After a spine-jarring ride on unmade roads, through a landscape I will try to describe later, I'm now somewhere else in Ethiopia. A town (Aksum) with reasonably modern facilities including an internet cafe with equipment which, though slow, just about works. Add sticking keys, two-fingered typing and hopelessly slow speeds and you may appreciate my frustration. Even so there is so much going on outside the door of this scruffy, dusty and hot little room that it is therapeutic to withdraw into the private world of my own head for a while.
Let me give you some more random impressions from the unstoppable tidal wave of experiences and emotions constantly sweeping me off my metaphorical feet:
- The news that one of my companions had access to her own blog blocked by the Sudanese authorities. How do they do that? Why?
- My experience of buying minced beef in Khartoum to feed my little band when we reached our next desert encampment. There was none on display, but after a competent pantomime of somebody using a mincer and smiling smugly at the end result (I like to think I am getting quite good at communicating in this way - as well as providing endless mirth for my interlocutors), the butcher invited me backstage and treated me to a display of professional butchery. This involved half a cow on a hook, a razor sharp knife, great muscular effort, grunts of exertion and enormous skill. I've never had that experience in Sainsburys.
- in Khartoum, modern office blocks in landscaped grounds front onto dirt roads, with dilapidated hovels all around.
- A Sudanese family which one of us had run into on the Egypt to Sudan ferry, invited us to celebrate Eid with them and sleep over at their house. A party of twelve virtual strangers. Thankfully the man with the goat did not turn up, so we were spared the sight of the traditional slaughter. How many English hostesses would be able to improvise a first-class Christmas dinner for 16 people if the turkey hadn't arrived?. It was not unlike Christmas - a lot of dozing in front of the TV and occasionally breaking away for breath of fresh air outside. But, obviously, without the sweet sherry or ginger wine.
- our very Sudanese hostess, who I had assumed (there goes another one) was unsophisticated and little-travelled, divulged in passing that she has a daughter in Tooting and another in Cork - and two fully paid-up Irish grandchildren. Both daughters are doctors.
- I think I had a bit of an adventure on our last night in Khartoum. In the evening I walked down to the river Nile hoping for a bit of a cool breeze. When I got there I was unable to get near the river for elaborate security fencing. Realising I was lost, I looked at the GPS app on my iPhone to find where I was. The little blue dot showed my exact location, but unfortunately the map would not download so all I had was a grey screen and a blue dot. As I stood there with my face illuminated by the glow of the screen, I became aware of sudden aggressive shouting nearby. Turning my head to look across the road, I saw more security fencing, one of those lift-up barriers, sentry boxes, and pop-up bollards - and a man in uniform with one of those nasty little short barrelled guns slung over his shoulder and pointed at me. The immoderate shouting continued and the absence of another soul within sight suggested I might be the focus of his attention. Trying my best not to look like a western intelligence agent, I feigned nonchalance and pretended I hadn't noticed anything untoward. My head-down ignoring skills, so well honed in Egypt, came into their own. I strolled away from the scene for several blocks, and at the first opportunity I ducked into a bustling street market. There was a strange prickling in the back of my neck, as I braced myself for the screeching of tyres from an unmarked car full of unshaven sinister men, scattering market stalls and leaning out of the windows firing bullets in my direction. Nothing of the sort happened of course, and I arrived back at my hotel dry-mouthed and craving a beer more than ever. What was it all about? You tell me. I wonder who is more paranoid, me or them.
- I can't help wondering why the beloved leaders of these authoritarian and virtually-closed countries are so anxious about the designs of foreign powers. One would have thought that the events of recent months might have demonstrated that if there is a threat it comes from within their own borders. Between immigration, police registration, permits to travel and exit procedures, I now have eight separate Sudaneses stamps in my passport.
- As the time approached to cross the border into Ethiopia, I have been reflecting upon a couple of important questions. Surely to God, the very best place on earth to find a beer is in a desert. Why is it then that Sudan of all places is dry? And why can't you get an ice-cream? In the case of beer it is because of the 1400 year-old teachings of an illiterate dreamer. I say this with no disrespect. Holy Scripture records that the prophet (peace be upon him) could neither read nor write and that his revelati0ns came through dreams. In the case of ice-cream it is because of the frequent power failures causing freezers to defrost.
I have much, much more to say (and I will). But the sun (to adapt more immortal words - this time those of Eric Clapton, or possibly Jack Bruce or Ginger Baker) is about to close its tired eyes and so am I. What's more I can barely see the keyboard any more.
This is a hell of an experience. Oh my God.
Chris
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