Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'You'll need an extra one for water. You'll be crossing the Bayuda Desert, won't you?'
The Bayuda Desert was technically the most south-east corner of the unending Sahara.
From Khartoum, the Nile goes north, before making a great loop westward. The Bayuda
sits inside this loop, empty and parched.
'I won't need water. I'm following the Nile all the way, around the great bend.'
Bala only laughed. 'You can try, but you won't get near the Meroe Dam! You'll be ar-
rested or shot on site. You'll have to do a detour through the desert for a week at least . . .'
I glared at Moez.
'It's true.' He shrugged. 'They built the dam in 2009. Our people opposed it, but it's the
most important piece of strategic land in the country.'
'Strategic how?'
'It's to do with water, who controls it, who can use it . . . And the dams are under
constant threat from the peoples they displaced to build them. We won't get near it, Lev.
They'll think we're saboteurs and shoot us. We'll have to give it - how do you say? - a
wide berth . . .'
'Yes,' Bala interrupted, 'so you'll need to carry six drums of water. That's 120 litres at
least . . .'
We returned to the baking souq. One group of females, perhaps forty strong, were all
hopping in unison as a new buyer herded them towards a truck. The flat-bed didn't look
like it could possibly take them all, but a pair of Bedouin wranglers somehow managed
to shout, whip and shove half of them aboard. The beasts were clearly unimpressed but,
after lots of grumbling, they got on and twenty larger-than-life camels were driven off into
a haze of dust.
We meandered through the males. Most, Bala insisted, had already been sold, but here
and there some sellers remained with their beasts. At last, stopping every few yards to take
a phone call and strike some other deal, Bala led us to a corner where a pair of large, white
dromedaries - the Arabian camel, with only one hump - were standing.
'They look strong,' said Moez, patting the closest on the thigh.
Remembering Asher's words, I walked around the first animal, carefully inspecting
every cut and graze. It was a handsome beast - and the scars were nothing out of the or-
dinary. If Asher was right, its long front teeth meant that it was aged five or six - perfect
for an expedition.
'Can you make it sit down?' I asked the owner, who was standing nearby.
The man proceeded to make the strangest sound I have ever heard, a cross between a
snake's hiss and a gargle. After four or five times, the camel seemed to understand. In an
inimitably awkward way, the camel first sank to its front knees and then rocked back until,
after some groaning, it was finally down. I was relieved to see that the legs didn't tremble.
