In the western part of Uganda you will find an area that looks more te belong in Vietnam, Birma or Cambodia. It gives off a totally different feeling than we are used to in Africa. It makes you realize how large this continent is and how many hidden treasures of nature is has. The land around us looks like a wild frozen sea of nature with giant waves, the green icebergs pointing up towards the clouds and the mist, especially in the morning, makes it look like a fairytale. A lot of the native forest is cut down and is replaced by farmland or other trees like eucalyptus, which grows faster and will therefor supply more wood in time. The mountains around us are like big checkerboards, all divided into different crops like vegetables, maize, grain, tea, bananas and potatoes. Traveling through this area we first visit Lake Bunyoni, which got its name because of the variety of bird species around. The name literally means “Place of many little birds” and is located in South Western Uganda between Kisoro and Kabale close to the border with Rwanda. Located at 1962 m above sea level, it is about 25 km long and 7 km wide. Someone told us that the dept of the lake can go up to 900 m which if true that would make the lake the second deepest in Africa.It’s a beautiful area, but als also commonly visited by locals throwing a party, overland trucks hosting the young travelers and people coming down for the weekend driving from Kampala. This doesn’t make it less pretty but makes us decide to keep on driving to Lake Mutanda. Lake Mutanda is located between a two and four hour trip (63Km) from Lake Bunyonyi depending on your driving. It lies hidden in the mountainous landscape of southwestern Uganda, in the Kisoro district. We can say that we find it the most scenic and postcard pretty lake of what we have seen of Africa. The Lake is nestled in the foothills of the Virunga Mountain Range, at an altitude of 1800 m. The three volcanoes within the range, that are partly located in Uganda (Mount Muhabura, Mount Sabinyo and Mount Gahinga), can be seen in the background.
Mutanda Lake Resort
It is a warm day, the wind blows through our open windows which we rolled down halfway. I can feel sweat drip from my neck down my back. Even with the windows open and the wind blowing in it is hot. A large cloud of dust from a passing car minimizes our visibility and covers the car in a blanket of fine red dust. While I am trying to look through this cloud, we both try to close our windows as soon as possible to prevent us from being covered in it as well. We follow a narrow road on the mountain, the road is like a long thread woven through a green tapestry. The threads from the weaving loom are pulled apart and different colors of yarn are woven in. Left, right, left, right, uninterrupted we drive from one direction into the other. It is not a cheap tapestry. The colors are deep and endless, but everything ends in green: dark green, light green, bright green and mint. I close my eyes and think myself on top of that carpet, flying over a fairytale landscape. Over deep valleys, along blue lakes, misty mountaintops and active volcanos. The beauty of Uganda that takes my breath away. Taking the backroads from Lake Bunyoni to Lake Mutanda certainly makes for a very interesting drive with stunning scenery all around. When I see the first glimpses of Lake Mutanda, it’s the stillness that makes the first impression. A quiet lake, a few ripples in the water and little islands scattered in the middle. We follow the road on the edge of the lake and after a few corners I think I am able to see Mutanda Lake Resort, perched on one of the peninsulas in the lake.
A simple, but very cozy, partly canvas house/tent with a verandah that looks out over the lake will be our new home for the next couple of days. Opposite from our room, on the other side of the little bay, I can spot the road we just drove on and after a while I realize that apart from the occasional boda boda, not many cars drive in this part of Uganda. An older guy moors his dug out canoe and starts cleaning it. Birds enjoy the nectar in the red blossom on the tree in front of me and in between the banana trees I can see some children walking their goats to the best grazing spot. Sitting on the verandah I wish I was more of a birder. In ten minutes I see more variety in birds, than I have seen in the past 2 days. They come and go, dive in the water for fresh meal and chirp in different songs.Dinner is a three course meal with a vegetarian and non vegetarian option. Set in a cozy lit restaurant, looking out over the volcanos, we have a wonderful dinner while the sky changes colour for the night. By the time we walk back to our room, the Bell Frogs have come out and their characteristic sound fills the air for a few more hours. In the early morning we are very lucky to see the volcanos in the distance since the sky is clear and we decide to take the boat out after breakfast. Together with Gerald, the guide, we cruise around on the lake and see a multitude of different birds flying and nesting near the water. We pass a few fishermen with their homemade rods trying to catch the little fish which they put on a stick before frying them over a fire. On some of the bigger islands in the lake we can see women working on potato fields where they get dropped in the morning and picked up at the end of the day. Since most of the local people are not really good swimmers, to me, this seems like the perfect way of getting your wife out of the way for a certain period of time.We turn back when the sun gets too bright and relax the rest of the day.
Even though Lake Mutanda is in a far corner of Uganda it is a perfect stopover coming from Rwanda, or as a basis for a gorilla tracking. It’s definitely one of the best places we’ve visited in Uganda!
