Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Sisi had become president only a month earlier, while I was trekking through the deserts
of Sudan. It had been Sisi who had announced the deposition of Egypt's former president,
Mohammed Morsi, after the uprisings of 2013 - when millions of protestors took to the
streets to demand that the increasingly authoritarian and Islamist government step down.
'Where have you come from?' asked the man behind the desk.
'Well, the ferry comes from Sudan . . .' I told him my story, presenting a copy of Sudan's
Tribune newspaper, its front page showing Moez and myself on the long trek into Khar-
toum.
The major didn't look at all impressed. In one long drag, he finished his cigarette.
'Where is your permission?'
I had faced this question countless times before. In Uganda, I had fought it with offi-
ciousness of my own; in Sudan, with humility and respect. Here, I would have to play the
hapless tourist if I wanted to find a way through.
Soon, more men were arriving - some border police in uniform, others agents with no
uniforms at all. It began to feel as if they had scented blood - everybody wanted a piece of
the action.
'Name!' barked the first.
'What is in this bag?' demanded the second.
'Destination!' declared a third.
The questions came thick and fast: first, my satellite phone singled me out as a spy;
then, my cameras as a foreign provocateur. It was only as the major unearthed an envelope
from my day pack that a distinct calmness settled over the room. There was no doubting
the reason why: in that envelope was all the cash I had been given in exchange for the
three camels in Wadi Halfa, the morning before I set off. I had been hoping to change it
into Egyptian pounds in Aswan.
I saw the glint of greed in the major's eyes as he slid the envelope into his pocket.
'They're worthless here. You can't change them outside . . .'
One of the other soldiers, a weasely bald man, interjected: 'I'm afraid we'll have to con-
fiscate all your machines as well. This camera, these medicines, this knife . . .'
My heart plummeted. I could understand their taking the machete - even though it
galled me to lose the one piece of kit I'd relied on for so long in the jungle. But the prospect
of losing all my photographs filled me with dread. As the man began collecting everything
into a pile, I could see the greed in his eyes. These, my precious belongings, were going to
make nice presents for his family.
I needed to change tack. My hapless-tourist act wasn't working.
'You're not taking them!' I stood up, slamming my passport in front of the major. 'You.
Sir . What is your name?'
The major peered over his glasses, startled.
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