Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
For three days, we followed the trails west. Though our water had been replenished, by
the final day, our food was running low; with all ration packs spent, we kept hunger at bay
with dried dates and tins of pineapple. The sight of the distant Nile was like a mirage, ap-
pearing on the horizon as a ribbon of emerald green. The mountain of Jebel Barkal rose
from the plain and, in its shadow, stood the remnants of yet more pyramids, like the ones
we had seen at Meroe. As we drew close, heading into the agricultural land flanking the
Nile, the head of a sandstone cobra could just be seen poking out from the cliff - the crown
on the head of the old god Amun, sculpted from the rock two-and-a-half-thousand years
ago.
The farmland bounding the Nile was a surreal place of sorghum fields and irrigation
channels. We saw people tending to their crops. We trudged along paths between undulat-
ing waves of grain, and no longer did the air taste of sand and grit; no longer did we keep
our eyes half shut against the reflected glare of the sun.
We had not yet reached the banks of the river when a farmer hailed us from his field.
Waving for us to slow down, he careened through the grain to catch us.
'You!' he cried, in disbelief. 'Where have you come from?'
'We came across the desert,' said Moez, wearied.
The farmer tried to take this in, gazing back east, as if he could see the enormity of the
expanse. Shaking his head, he began to laugh. 'No, no one could do that . . .' He paused.
'Where are these from?' he asked, gesturing at Will, Ash and myself. 'Pakistan?'
'No,' said Moez, 'they're from England.'
Something close to realisation settled across the farmer's face. He nodded, sagely. 'Eng-
land? Like the English who were here before?'
At first, I thought he meant other travellers, but of course, he was referring to the British
administration that had ruled Sudan until 1956. It had been fifty-eight years since Sudan
had gained independence, but he spoke about it as if was yesterday.
'Yes,' said Moez, solemnly.
'Well,' the farmer went on, 'that's different. Of course I believe you, now. The English
can do anything, my friend, even cross the desert.' Earnestly, he looked to me. 'Please, sir,'
he began, 'tell your Queen she must return. The Sudan has gone to ruin since you left . . .'
Sometime later, we reached the bank of the Nile. Here the river, continuing its bend
around the Bayuda, swung south-west, before curling north again.
'What did he mean, that man?' I asked.
'It is not an uncommon thing to hear. Since Sudan gained independence, there have been
thirty-nine years of civil wars. That's less than twenty years of peace. And . . .'
What Moez wasn't saying was that even those years of peace had hardly been peaceful.
Sudan may have been famous for its hospitality, but I hadn't forgotten the story of the wo-
man condemned to death for converting from Islam, nor Moez's own stories of thousands