When we visited the Karamojong we were incredibly lucky in capturing two amazing stories. Stories which are told by the Karamojong on the long and dark evenings to entertain each other around the campfire. This second story was told by Elizabeth from Kautakou and she tells us what it was like growing up in a time of violence.
A little girl is sitting hidden away in the corner of the house. She pushes herself as close to the wall of mud and branches as she possibly can. If she would’ve been able to vanish in a puff of smoke, she would have. In the stories they tell around the campfire people sometimes can, they disappear in thick smoke to reappear somewhere far away and she wishes she could now. A loud scream from outside sets her teeth on edge. She recognizes the voice, it is her mother’s. She is shaking like a leaf and blacks out for a while until she feels another hand in hers. It’s her brother. He whispers: “You have to be brave little sister.” Together they silently crawl on hands and knees towards the exit of the hut. After the first robbery, the place feels different, not safe anymore. It feels like a normal hut instead of their home where they grew up. Her brother leads her outside where it is dark. Once their outside, he looks at her and puts both of his hands on her cheeks. They are warm and rough from working outside on the fields. “Run little sister, run as fast as your legs can carry you,” he whispers. They both start running, his hand solidly holding hers. They run out of the village. The thorns are hurting the soles of their feet, but they don’t feel the pain. She hears a shot being fired, coming from the village. Her brother falls down. He looks at her and tells her with a weak voice: “ run, runnnnn!” From the village she can see men armed with guns coming their way. She turns around and starts to run again, as fast as she can, without looking back. Elizabeth grew up in a time when there were a lot of raids. She lost her brothers and parents in these raids. “Around 1960,” Elizabeth tells us, “the white people came to Uganda from England. The English didn’t understand the Karamojong, and decided that they would not tolerate people who walked around naked. They would shoot them. Because there were fights between different tribes and because some of the tribes got their hands on weapons, the other Karamojong tribes also wanted them, so they stole them from the English. Between 1986 and 1995 was the height of the war between these tribes. There was hate, jealousy and weapons made it even worse. After 1995 this all changed. The new government wanted the Karamojong to put down their weapons freely, Later they exchanged them for food and in the end they simply took the weapons away by force, killing the Karamojong when they needed to. Since 2005 there are no weapons anymore and things are better. Everyone still know what happened and the hate is something hard to forget. Still, everyone thinks it is better now without the guns!”
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When we visited the Karamojong we were incredibly lucky in capturing two amazing stories. Stories which are told by the Karamojong on the long and dark evenings to entertain each other around the campfire.This first story was told by Matthew Toyo from Kautakou and tells us about how being brave can save your life.
An old man with a wrinkled skin is sitting in the tall grass in the shade of a large tree. He looks up at the sky. The clouds are congregating in a thick blanket above him. “ Will it really rain?” he thinks to himself. It has been dry for so long. He looks around. His spear made out of wood, with a sharp, solid point, stands next to him against the trunk of the old tree. The tree which, just like him, has been around for a while now. This morning he led his cows out of the village and herded them to his favorite spot, a place where there always seems to be grass, at the old tree. He loves this tree. Normally one of his sons joins him, but today he is alone. His son went to town a few days ago to sell some things as he hasn’t returned yet. This is very common he knows, his son will not return before he gets a good price on the market and found himself transport back to the village. He starts to count his cows: 1,2,3,…,16,17,…19,…28,…32…this is the last one he counts before his eyelids start to droop and he falls sound asleep. The moment he wakes up, he hears the raindrops fall on the leaves above him and onto the ground next to him. He wipes a drop from his face. “This was probably the drop that woke me up,” he thinks. He gets closer to the trunk of the tree to shelter himself from the sudden heavy rain. With every raindrop that falls on the dry soil he can see a little bit of dust blow up. “ About time,” he sighs, the rain is late this year. In the distance he can see the familiar sight of his cows. They are taking shelter too and turn their backs into the storm of rain. “Ah good,” he thinks, “ This way, I don’t have to herd them all together again”. He lets himself slide down again and waits until the rain has stopped. