We almost miss the exit and with quite some speed we drive off the tarmac. The changeover between tarmac and dirt is a sharp cut off and it feels like we’re diving head first into the gravel road. Immediately we are followed by a large dust cloud as we make our way through Mbuya wa Jerumani. Like every small African town there is a large tree that gives shade to almost half of the village. I have to say that the locals are doing it way better than us. They spend the hottest part of the day sitting underneath the giant tree accompanied by friends, while we are sweating and trying to find the right road. Maybe this is one of the downsides of driving around Africa yourself, like we have been doing for the last year: finding your own way, while the experienced tour guide comes hurrying past, leaving you in a big red African dust cloud. The coordinates we put into the navigation before we left points us in one direction while the sign in front of us directs us in the other. We look at each others questioningly and decide to follow the sign, but not for long. Insecurity hits us when we haven’t seen a sign for a little while and I had just been telling Helga stories about how, as a child, I used to turn signs around to confuse tourists. We decide to turn around and to make sure the first sign we saw is fixed properly. Returning to the sign we find out that it is and relieved we drive back to the point where we turned around earlier.We soon find out that we should have just trusted the signs and we know for sure when the dirt road eventually leads us to the gate of Tarangire National Park. It clearly shows that during the rain season Lake Burunge comes up all the way to the road we’re driving on. We’re visiting right before the rains start and dark clouds already form a thick, angry blanket which prevents the sun from coming through. Not necessarily a bad thing in the current heat. Looking around us we can tell the land is dry and cracked. The earth seems to be ripped open and deep grooves are waiting to take up the first rain like a sponge. The soil reminds me of the skin of an elephant, deep, furrowed, but still beautiful in its own way.We now obediently follow the signs to the lodge and it’s not long before we see the main entrance. The car finds a nice shady spot underneath an old tree and we get out, all sticky and sweaty after the long drive. Before we can even walk up to the reception area, the staff comes up towards us with refreshing, but very white, towels rolled up in neat little bundles and a delicious watermelon juice. We are handed the towels and as soon as I have mine it turns yellow from all the dust we’ve had on the way. “that will be difficult to get clean,” I think to myself. The staff are extremely friendly and make us feel like we found a home away from home.
We follow them inside and immediately I understand why a luxury lodge like this would settle here. From the wooden deck lake Burunge is visible, but there is also a waterhole closer by. In the dry season this is a popular spot for a variety of animals and we don’t even need binoculars.Even in the first half hour of our arrival, which we spend on the elevated viewing deck, we see Elephants followed by Wildebeest, Zebras, Warthogs, Nyalas and later on some Eland and Jackals. By now we’ve spent our first two hours on the viewing deck and a cool breeze makes it a comfortable spot to sit and relax. The staff is quick and gets us new drinks before we can even put down the empty ones. It is such a treat to relax among all these wild animals, it’s the real African experience! By the time they take us to our exclusive safari tent, made out of a combination of wood, canvas, glass and brick, we feel like they’ve taken us to the other side of the world. Around us is nothing but wilderness. From the bed with its immaculate white linen, situated in the middle of the room, we look onto the African bush and we feel like we’re watching a documentary by National Geographic.Helga looks at me and says: “I don’t think I will move from this spot in the next few days.” I look at her and we both start laughing.
The gate from the campsite slides open, but they are having a hard time in getting the heavy gate out of the way. The wheels made from steel are rolling with some difficulty on the rusty rail. When we drive out, we immediately drive into town. We squeeze the car through the low hanging branches of a mango tree and can hear the unripe, green mangos hit the roof like hail. A sandy track leads us to the city centre and back on the tarmac. We get in line behind some cars waiting for the fuel station and spend our last Malawian kwachas on diesel because we are leaving Malawi today and head into Tanzania.
