Cape 2 Cairo 2 Cape Blog

Ramadan Restricts Riders.

We all met at 07h00 and departed in our taxi to the port. Two days ago we only managed to fit eight of us in the cabin section of the bakkie – the number has increased to ten – which means:

1. the riders have lost weight
2. the riders have reduced their personal body space
3. the riders are really bonding?

The barge official were ready to consent to the vehicles to be released. Ken had a puncture – easily remedied.

Directions screamed at Jacques and we ‘jimmied’ the ramp and the back-up vehicle was manoeuvred off the ramp.

The most unpleasant parts of the trip are over … ferry and accessing of vehicles … Cape Town is in sight.

Take No Bull!

Whist we were accessing the vehicles – about 500 bulls were awaiting their fate. They were to be loaded onto a barge to take them to Abu Simbel where they would be slaughtered.

There was much head-butting and hoof scraping as the livestock waited in the 40°C heat to be herded onto the vessel. Sand was thrown onto the bottom of the barge to avoid slipping and sliding in excrement during the four-hour trip.

One particular bull – Ebony – broke loose from the herd and was confronted by eight herders who screamed and wielded huge planks of wood. Ebony was aggressive – head down, snorting; butting his way forward and the herders beat him and beat him. His head and shoulders were points of interest for the herders. Ebony closed his eyes and charged and broke loose – he had a momentary respite from this torture.

He joined the next batch and again broke loose … and was subjected to another assault from humanity.

All this for beef?

Down to Dongola.

With all the riders in their designated slots and the backup crew in place – the Cytech group left the hotel in Wadi Halfa at 15h30 for Dongola
– 400 kms away. A fresh temperature of 42.1°C inside the vehicle and on the outside was some impressive scenery. Colourful sands, dunes and an continuous horizon of sand.

Gold prospectors eking out a paltry living in the deadly heat 30km outside Wadi.

Fortunately with the road being only three years old – the trip was free of mechanical issues and was a smooth ride. The Nile to the west of us was a ribbon of green with villages dotted along the course upstream.

Arrived at Dongola at 20h00 and had our paperwork checked by security. Failing to do this would mean that officials at Khartoum would send us back to Dongola (630 kms) to ‘register’.

Had the finest chicken for supper – the BEST ever! Was definitely a feast to remember – served on trays with 10+ power chilli sauce and rice followed by ice-cream. All this for R40 … what a banquet. Nando’s has some strong competition. We all agreed that one day in the near future - we would fantasise about this gourmet experience.

Ken and Marlene got the ‘honeymoon’ suite: en-suite bathroom – toilet without seat or lid … but the bathroom worked!

Four hours’ sleep and we depart for Khartoum.

Endless Trip

When we collected the trailer from Mazar’s house, he showed us a beautiful bike with a side car outside his house. The tank was decorated with
the South African flag and a picture on Mr Nelson Mandela.

The story behind Mazar having possession of the bike goes as follows:

Four months ago – a couple in their mid-seventies left South Africa for Cairo. Imagine what a trip it was for this couple to tackle the road of Africa in this vehicle?

All went well until they got to Sudan a month ago and realised that they didn’t have a Carnet for Egypt for their vehicle. Accessing documentation would cost them R15 000 (legally) and R4000 (illegally). The end result was that they had to abort the trip.

They gave custody of the bike to Mazar with a letter stating that he can take ownership of the bike should they not return in one year.

We hope that in eleven months’ time the bike is Mazar’s – he is such a great guy.

Last Thoughts?

Mazar showed us another bike at a workshop down the road.

Legend has it that in 1989 this solitary bike was found on the shoulder of the road. The bike was claimed by Sudanese Customs and the only other item – a camera was sent to forensics.

Evidence on the photos of the camera showed the last few images taken. A series of pictures of a hyena coming closer and closer. Hyenas are prevalent in the region where the bike was discovered.

The lone biker had obviously seen a hyena and had got off his bike to take some spectacular pictures. And he didn’t make it back to his bike…

Day 34 Wadi Halfa – Lake Nubia

The start of the day was quite interesting and after those delicious cappachino coffee packets that I love so much the day seemed to be steered in the right direction. The sky was rid of all dust and it didn’t take a meterologist for me to know that it was going to be a hot one. Not to mention the fact that the seriousness of my horrible haircut had finally sunk in and although it was going to be a tad bit cooler than I was the day before, I named the fluke haircut that Doc had given me with his very in experienced hands, the “Wadi Half-gat”. It’s certainly not going to be in high fashion any time soon, but I keep telling myself that it will help keep me “cool” and I mean that in a temperature sense.