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long. The drops turn into little drops, and the little drops turn into minuscule drops before the rain completely stops as sudden as it had started. He gets his spear which is still leaning against the old tree and starts to walk towards his cows. The grass is still wet and he enjoys the feeling of cold wetness between his toes. Sand sticks to his feet. He looks at the earth below. His father was a good shepherd and an even better tracker. His father learned it from his father. He never knew his grandfather, but he has heard the stories. He has tried to teach his sons,but they are more interested in women and trips to town. Maybe they will care to learn later, he secretly tells himself to keep his hopes up.The old man gets on one knee in the wet sand. With his fingers he reaches to the ground. That is strange, he thinks to himself, while he looks at the print in the soil. That is a hyena print and it has been a very long time since I have seen a hyena in this area. He presses his palm against the print. It fits. It’s a front paw, a male alone, possibly pushed off by the rest, possibly wounded by fights with other males. Wounded animals are dangerous, everyone knows that. They look for easy prey and are constantly prepared to attack. They will not hesitate. With a sudden jolt he looks up towards his cows. They are still grazing peacefully, close together. On hands and feet he crawls closer to the animals while taking in his surroundings. The cows will not react to him at all, he knows that, because they are used to having him around. Another fresh print on the ground, he knows he’s getting closer. He gazes over the tall grass, his hand tightly holding his spear and he looks at the sharp point. It’s still undamaged and razor-sharp. His heart is in his throat. This is not the first time, but he doesn’t have the strength of a young man anymore, he knows that, he has to be smart this time. He looks around him, how would his father have solved this? Suddenly, he knows, the soft earth and he starts to dig in the soft soil. He digs deeper and deeper with his hands until he has dug out a narrow hole. He trusts his spear into it, backwards. He makes sure it is in a 90 degree angle with the sharp point facing upwards. He starts to fill the hole again with sand until the spear stands solid as a rock. Now that the spear is in place, he starts to crawl further. Low to the ground as a predator, silent as a mouse, but wise, brave and unbeatable like an elephant. He spots the hyena in between the cows, exactly where he thought it would be. It is lurking around the mothers with young calfs, the easy prey. He crawls closer, closer, even closer. His heart is beating very loudly. He can almost smell the hyena by now. The grass gives him good coverage and the soft earth muffles his sounds. Now, he is close enough. He grabs the grey tail of the hyena, gets up with all his speed and strength and starts pulling and walking backwards towards the spear in the ground. The hyena is totally surprised. His hind legs are partly suspended in the air and the front ones are not getting any grip on the wet grass. The speed with which he is being pulled completely surprises the animal. The sharp point of the spear is rapidly getting closer. Sweat streaks down the man’s face. With his bare hands he still holds the hairy tail. Just a little closer, he thinks to himself, the animal is roughly 60 kg he guesses. At that moment, the ground becomes harder, the hyena is getting his hind legs back on the ground and gets back his grip. The spear is only a few meters away. With all the power the man possesses he starts to pull again, he knows it is now or never, the hyena still hasn’t regained full grip. His hands and knees are hurting, back in the day this would’ve cost him no effort, but he doesn’t want to think about that right now. The hyena is not giving in at all. He has to think of something and fast, his hands are hurting, but he can’t let go.The moment he will let go the hyena will definitely be after him, or worse, his cows. He needs these cows to be able to give a good brideprice for his sons future wives. Letting go is no option and the spear is too far away. Suddenly, he sees someone walking in the distance. How lucky! “ Help me, help me!” he shouts as loud as his tired voice allows him. The young man has heard him and is coming closer. But the moment the other man sees the hyena he stops and flinches. The old man looks at him and says: “ there, two meters away from me, is a spear in the ground, take it and spear the hyena!” The man assesses the situation, thinks about it and answers:” No, that is way too dangerous! The hyena will eat me and then you.” “ Don’t be ridiculous”, the old man says, “ get that spear!”. The other man walks backwards slowly and refuses to.“ Allright” the old man says, “what if you take over the hyena’s tail and I get the spear and kill him?” The young man contemplates this offer for a few seconds and decides to help the shepherd. He walks over to the hyena and grabs hold of the tail, with fear still in his eyes and the hyena frantically trying to get loose. The old man can finally let go and shakes his stiff and painful arms. He takes a few steps towards his spear and pulls it out of the ground before walking over to the hyena. But then he suddenly changes his mind. He looks at the man and the hyena and says: “ A lesson in life is to learn not to be a coward, I will give you this lesson and maybe you will have to pay a heavy price for it….You’re holding the hyena very well, though. Bye.” He then herds his cows together and walks away. The young man holds the hairy hyena tail tight with his sweaty hands. Now he is totally by himself. Afraid to let go of the tail he can see the sun slowly setting for the night. The moment he feels all the strength go out of his hands, the hyena gives one last pull. He cannot resist it and the tail slips through his fingers. The hyena, finally free, doesn’t think twice and runs as fast as his tired body can carry him. Away, far away to a quiet place for the night. The young man falls down, exhausted, in the still damp grass. He’s tired, but relieved. Moral of this story: when you are brave, you are able to safe yourself.