Tanzania is mostly known for its Wildebeast migration, the Serengeti, the Kilimanjaro, the coffee production, but also for its friendly people and different cultures which hope to write about in the next few weeks. The tarmac starts to heat up, the morning chill slowly disappears and the car starts to warm up on the inside. It’s early in the afternoon when we leave Malawi, we sign out at a dilapetated office which houses the immigration, customs, bank and sellers of tomatoes, mangoes and other local products. A stamp in our passports and a stamp on our Carnet is enough to continue our travels and move on through the gate. When we drive through the gate we temporarily find ourselves in No Man’s Land filled with car wrecks before we get to the border with Tanzania. We are immediately pulled over by a lazy looking cop getting out of the shade to stop us. Like well behaved schoolchildren we do as he says and I jump out of the car to fill out my name under in a book in which I can’t even read the previous entries. It seems enough though. I’m allowed to continue and we quickly reach an empty customs office. We’re lucky that we don’t have to wait in line as we did at previous border posts. We change 100USD for 2 visas on a flimsy brown piece of paper and a stamp in our passports before getting in the next line. A friendly, but very slow officer starts the procedure of temporarily importing our car. Even though we are traveling on a carnet, he seems to have to fill out all sorts of forms and to start everything up takes so long that by then I have read almost all of the notices hanging around the office. It takes us two hours before this lovely guy finally finishes all the paperwork, we paid our fees and we can enter Tanzania. Later someone tells us that it probably should have worked if we had given the officer some money, it might have shortened our waiting time from 2 hours to 10 minutes. But then, you never know and we don’t pay bribes. Our first impression of Tanzania: green. In comparison to Malawi, Tanzania is much greener. In large quantities they are growing tea, coffee, mangoes, pineapples, corn and potatoes in this area. We also get less attention then we did in Malawi. The people seem to be more used to seeing white people around. The road is of good quality and in a bit of a hurry drive east, towards Dar es Salaam.Our first impression of Tanzania turns out to be a bit of an illusion. Our view becomes more and more dry and dusty, just like Malawi which is anxiously waiting for the rainy season. The road also changes from well maintained to one where we actively have to dodge the potholes and oncoming traffic. Roadworks make large sections of the road impassible and instead we find ourselves on dusty dirt roads parallel to the soon to be finished tarmac. It is getting dark and it is yet another 70 km before we get to the next campsite. Fully dark now and we are trying to find our way over dust and holes where too many heavy trucks have driven before us.A moment I remember well is when a motorcycle carrying two people, with a large front light, passes us on the narrow track. And we thought we were driving fast over this potholed dirt road! A few bends later and we can see in our beams that same motorcycle driver picking up his motorcycle from the side of the road. We reduce our speed to see if he needs any help and at the same time we can see his passenger’s head sticking out from a sand hill 20 meters away. The poor guy was launched from the motorcycle by the impact, but luckily the sand broke his fall. Fortunately, both men are wearing helmets and sturdy outfits, which is very rare to see here in Africa.The dazed look on the man’s dust covered face is kind of comical though. Both men can still walk and the damage to the motorcycle also seems to be not too bad. By now it is completely dark outside, and since we not yet speak any Swahili, we decide to continue driving. We heard some stories where Muzungus, white people, were held responsible for road accidents they had nothing to do with and we don’t want to be in that position. The road is busy enough that other people might lend a hand to the two guys when necessary. An hour later we arrive at a deserted campsite and set up camp.
It is just around midday when we start on a steep climb up the hill. We just left the old Christian settlement of Livingstonia: a dusty little town started around 1600, based in the hills and looking out over the pale blue lake Malawi. We are on our way to the Mushroom Farm, a small settlement from much more recent years. Although the name is giving you the impression that it’s taking you back to the sixties with psychedelic mushrooms, skunk and a hint of LSD, I’m being told that the name originates from the mushrooms which can be found when the rainy season has started and is flushing the dust of the trees, down the hill and is turning the dry tracks in muddy, impassible hazards. Kyle, a friendly young man with an enormous passion and totally adapted to the African way of working, is showing us around. We would describe Kyle as a self taught permaculture enthusiast. As soon as he starts leading us around the 11ha of plateaus with plants we see his dark eyes lighten up. Kyle is telling us that sitting still never worked for him, he worked on permaculture farms in the US and South Africa before settling here. Recently he got his mom to fly down from the US bringing in interesting sounding plant seeds to grow spices that would add perfectly to the food served at the Mushroom farm. Not yet shocked by this he shows us his collection of Asian earthworms (Red Wigglers) who are working hard in a concealed area to fertilise soil. The wigglers did not crawl down here by themselves but also made it to the farm in a suitcase.