Breakfast with guests

We sat and waited, and waited, and waited. Then we got word from Mazar that we were gonna wait another hour until 10 30 before we should head to the harbor. We had breakfast in town again, at the same place where I found a little critter in my omelette, this time before I even got my omelette the plate was dropped right in front of me. The group had met up with a guy named Claudio who was riding his Dakar 650 up to Cairo from Cape Town and a couple, Naiomi and Dave, from Great Britain who were driving behind him in their decked out Land Cruiser.

We headed out to the harbor and made a line of vehicles that stretched out more than a kilometer. It’s amazing to see the way all the bikes stretch and dominate the road and the locals certainly felt the same way. Every body watched in wonder, as did I. When we arrived to the gate we weren’t chased away like the day before, in fact everyone turned off their bikes and as soon as they moved to the shade (as if it were some practical joke) the guards told us to come through.We didn’t know it at the time but that was the begginging of a very long day ahead. Initially we thought the ferry was scheduled to leave at 2, but then we got word that it was actually 5. Nothing seemed to be official, and thats kinda how things went for the rest of the day. We ran around like “chickens with their heads cut off” until finally we all realized that we weren’t going to get onto the ferry.

After having all the engine numbers inspected everybody headed up to immigrations to have our passports stamped. Watching Masar who by now was dripping in sweat writing down all our passport numbers while simultaniously trying to prevent from dripping all over them was making me very antsy of getting out of Sudan. Just like when we came into the country, leaving seemed to be just as difficult, we got bashed with a million other papers which we knew nothing about. After half the group got their passports stamped a shift change happened with the customs officials. That was when the show started. The previous official was a jolly character that didn’t seem to care too much about checking passports, his predecesor instantly noticed that we didn’t have a blue tempory resident sticker in our passports. The hold up literally happened 3 people in front of me, and I wasn’t very happy about these guys making getting out of their country so difficult.

The blue sticker was actually something which should have been given to us when we got into the country a few days ago, if not Midat our contact in Khartoum (who is the older brother of Mazar) should have organized it for us considering he had out passports for almost the whole stay in the capital city. This was going to be a big problem because without getting our exit stamps, no body was leaving the country. So with half the passports not stamped, the bikes standing in rows of four outside ready to be loaded, and the ferry leaving at five we had to make quick decisions on the next few moves. If we missed the ferry, we would have had to wait 3 days until the next one left plus another full day for it to arrive in Aswan, PLUS another day for the vehicles to arrive on th barge. This ofcourse was unacceptable since everybody had to be in Cairo by the beggining of August.

We headed down to the barges which was about a two kilometers from where the bikes were initially inspected. There was no dust storm today, and no clouds either, it was scorching outside. As we started loading bikes into the barge I felt like someone was holding a magnifying glass over our heads and cooking us in our little steel sardine can. The task was simple, but lowering each of the heavily loaded bikes down a very steep 10 ft high ramp which we all agreed would be easier than getting them out. Almost everybody joined in to get the job done. Ig and Ofer manned the breaks, a few of the guys in the barge were helping Alain organize the bikes into rows so that they could all fit. I found it funny that every one there besides the crew had flops on their feet while trying to do all this heavy lifting down done a used to be wooden ramp but now would more appropriately referred to as one giant splinter. The wood was so old that it very closely resembled a pin cushion of splinters, and I was certainly not ready to take a plunge on that bad boy, and neither was anyone else.

Finally after we got the bikes in, it was time for loading the vehicles, and of course in typical African fashion, we were going to have to load it on the roof of the barge. This was where we were hit with another obstacle…the captaind didn’t want to take the vehicle with because he said it was too long. He only wanted to take Dave and Naiomi’s Landcruiser and leave ours here. This really upset Ray so he quickly jumped on the phone and stated figuring out a solution. As soon as him and Alain managed to convince the captain to let us on, a man with some power jumped out of a pick up truck and put everything to a stop. He had a stack of papers with him which were the documents saying what was allowed to go on the barge, and neither of our vehicles were on the mannifest.

Ray jumped on the phone once again and called Mazar who, judging by the tone of voice, he was extremely aggravated with. Something happened fifteen minutes later that I think surprised everyone, the man got off the phone with Mazar, looked at Ray, smiled and shook his hand, and then gestured for the VIP but to move onto the barge. Just like we all expected, it was all a game, the official wasn’t dressed so nicely because he played by the rules, he got his play money else where, in the pockets of time invested tourists and travelers. Either way the bus and bikes were on, but we still had to figure out our passport situations. By now the building had almost cleared of everyone (because we were the only ones not on the ferry yet) and we still had to get out passports, fill out the remaining documents, and hopefully get them stamped. As Ray and Alain handed them out to us we rushed through the customs lobby to the immigration officers. We only had 45 minutes before the ferry was scheduled to leave and we knew that no one here cared if we got there on time. I swear we probably had to fill out about 9 or 10 forms just to get out of Sudan and losing any one of those forms would prevent you for getting to the next step in the exit process.