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Moroto is like the dot on the i, it’s not entirely necessary, but it does make a difference and finishes it up nicely. That book on the shelf, with its off-putting cover, it’s been there for years, but you can’t really put yourself to read it. Then comes the day you finally do, you take that book, you forget about the cover, turn the first page and start reading. Before you know it you’re being sucked in by the story. You inhale the letters like it’s the last oxygen on earth. Consciously and full of life. Different and tasteful. That is Moroto. The journey to it is out of the way. The roads are bad and under development, which almost makes it worse. One moment there is perfect tarmac, while the other you are launched out of your seat by giant road bumps or violently shaken apart by a multitude of potholes. But the journey is worth it. At the end of that road is a small village, that looks abandoned but also lively. It’s a village that connects the modern world to its original African roots. It’s where the people don’t know any other way than the nomadic way of life; keeping cattle, building a new village every ten years on a different spot and bearing as many daughters as you can (since they will make a good bride price). This is where the village elders decide whether their offspring go to school or if they stay true to their nomadic roots.What we find in Moroto is a mixture: traditional clothes, but armed with a Nokia, piled up crates of beer and CocaCola, but on the back of an oxcart, a suit, but worn over Maasai sandals made out of car tyres.We are warmly welcomed by the team from Kara-Tunga. It’s a small tour operator that tries to promote the Karamoja area with tourists. The guys who work for Kara-Tunga as tourleaders have their roots with one of the Karamojong tribes in the surroundings of Moroto. Sunday 11 decemberStill drowsy from sleep we find our way out of the rooftop tent. Battered and worn out from the battle we had to fight last night. The itchy welts are an angry red against our white, slightly tinted skin. With our torches we tried to minimize the damage, but the tent must have looked like a discotheque when we chased the mosquitos and killed them one by one. It’s way too early for us, but a strong cup of coffee helps a little bit. Our guide arrives an hour later than we had discussed the day before; it’s African time. We’re kind of used to it by now and we even find ourselves behaving like this sometimes. Still, we try not to show our frustration too much, because in this particular case we could’ve used an extra hour of sleep. With our guide Peter, who grew up in one of the surrounding villages until he was send to school when he was 12 years old, we drive off. He sits in the car like a prince, with his nose almost agains the front windscreen. He’s wearing a bright orange t-shirt with the Kara-Tunga logo and a traditional hat and necklace, it suits him. He leads us off the main road and a narrow track leads us to the entrance of the village. The village is a small settlement made out of local materials. Already at the entrance we are amazed at how it is all constructed. The “walls” that are erected around the village are about 60 cm thick and made out of twined branches, on the inside they are supported by beams which are put in the ground every three meters. This way, the wall can withstand a whole lot of force coming from the outside. The branches are carefully twined and it is impossible to penetrate this structure and get into the village without decent tools. The entrance to the village is the size of the entrance of a large igloo; we have to stoop down to get through. When we get through we have to walk around a very large spiny bush. Peter tells us that at night, this bush is pulled into the entrance. The entrance acts like a funnel and the spiny bush gets pushed together by it. The sharp spines make sure that no one even thinks of entering the village at night. Simple, but effective. They also put steel plates and pieces of tin right behind the entrance, if someone tries to get in, it will not go unheard.
Especially since we arrive with Peter as an escort we are being warmly welcomed by the village. He clearly feels at home and easily walks us through the maize of alleys. The whole structure reminds me of a beehive: cells within a larger cell. Areas within the confines of the thick wall, separated from each other by a thinner wall than the one on the outside. The entrance is always a narrow and low gate. Children are running through it with no great difficulty, but we have to stoop low to access the family compound. The different compounds almost always look the same: one, two or three huts, a kitchen area, a place for water and food storage. The occupancy of the compounds doesn’t vary a whole lot: children, ranging from 0 till 15, a dog, chickens, ducks, sometimes goats, sheep and cows. These are usually taken in at night and shepherded out in the morning. After we’ve been walking around for a little while we notice a group of young people gathering in the middle of the village. With their feet they stamp on the dusty soil and we start to hear a rhythm, which is really catchy. It finds its way through the dust, to the other huts, children and under your skin. The first symptoms show when you don’t even realize that you’re tapping, nodding or clapping on the beat.The whole village seems to be called by the rhythm and gathers around us while the group of people in the middle starts their dance.One of the elders with a fair bit of charisma and an impressive voice is clearly the motivator. His energetic hip movements and rhythm are catching. The amount of dancers are multiplying and before I know it I’m also dancing and shouting in an unfamiliar language.
When the dancing has finished and we look around is, we see that the entire village has turned up. We ask one of the village elders and the charismatic dancer to tell us a story about life in the village. They tell us two wonderful stories that we will write down separately.Peter finds his way out of the village and we follow him. As soon as we have left we can feel the tiredness from the lack of sleep wash over us. The village for us was like a bath of energy, you fall in and you’re being carried away through warmth, love, simple passion and energy. Overenthusiastic children who grab your hand and take you into their world with their sparkling eyes where the mother of pearl colored whites stand out against their dark skin. The dusty faces, snotty noses who walk with their brothers and sisters on their backs. Hands and feet rough with calluses, but warm and full of love, friendship and honesty. Hands that run through the coarse hairs of a young calf to remove unwanted ticks, hands that run through the soft hairs of a newborn daughter, hands that take a hold of home made tools and that start on a long day from sunrise to sunset. I look at my own hands and see the soft skin, clean finger nails and knuckles with tiny, almost invisible, scars. They are the same hands, but so different. 33 years of age, but protected and defined by comfort. Peter takes us back to Kara-Tunga. We take along one of the village elders, in his best suit, to Moroto. It’s quiet in the car, at the moment we are all in our own little worlds.
