thoroughly examined for contraband. We have a very talkative customs official whose topics of discussion range from the fact that we (Christians, Muslims, Jews) are all being descended from Adam, to our thoughts on Obama, and wanting to know why people are so keen to visit Sudan. Christi’s tampons are another source of curiosity that proves difficult to explain!
Eventually Mazar drives us to his home. He then takes our passports and goes off to register us with yet more Sudanese officials. We are left to relax with Mazar’s extended family, although quite what is going on is unclear to us. One of Mazar’s nieces is a 6 year-old girl called Hayeta who is quite precocious. She demands attention and is a quick learner. Several hours later Mazar returns: he has yet to register us because the official has disappeared and no one knows when he will return (welcome to Sudan). We have lots of questions, but there are few answers. Mazar was told to meet us, but he does not know the plan. We must wait for Midhat to get in contact. One thing is becoming apparent fast and that is nothing happens quickly around here. More food and beverages are served. Mazar’s open-plan house lies within a compound that affords privacy, but there is no air-conditioning so it is stifling hot and lying in the shade trying to avoid Hayeta is about the sum total of our achievements until the sun sets.
In the evening we explore the small downtown area of Wadi Halfa, which is bustling with restaurants, tea stalls, and people sitting in the streets watching football on TV. It’s still very hot, but Christi and I decide to munch on a plate of lamb and drink fresh OJ. Fingers crossed the juice is not tainted with anything that’s going to disrupt my system. I think the very fact that we are in Sudan will be disruptive enough.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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