Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The Madi have made this part of South Sudan their homeland for many generations -
and, though nobody really knows from where they came, Madi folktales suggest they may
have emigrated from Nigeria to find a new home here, along the banks of the Nile. Cer-
tainly, the Madi had already been living here for aeons when Samuel Baker first explored
this part of the world, following the Nile upriver from his base at Gondokoro, a trading
station that sat on the river near present-day Juba. It was here, at Nimule, that Baker first
set eyes on the plains of northern Uganda, and succeeded in travelling further south along
the river than any other white man. To his great relief, he was greeted with open arms by
the local Madi chiefs, who quenched his thirst with a cup of their famous tamarind juice.
And, to my surprise, today, they were going to treat me exactly the same.
Three old men and their wives presented me with my own tamarind juice. Soon after,
a troop of village ladies in traditional clothes appeared from beyond a hillock, formed a
circle around me and started to dance, with the leader of the group banging on an oxhide
drum. The rest of the women held papyrus wands and shuffled in unison.
As we watched, Andrew Allam winked at me. 'I thought you might appreciate a
“Baker's Welcome”. They adore him here. He's like a god.'
After the dancing, the chief performed a simple ceremony - first spitting, and then
sprinkling Nile water, over my hands. 'You are now considered as Madi,' he announced.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Boston surreptitiously wiping his own hands. 'You are
following in the footsteps of the great Sir Samuel. With the Nile as your guide, and God as
your witness, go in peace and safety.'
It was the most foolish thing, but as we set out, that simple blessing gave me succour
and, for a little while, I could almost forget the terrible events that had happened in
Uganda.
Allam had instructed us that we would need at least three rangers to guard us as we went
north: Nimule National Park was a tiny conservation area with a herd of elephant and oc-
casional hippo, and sometimes the elephants turned rogue and could act aggressively to-
wards visitors. On the morning we set out, though, only one ranger was ready: Severino,
a grisly looking warrant officer who barely said a word. The shortfall, Allam explained,
couldn't be helped - given the country's current crisis, the government was in the process
of 'security screening'. In effect, they were interrogating all of their own soldiers, police
officers and rangers to test their loyalties - all a result of recent mass defections. The oth-
er two rangers we had been allotted had either disappeared into the system, or not been
through their interrogations in time. Severino, it seemed, would have to do.
North of Nimule, we entered the park. Most visitors to the park, occasional aid workers
and the more adventurous UN staff, come to see the Fola Falls, a small set of cascades in
the Nile that mark the last real obstacle for boats before the cataracts of the Sahara desert,