The Kraal
By the end of the afternoon we leave for another village. Peter climbs into our car again and leads us out of Moroto and onto a long dusty track. All of a sudden he shouts: “Stop! We passed the exit!” I look at him rather doubtful. “ But Peter, we didn’t pass any roads..”. Well, we have to go back he informs us. When we reach a large tree he says: “ Look, here it is.” A very narrow track where clearly only cattle walked recently leads us into the bush. We take the turn and follow the cattle track which is just wide enough for the car. After 2 kilometers we reach some huts that are almost not visible because they have the same colors as their surroundings. A Kraal, a temporary settlement, Peter explains. We are warmly welcomed just like the other village before. We park our car in the middle of the village while everyone watches us with curiosity while we set up camp. The campfire is lit and the men return in small groups with their cattle and find their place around it. We have dinner around the fire and listen to the stories from the men which Peter translates for us. A large pitcher of local brew is passed around. The stories turn into singing and the women also mix into the group, while they were separate from the men earlier on. We go to bed when the fire is almost out. Some of the men find a resting place around the hot coals, while others look for more privacy in the fields. The women return to their huts and children and we find our familiar spot in our rooftop tent. http://www.kara-tunga.comhttp://www.discoverkaramoja.com
Do you also hate to peel a pineapple? The skin is too hard, can be very sharp and it is a hell of a job to get through it in the first place. When you finally succeed to get the fruit out of its shell, you will have this delicious piece of pineapple.
The comparison is maybe a bit strange, but to us traveling through Sudan is a bit the same. It seems like a hard shell: an inaccessible, very religious country at first glance and it is almost impossible to have no prejudices before entering. But when you do get to the core, it is an amazing experience. The warmth, friendliness and hospitality of the Sudani people knows no boundaries. You can read all about it in this blog.
But before you start to read, lets start with some background information. In 2015 Sudan was put on the OFAC list of the United States, because the US sees Sudan as a dangerous terrorist stronghold. This list blocks and stops all trade, development and support to a country. For us as independent travellers this meant that it was impossible for people in Sudan to visit our website and for us to update and upload it without using a VPN (Virtual Private Network).
During the last few weeks all eyes were on Trump and his new policy that prevents people from certain islamic countries to travel to the US, and one of them is Sudan.
Earlier on we have already blogged about our Sudan adventures to give our readers an impression of what it is like to travel here. For the people in Sudan it is important that travellers tell about the real Sudan. So in this last write-up on Sudan we will tell you some more tales on what makes it so special to travel through this country.
Sudan is dry, it is NOT not beautiful, it is NOT not interesting, but it is very, very dry. On our journey we follow the Nile. The Nile is one of the, maybe even the longest river in the world which starts as the White Nile in Lake Victoria, Uganda and as the Blue Nile in Lake Tana, Ethiopia. In Khartoum, Sudan, these two rivers meet and become the Nile. The river zigzags through this African country like a life line. It brings life to the land.
The rain season in Rwanda and Uganda fills up the Nile and carries it all the way up to irrigate the countries in the north. Not until Sudan and later on Egypt do we begin to understand the value of this river. When you leave the Nile you will find yourself in between sand dunes, endless emptiness, clear starry skies, small nomadic villages and encampments of gold diggers. When you find you way back to the Nile there is life, green fields, markets, dates and hustle and bustle. Water is the lifeline through this country.
During our travels in Sudan we often get the question: Do you think we are terrorists?
A smile on the face of the person who asks this question makes it a bit more casual than it seems. “ No, I don’t think so” is our answer. “ A lot is happening in the world today and it doesn’t make the whole population terrorists. It would be unfair to tar everyone with the same brush. We love Sudan!” The person who asked the question looks relieved and satisfied. “What is the best thing about Sudan?” is his next question. “ the hospitality and friendliness of the people!” is our immediate response.
In our first days in Sudan we are a bit careful and maybe also a little bit suspicious, but we find out pretty soon that Sudan is sincere. When we stop for a short break someone will offer us tea, when we sit down in a cafe, order something and ask for the bill we find out that the gentleman in the corner has already paid for us. When we take a stroll on the market to buy some tomatoes we are not allowed to pay, because “you are our guests.” Finding our way through the city on foot and asking for directions we are directly seated in someones car to take us to the right address. These are just a few examples of what we experienced in Sudan.