The rainworms fertilise the ground together with the human waste of the Mushroom Farm. The waste is collected by smart looking compost toilets, and this way everyone gives a small donation to the fertilization of the farm. Accidentally looking down the longdrops it is clearly visible that the farm has been growing in well deserved popularity. The reason I’m saying this is not only because the longdrop is not that long anymore, but also because we have been hearing stories about the Mushroom Farm traveling all through Malawi. After the location has been taking over from a Australian guy, about 3 years ago, Maddy, a fresh and fit looking English lady and her brother Cameron, a total coffeeholic and great carpenter, turned the place in to a total hipster paradise where wearing beards, drinking coffee, playing boardgames, eating vegetarian and sharing travel experiences is cool. To go with this we just heard that Cameron totally mastered the hipster culture by developing a bicycle-driven coffee roasting machine, which we are now very curious about and have yet to see… The guys from the Mushroom Farm are also working very closely together with the local community spreading the vision of creating sustainable tourism in the area. The Eco-Lodge is designed as a social-enterprise; encouraging employment, responsible tourism and donating part of the lodge’s profit to community projects in the area. Over the last 3 years the Mushroom Farm has more than tripled their employees; supporting them and their families by creating work and also creating schooling opportunities. They’ve also started weekly adult literacy classes, nursery and feeding program, and provide scholarships for vulnerable students in the area who would not otherwise have an opportunity to go to school. By staying at Mushroom Farm, you truly do make a difference to the community.
At this stage, what we can see with our untrained eye, the farm is producing: Tomatoes, salad, avocados, bananas, capsicum, coffee, spices, cucumbers, beetroot and carrots. The products they are not producing are bought from local farmers or brought in from Mzuzu, about 3 hours away. The quality of the food and the incredible view of the location are without a doubt the main attractions and totally distract you from the fact that some of the buildings could use some love and that there is continuous building activity to improve the place even more. Not that you will be spending much time in your lodgings anyway since the bar is a much better place to hang out and the food will keep you coming back continually.
Just to summarise the current facts of the Mushroom Farm. Staying at the farm will give you a totally breathtaking view: overlooking Lake Malawi, with rolling hills also in the backgrounds, it’s a scenery that never gets old no matter how long you stay. Even better, the sun will rise over the lake in the early morning which is something to get up for sure! The best way to take in these views are from the hammocks that seem to be suspended mid air just on the edge of the cliff. The hammocks are also close to the bar, a place you don’t want to get too far away from since the home grown food keeps you coming back. The food is being served with a smile and pride by the most wonderful people who are getting a fair chance to improve their lives. The farm is offering an overland campsite for cars, tent campsites, safari tents, dorm rooms, a tree house, a cob house, 2 showers and 2 toilets, a bar, a restaurant and a sundeck for yoga. The whole place has 22 beds available, so book in advance and make sure that you get there before 16.00 to sign in for that delicious vegetarian dinner.
It is Thursday the 8th of October when I close the car door behind me. My hands grasp the light brown coloured steering wheel which is covered in dust, just like the dashboard. The car shakes a bit when I start it and the shaking slowly changes into a more rhythmic shudder: a familiar sound at last. We can hear the dust underneath the tyres when we drive away from the entrance and start on the climb to the village.On our way to the village we pass by some stalls with local products and some attentive merchants call out to us as we pass. Even though we’re in a driving car, they still think they can sell us some touristy things as we go. When we don’t stop, they walk back to their stalls, heads down, and settle back on their wooden stools. The “27.000 Miles Along The Sea” team has temporarily grown to four people. Two energetic and very enthusiastic Dutch guys spotted our car in Nkhata Bay and heard that we occasionaly take people along. With their typical Dutch directness, they don’t cut around the bush and ask us if they can join us when we visit Vwaza and Nyika National Park. We don’t have to consider this proposal for very long. Their enthusiasm is contagious and we realize that the change in our travel dynamics might be good for us, so we say yes.
