Today Christi and I will spend most of our time in Omdurman, the largest city in Sudan, which lies on the western banks of the Nile River opposite the capital Khartoum. Omdurman is the center of commerce, while Khartoum is the cultural and industrial heart of the country. I’m not sure if a camel market is considered high stakes commerce, but our purpose for visiting it is actually to see some of Sudan’s ethnic diversity, including Arabs from Darfur and Beja (Fuzzy Wuzzies) and Rashaida from Eastern Sudan. Although there are ongoing troubles in Dafur and in Southern Sudan, Khartoum and Northern Sudan have escaped unscathed. And since we are unable to visit these troubled places, we are hopeful that some of the indigenous folks will visit us – or at least the camel market in Omdurman. However, the normally unflappable Abdul looks quite flapped (is that a word?) this morning. He repeatedly flags down the locals in an attempt to find the camel market. I’m envisaging hundreds, if not thousands, of the critters at this market, which would make you think that something that size would be pretty easy to find. The truth is there is no camel market today. Abdul finds a small group of mangy-looking camel herders and their even mangier looking camels on an otherwise vast and empty plain to the west of Omdurman. Tomorrow there will be a massive market, but we have missed our chance to see it. We told Midhat of our desire to visit the camel market. Surely the whole point of a tour and travel company is that they are experts in this kind of stuff and they don’t bring you on the wrong day. Now that is frustrating.
We give up on the camel market, but Abdul suggests a visit to the Omdurman souq, which might offer some ethnic diversity and some potential souvenirs (It’s not as if Christi and I ever plan to return to Sudan!). The souq is typical of those we have seen in the rest of Arab Africa. One noticeable difference, though, is that the merchants don’t negotiate. The price they quote is a fixed price. That took some getting used to. I received a few looks of disgust when I offered half the asking price. I thought the merchants were just playing hardball! I do eventually purchase a wall hanging for the full asking price of 35 SP (US$14). It’s a wooden map of Sudan, highlighting its people and natural wonders. The people we meet in the market are very friendly and very inquisitive, although they are a bit suspicious of Christi – or maybe they are wary of being seen speaking to a citizen of the Great Satan. Having said that Spiderman school bags and Western-style lingerie is on sale so the relationship between Sudan and America is complicated. We do fall into conversation with a Nuer tribesman from Southern Sudan who has 6 lines cut into his forehead (scarification). I ask him for a photo but he refuses politely. I also ask about the political situation in the south and his opinion on the likely outcome of the upcoming referendum on independence for the south. He clams up immediately and scans the market nervously, which rather suggests criticism of the government is not tolerated. As usual the temperatures hover around 110oF and I find it amusing to see an optimistic salesman selling ice from his bicycle. All I can say is that he better sell it fast before all his profits melt.
Later Abdul takes us to the Friday night extravaganza: the Whirling Dervishes. The term ‘Whirling Dervishes’ is one of those great sales slogans which immediately makes you want to visit. The reality is a little more mundane. The Whirling Dervishes are actually members of the Sufi order of Islam, which is said to embody the inner, mystical dimension of Islam. The dervishes gather in front of Hamed al-Nil tomb in Omdurman every Friday evening for a night of chanting, clapping, and music. As the pace picks up and the frenzy intensifies the dervishes chant the name of God. Occasionally the dervishes twirl as part of this process of communing with God. It’s a very intense spectacle. Before the ceremony is over Abdul rushes up to us and urges us back into the Land Cruiser. He’s pointing at the sky and shouting ‘haboub’. I’ve no idea what he’s talking about, but then the sky turns dark and malevolent – even blocking out the sun. It’s a violent Saharan sand storm. Quite how Abdul has the confidence to drive in this blackout is beyond me. Its like traveling in a dense dark fog and the headlights show only a few feet in front of the car. We make very slow progress as people and other vehicles scurry for cover. It is a relief to finally make it back to our hotel without incident. Hopefully, Christi and I will avoid any further ‘haboubs’ during our time in Sudan.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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