Dongola:
Thirsty, dusty and sweaty we arrive in Dongola. A man whose experience in life is written on his
face in deep lines, wearing a traditional white dress, welcomes us. “ Welcome my friends, welcome to Sudan”. He introduces himself as Kamal. Kamal is a farmer in Dongola and proud of what he does. Before he started farming he was a translator and that is why his English is good, but a little rusty. He invites us to the home of his brother in law where we get tea and typical Sudanese food. Kamal has a mission.
“I want to show you the real Sudan. Not the Sudan you know from the television, not what the media tries to tell you. I want to show you how we live, what we eat, what we do from day to day. Not polished or better than it is, I will show you “Sudan without make-up”
For the next two days Kamal and his brother in law take us to their families, we learn about traditional Sudanese houses, their different ways of life, we walk over the market where Kamal teaches us what to look for, we stroll down their farmlands and learn about dates, irrigation, pumps, water channels and the cooperation of the different people. We also have long conversations about believes and the cultural differences between our countries. We tell Kamal about the Netherlands and the way we deal with religion, marriage, alcohol, drugs and upbringing. He blinks his eyes once or twice when we tell him that it is possible for people of the same gender to get married and get or adopt children. Without immediately giving his opinion he listen to our stories in disbelief. Still, he somehow seems to understand and respect it, even though his preference clearly goes out to his own values which he got from his upbringing in Sudan.
We are very surprised when we get back to the house we are staying at on the second night to find that our host invited around 30 guests to celebrate us being there. Everyone gathers around on the ground, in front of the house on rugs especially laid down for all the guests. Large plates are brought from the kitchen to the front of the house to feed everyone. When we are introduced to some of the guests, all men, it turns out that they all come from the army base nearby and all have different ranks and positions within the military. We quickly get into a conversation with someone who speaks very well English and is a doctor, a gynecologist to be precise.
He invites us the next day for a tour around the hospital. We gladly accept the invitation since it is a good opportunity for us to hand out our last AfriPads to women who need it. Even though there are many women waiting for their appointment with the doctor, he drops what he is doing the moment we come in and listens to our information about the AfriPads. He promises to hand out the pads to women who he thinks can really use it. He also tells us about the government campaigns against female genital mutilation, a very important and good cause, because it is still something that is practiced throughout Sudan in the rural areas.
Just before we leave he invites us watch him perform a caesarean he is about to do. We look at each other, but decide to turn down this offer. Really, Sudanese hospitality is endless!
Parting with Kamal is hard for all of us. We would have loved to bring him along all through Sudan, but he says he has a family to take care of. We can see emotion in his eyes when we leave and he says: “ today is a sad day, because you are leaving. “
As rich as we are with this experience, as difficult it feels to part. We leave Dongola and turn right, following the train tracks into the desert.
It is late, too late actually when we finally approach the border. The sun started setting half an hour ago and if we have learned something from travelling Africa it is never to arrive at borders too late. This time this plan didn’t really work out and we decided to wing it. We drive through a busy street with shops, horses and park in between some donkeys. The first people to approach us are always the hasslers, fixers and money changers. We quickly push through and arrive at the customs office. A friendly young man on the Ethiopian side helps us out and clears our cars rather quickly. He wishes us a great travel and tells us to watch our backs in Sudan. This is not the first time someone tells me this. Somehow it happens quite often that people in the border area are not that fond of their next door neighbours.
When we arrive in Sudan we immediately feel welcome. A gentleman in a small dusty office sticks his hand through the window to receive our four passports. He goes through them quickly and stamps the entry visas before handing them back. Dusk has set in when we get out of the office and people point us in the direction of Customs, which looks abandoned and closed by the time we arrive. We’ve heard terrible stories about the Sudanese customs procedure and mentally prepare ourselves to have everything, and I mean everything, taken from our cars for inspection. We park in between pick ups set up to carry heavy military firearms.
When we walk in the place really looks abandoned and we are lucky finding someone in the back who speaks a little English. He immediately knows what we are there for and runs out to get his supervisor. We are put in an office to wait and are offered tea, coffee, softdrinks, water and everything else they know the English name of.
Ten minutes later a group of Customs officers arrive with the guy who received us up front. They quickly go through all the paperwork, take a quick look at the car, but more out of curiosity than actually inspecting it, offer us more tea and when we kindly thank them we are free to go.
We find our way out of town and after ten kilometers we take a strong right, off the tarmac and into the bush. For another 10 minutes we battle through bushes and sand until we find a nice riverbed to set up camp. After our Ethiopian wild camp experiences we find ourselves a bit worried. Before setting up the tents we walk around the cars in silence to see how many people are hidden behind the trees watching us. When after half hour, still no one has showed up, we are confident enough to set up camp. The next morning we are woken up by a large herd of cattle passing the riverbed just a couple of meters from our car, being led by a shepherd with a torch who has probably seen us, but takes no further notice of this odd set up.