A narrow dusty track leads us to Vwaza National Park. We can tell by the condition of the road that the park doesn’t get that many visitors. Just before we really enter the gate we find a large tree that covers most of the road in shade and we pull over for a quick lunch. A young local woman walks up to us and starts talking to us in her own language. It is impossible for us to find out what she wants, so we decide to ignore her. A few moment later she gets down on her hunches near the back of the car, where Helga is making some chicken sandwiches.. She then unbuttons a pocket in her dress and puts some Malawian Kwacha notes on the table which hangs on the inside of the back door. “ She thinks we’re some kind of shop”, I say to Helga. We both laugh, give her some leftovers and put the kwachas back in her hand. Very happy we see her walk back down the road towards the village. “Let’s get out of here,” Helga says, “before she brings her whole family.” We all get back in the car and drive the last few kilometers to the park. Vwaza NP:
We stay in a large hut made from wood and straw. It is the cheapest solution to stay in the park and somehow much cheaper than camping. We move the beds around, hang our mosquito nets from the ceiling and settle for the night. The sun sets and just before seven o’clock everything around us is dark with our head torches as our only light. When we look around us we can see eyes light up in the beam from our torches all round us like shiny marbles. I try to count them, but movement makes it too hard. The long day exhausted us all and it doesn’t take long before everyone is sound asleep. I wake up feeling like I’m in a helicopter. It is not even midnight and I must have slept for at least 3 hours. Helga lies next to me, clearly frustrated with her eyes wide open staring at the ceiling while she keeps the sheets up to her nose. I realize why I thought I was in a helicopter, the mosquito net has filled itself with buzzing mozzies. I follow her example, but can’t seem to relax and get used to the buzzing sound. “ This so called mosquito net is not working as it is meant to be working, “ I tell her, “ I am going to pitch up the tent!”. The next moment I’m in my boxer shorts on top of a skew car, surrounded by hippos, setting up a rooftop tent. The movements are all automatic and within a few minutes I’m finished. The moment I get in the tent I see Helga coming out of the hut with her blanket. “ May I join you up there?” she asks. “ Sing a song first!” I reply jokingly. She’s not amused and with a murmured “f*ck you” she gets into the tent. The smell of a simmering coffeepot and an omelet reaches us up in the tent and tickles our nostrils. There is no way we can resist this and like a bunch of well trained soldiers we are up and ready at six o’clock in the morning and waiting in line for the coffee. We almost inhale the liquid as if our lives depend on it and the person who proves to have a steel esophagus turns around first and hurries to the shower. The rest starts to pack and it’s not too long before everyone had his shower and we’re ready to go. The roads are not clearly signposted and we find our own way through the National Park. We start to follow the riverbed that leads through the park. It is the driest time of the year and our benefit is that all the animals gather around the only water and the little green there is. When it’s around noon all the animals disappear from the sun and start saving their energy in the shadows. The downside is that as soon as you leave the area where there is water everything is dry. We turn of after we’ve followed the river as far as we could and the last drops of water are evaporated. The four of us have a look at the map. Our choices here in Vwaza are limited, there are not a lot of tracks through the park and the rangers have told us not to drive the northern or southern routes because of poaching activity in the area and the condition of the road. As far as they are concerned we take the road east which is the same we drove when we went in. After a long talk we decide to go against the advice of the rangers and choose the road less taken: North. It’s the road that goes through the poaching area and of which the condition is unknown. Our car doors and windows are tightly shut. When we look out of the car the whole side is covered in TseTse flies. When we stop they hit us like hail, probably thinking they can fly through the heavy steel or something. We should really lower our tyre pressure on this track, but none of us has the guts to out of the car, so we deal with the inconveniences and drive a little bit slower. It becomes a bit of a challenge when we also get fallen trees and branches on the dirt road. From behind the steering wheel I look around me, but still, no one volunteers to get them off the road. We’re lucky: we manage to drive around them again and again. As I am writing this story, the next thing that comes to mind and when we are almost sitting on the front seats with four people because hanging out of the windows on the side is still impossible because of the TseTse flies. Ide and Hendrik are both leaning forward as fas as they can to have a look out of the front window. It’s hard to see, but in the distance we can see three men dressed in military outfits, carrying guns, walking on the shoulder of the track in the shade of the trees. It’s already too late to turn around, and there was any space to do so either way. One of the guys is carrying the antlers of a male Kudu over his shoulder while the person in front navigates with a small handheld GPS. They are all dressed in thick canvas and covered in flies. They’ve clearly tried to cover every part