Fully awake now, we pack up and get ready for a long drive all the way to Khartoum.
We get stopped at numerous roadblocks along the way where it is hardly possible to see the difference between an official police officer or an undercover police officer. We soon find out that we better respect them just as much and we hand out our passports every time we are being asked for it. It is late in the afternoon when we arrive in Khartoum and covered 500 km easy that day. Somehow Khartoum is an expensive place to stay. We looked for camping options and cheap hotels with parking, but nothing really came up. That leaves us only one option: the German Guesthouse. This place, obviously run by Germans, is a welcoming place for overlanders and offers the option to park (and camp) outside on the streets, while using the facilities of the hotel. For the next couple of days we really find ourselves living on the streets of Khartoum, and surprisingly enough our nights are really good.
During the evenings Sudanese people walk passed our car while we are cooking out on the streets and all they do is greet us, which to us is still mind blowing. After Ethiopia we are used to, even in seemingly deserted places, to have people come up to us, stand 3 meters from the car and stare at us like they are watching TV.
Over the next couple of days we spend way too much money on official documents, exchange our dollars for a very lucrative rate, have a great night at Papa Costa’s and experience Sufi dancing on a Sudanese cemetery.
We are happy to leave Khartoum and are heading northeast towards the Mussawarat and Naqa temples. In between we find a great wild campsite in a dry riverbed. We make some tea and soon find out we set up camp too close to a village and within no time we are surrounded by camels and locals. They finally leave when the sun sets and we manage to pack up before they return in the morning. An early start gets us to the Naqa temples and later the Meroe pyramids.
It feels really special camping next to monuments from around 2000 BC!
That evening we look out over the Meroe pyramids. It is a collection of almost a hundred pyramids and it is one of the most spectacular sites in Sudan. Every pyramid symbolizes a grave, so it can also be seen as a big cemetery. Most of the pyramids are missing their tops because of a 19th Century Italian archeologist who found gold in one of them. Early morning we visit the site and wander among these ancient buildings.
As soon as the temperature rises we get into our cars and head towards Karima. A small shack on the side of the road is our stop for breakfast. When we get out of the car we can smell the overwhelming Diesel fumes and there are big trucks parked everywhere around us. We find some plastic chairs and get a plate of Ful served. Ful is a typical Sudanese meal and consists of mashed overcooked beans with peanut oil served with flatbread. Not too interesting, but nutritious and combined with some fresh vegetables it can be made into a decent meal.
We are still traveling with our friends in their Landrover who are getting quite nervous when we find three fuel stations which are out of Diesel. By that time we covered over 330 km from Khartoum and we still had another 270 to go to the next town. Approximately 30 km before the nearest fuel station we find ourselves on the side of the road getting Diesel from our second tank into the Landrover for it to be able to make it.
We find a great camp spot next to the holy mountain of Jebel Barkal, which we climb in the morning. We decide to trade the desert for the Nile and camp directly next to it for the next night. After a quick swim with some locals we set up camp and we soon start to spot the first scorpions. The yellow Nile scorpions are small, but one of the most poisonous around. The mosquitoes and the scorpions make us get in our tents quite early and we drive to Old Dongola the next day.
A great desert track following the Nile of the west side, navigating through sand dunes and an oasis here and there takes us to Dongola. We are very much looking forward to Dongola. In Moroto, Uganda, we met a diplomat who insisted we stay with his family when visiting the Dongola area. An offer we can hardly refuse and are happy to take!
When we arrive in Sudan we immediately feel welcome. A gentleman in a small dusty office sticks his hand through the window to receive our four passports. He goes through them quickly and stamps the entry visas before handing them back. Dusk has set in when we get out of the office and people point us in the direction of Customs, which looks abandoned and closed by the time we arrive. We’ve heard terrible stories about the Sudanese customs procedure and mentally prepare ourselves to have everything, and I mean everything, taken from our cars for inspection. We park in between pick ups set up to carry heavy military firearms.
When we walk in the place really looks abandoned and we are lucky finding someone in the back who speaks a little English. He immediately knows what we are there for and runs out to get his supervisor. We are put in an office to wait and are offered tea, coffee, softdrinks, water and everything else they know the English name of.
Ten minutes later a group of Customs officers arrive with the guy who received us up front. They quickly go through all the paperwork, take a quick look at the car, but more out of curiosity than actually inspecting it, offer us more tea and when we kindly thank them we are free to go.
We find our way out of town and after ten kilometers we take a strong right, off the tarmac and into the bush. For another 10 minutes we battle through bushes and sand until we find a nice riverbed to set up camp. After our Ethiopian wild camp experiences we find ourselves a bit worried. Before setting up the tents we walk around the cars in silence to see how many people are hidden behind the trees watching us. When after half hour, still no one has showed up, we are confident enough to set up camp. The next morning we are woken up by a large herd of cattle passing the riverbed just a couple of meters from our car, being led by a shepherd with a torch who has probably seen us, but takes no further notice of this odd set up.
Fully awake now, we pack up and get ready for a long drive all the way to Khartoum.
We get stopped at numerous roadblocks along the way where it is hardly possible to see the difference between an official police officer or an undercover police officer. We soon find out that we better respect them just as much and we hand out our passports every time we are being asked for it. It is late in the afternoon when we arrive in Khartoum and covered 500 km easy that day. Somehow Khartoum is an expensive place to stay. We looked for camping options and cheap hotels with parking, but nothing really came up. That leaves us only one option: the German Guesthouse. This place, obviously run by Germans, is a welcoming place for overlanders and offers the option to park (and camp) outside on the streets, while using the facilities of the hotel. For the next couple of days we really find ourselves living on the streets of Khartoum, and surprisingly enough our nights are really good.
During the evenings Sudanese people walk passed our car while we are cooking out on the streets and all they do is greet us, which to us is still mind blowing. After Ethiopia we are used to, even in seemingly deserted places, to have people come up to us, stand 3 meters from the car and stare at us like they are watching TV.
Over the next couple of days we spend way too much money on official documents, exchange our dollars for a very lucrative rate, have a great night at Papa Costa’s and experience Sufi dancing on a Sudanese cemetery.
We are happy to leave Khartoum and are heading northeast towards the Mussawarat and Naqa temples. In between we find a great wild campsite in a dry riverbed. We make some tea and soon find out we set up camp too close to a village and within no time we are surrounded by camels and locals. They finally leave when the sun sets and we manage to pack up before they return in the morning. An early start gets us to the Naqa temples and later the Meroe pyramids.
It feels really special camping next to monuments from around 2000 BC!
That evening we look out over the Meroe pyramids. It is a collection of almost a hundred pyramids and it is one of the most spectacular sites in Sudan. Every pyramid symbolizes a grave, so it can also be seen as a big cemetery. Most of the pyramids are missing their tops because of a 19th Century Italian archeologist who found gold in one of them. Early morning we visit the site and wander among these ancient buildings.
As soon as the temperature rises we get into our cars and head towards Karima. A small shack on the side of the road is our stop for breakfast. When we get out of the car we can smell the overwhelming Diesel fumes and there are big trucks parked everywhere around us. We find some plastic chairs and get a plate of Ful served. Ful is a typical Sudanese meal and consists of mashed overcooked beans with peanut oil served with flatbread. Not too interesting, but nutritious and combined with some fresh vegetables it can be made into a decent meal.
We are still traveling with our friends in their Landrover who are getting quite nervous when we find three fuel stations which are out of Diesel. By that time we covered over 330 km from Khartoum and we still had another 270 to go to the next town. Approximately 30 km before the nearest fuel station we find ourselves on the side of the road getting Diesel from our second tank into the Landrover for it to be able to make it.
We find a great camp spot next to the holy mountain of Jebel Barkal, which we climb in the morning. We decide to trade the desert for the Nile and camp directly next to it for the next night. After a quick swim with some locals we set up camp and we soon start to spot the first scorpions. The yellow Nile scorpions are small, but one of the most poisonous around. The mosquitoes and the scorpions make us get in our tents quite early and we drive to Old Dongola the next day.
A great desert track following the Nile of the west side, navigating through sand dunes and an oasis here and there takes us to Dongola. We are very much looking forward to Dongola. In Moroto, Uganda, we met a diplomat who insisted we stay with his family when visiting the Dongola area. An offer we can hardly refuse and are happy to take!
Dinner is a three course meal with a vegetarian and non vegetarian option. Set in a cozy lit restaurant, looking out over the volcanos, we have a wonderful dinner while the sky changes colour for the night. By the time we walk back to our room, the Bell Frogs have come out and their characteristic sound fills the air for a few more hours. In the early morning we are very lucky to see the volcanos in the distance since the sky is clear and we decide to take the boat out after breakfast. Together with Gerald, the guide, we cruise around on the lake and see a multitude of different birds flying and nesting near the water. We pass a few fishermen with their homemade rods trying to catch the little fish which they put on a stick before frying them over a fire. On some of the bigger islands in the lake we can see women working on potato fields where they get dropped in the morning and picked up at the end of the day. Since most of the local people are not really good swimmers, to me, this seems like the perfect way of getting your wife out of the way for a certain period of time.We turn back when the sun gets too bright and relax the rest of the day.