of their bodies and it makes them look like guerrilla warriors because of it. Slowly we come closer and I can feel the tension amongst us. The moment the men are passing us I make a quick decision which we will all regret later and I’m still not sure of was the right one. The men pass on my side and I quickly roll my window down…like an avalanche hundreds of TseTse flies stream into the car. We are all dumbfounded for a few seconds while the car fills up with them. Hendrik, who sits next to me makes another quick decision and also rolls his window down in the hope that the momentum of the flies leads them straight through the car and out on the other side. Theoretically that was a very good idea, but it has a reverse effect and twice as many flies get into the car. I chat with the men very quickly and they tell us that they are an anti poaching unit who are on patrol. We quickly close the windows again and start to drive. The inside of the car feels like beehive. We are being attacked from all sides by these ferocious little animals. The other people in the car choose their weapons (towels, newspapers) and start their counterattack while loudly keeping scores. Pieces of newspaper are flying through the car while I get hit in the head by a towel murdering TseTse flies. But they don’t seem to die that easily. I try my best to keep my foot on the gas while I get bitten by the little bastards. Slowly the amount of flies are getting less. We laugh about the situation and find our way out of the park. The closed gate looms up in the distance and we are all a bit scared that it might be locked and no one is there. It turns out not to be locked and I run out of the car and off we go, out of the park. Half an hour later we reach the next national park: Nyika NP. It’s a park that looks like a mix between Wales and the Scottish highlands. It’s clean, green and the rolling hills seem endless in the distance. We put up camp, bake bread and sit around the campfire sharing stories while we enjoy the cool night for a change. We leave early the next morning, drive out of the park and find our way to Livingstonia.
My heart is beating so loudly that it must be heard. We’re lying in our rooftop tent on top of our Toyota Landcruiser. It is pitch black outside and since a couple of seconds it is completely silent as well. I am looking at the woman next to me who is now awake, she looks at me with her big blue eyes and brushes her long dark hair out of her sleepy face. I answer to her “what is going on” question is an unintelligible murmur, more to calm her down than that I actually have an answer. I stick my head underneath the sturdy and frozen canvas of the tent and stare into the darkness outside looking for a clue. Cold air brushes the side of the Toyota, the tent and my face. Vaguely, I smell burned sulphur and I notice that a load of micro-dust is being taken by the wind. It is dead quiet now, I can almost hear the dust descending on the car and I have to remind myself to breathe. Back in the tent she has managed to squeeze her long slim legs into her trousers and she’s putting on a sweater. It is clear that she has no intention to go back to sleep any time soon. A couple of days ago we started driving a 4wd route through the Aladaglar Mountains in Turkey. The Aladaglar Mountains are part of the Taurus Mountain Range that lies in the provinces Kayseri, Nigde and Adana in the Central Anatolia Region south-east of the more known Cappadocia. The Aladaglar Mountains are sometimes called the Anti-Taurus Mountains and have a surface of 545 square meter. We arrived early in the season and the park hadn’t officially opened yet when we drove through. Cold drizzly days are behind us, but the bright sun warmed up our vehicle earlier today. This area is known for its large differences in temperature, during the day it can get up to 30 degrees Celsius while it freezes at night and on the highest altitudes in the park the snow will stay all year round. We followed a route that led us to the highest peak of the Aladaglar: The Demirkazik with a height of 3756 meters. Tracks through the snow gave us the reinsurance that another car had followed this path recently. We plodded on until we reached a recently descended avalanche with haphazard pine trees poking out of it that covered the entire road ahead of us. We turned the vehicle around and found a beautiful camping spot just on the border of where the snow had started, but behind some rocks which still protected us against the elements.It is now very cold with bright stars against the dark sky. In the meantime, I have also put on all my clothes and wrapped in a thick down jacket I have just climbed down the narrow stairs of our rooftop tent and wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.A couple of minutes ago we were roughly woken up by a dull explosion close to our camping spot and I have decided to have a look outside. Slowly, I follow the tracks of our car around the large rock formation which we are camping behind, back to where we turned the car earlier. Besides a few rock climbers here and there, Aladaglar doesn’t get a lot of visitors, especially not in this season. There are some shepherd and nomads living in the vallies, but that is about it. Hidden behind some rocks I can now see what is going on. A group of young men with an old car and head torches are carrying pick-axes and shovels up the narrow paths. The receding snow and good weather the past few days attracted a small group of local gold diggers who illegally, by the light of their torches and the moon, try their luck to find some gold at night in this mineral-rich area.
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.