FINALLY, we all stood there in a group, huddled together like a sports team being hyped up right before a game. Time was getting short and we all wanted to get out of Wadi Halfa’s heat and into the bus to the ferry. After AGAIN checking passports, signing off on lugage, collecting 3 different papers, we finally were allowed to get onto the bus. As we cruised on the dirt road to the ferry, and after almost 6 hours of horsing around at the immigration office, Ray and Alain handed out probably the most important of documents to the guys. A paper that would grant them permission to take their bikes off the barge. If they lost it- their bike wasn’t moving onto Egyptian soil. I think it scared every one, because no body wanted to ever attempt to find their way through all the buereaucratic red tape that we got caught up in today. Like a lot of the guys said, Wadi Halfa is one of those things that everyone must go through when you’re in Africa. But it’s definitely something that you wouldn’t want to do more than once- I agree, 100 %.

It was certainly not the first time we had lost the group, but at times it’s just turned out to be an unfortunate casualty of travel and miscommunication. A lot of the guy’s had GPS’ and even they did not know where this new road to Wadi Halfa was and for a good 15 minutes of the morning the bikes were busy circling Dongola, and we were rushing around to find them. The radio communications had been pretty tempermental that morning which it tended to do from time to time, but once we got it right we all shot off north at a speedy 130kmph.

At the 150km mark we noticed that everybody was stopped in a small village with a crowd of on lookers sitting around watching. The group had made a quick breakfast and tea stop and once again overwhelmed the local roadstand’s ability to cope with the massive order of food and beverages all at once.

Foul

 Ofer offered every one Foul, a local dish of beans and onion meant to be eaten with pita bread. With a relatively bland taste it’s not the most savory of dishes but as Alain likes to put it “Eet’s like concrete for da stomach”, which it truly is.

Everything was moving great, and it was only a matter of time before we arrived in Wadi Halfa, our gate to Egypt. I’ve heard a lot of horror stories about Wadi Halfa from Alain on his 1986 down trip to South Africa from Switzerland on his BMW motorcycle. Once he had gotten to Wadi after being on a barge for three and a half days one of the customs officers wouldn’t let him get into the country without paying a bribe. Every day the officer came back to him and asked “did you change your mind” but when Alain replied “no” the officer would walk away and say “see you tomorrow then.” For 10 days he was stranded on the barge and in the sun until finally the officer gave way and let him through- This was what I pictured Wadi Halfa as, and let me be honest when I say that things haven’t changed much since then because we ended up having problems almost to the same degree.

We arrived to a “hotel” that looked more like a newly built house than anything else. It was painted yellow and had a few ragidy chairs on the balcony framed by a few cracked mirrored windows. It was a very nice lay out and clean in comparison to the hotel we had stayed at the previous night. The AC worked just as nice, and the fan spun just as fast, the dust storm from the previous day had left its mark on the nameless hotel. The bathrooms were in proper function even though the shower only coughed out water once I got around to using it. The water was a blessing though, especially in this part of the world.

We laughed about the difference in water temperature in Dongola the day before. Typically everyone likes to shower in hot water, and of course when you crave warm water the most it’s the most difficult to find. Here in scorching Sudanese summer when you crave cold showers you ironically only get hot- which of course is no surprise to anyone. Instead of having a red for hot water tap and a blue for cold water tap, the hotel had a light red for hot water, and a dark red for boiling hot water. This might be completely unintentional but I found it quite humorous given the ironic circumstances, hot is all you’re gonna get in this part of the world. Take it or leave it.

A man by the name of Mazar who was the brother of Midat who helped us in Khartoum was supposed to organize all of our paperwork for us to get onto the ferry and out of Sudan. Based on how difficult it was to get into the country, I figured it would be equally difficult getting out of it- which seems to make little sense but I swear officials make it their goal to ruin the lives of travelers at their will. We were told that we’d be able to load the bikes on July 26th but arriving in Wadi early that morning proved to be uneccesary because the previous day’s dust storm put a damper on any sort of motorcycle loading.  So we spent the day in the village, eating Falafles, roasting in the sun until we finally found shelter in the local Shisha Cafe which had a fan blowing and had the AC running.

While drinking “hot” tea which apparently cools you down in 42 degree heat, we were listening to horror stories of snow in South Africa. The man who owned the Cafe who spoke english very well came to sit down with us to have the typical “where are you from, where are you going” small talk conversation. While talking to the man we had asked him when the last time it had rained was. He told us 17 years ago and only for two minutes, and to hear this from a man who had lived in Wadi Halfa for the past 30 years was as credible of a weather report as anyone’s ever gonna get. After heading back to the hotel for a small nap in the cool rooms we heated out again to fetch the bikes from the market. As we stepped out of the door, the complete unexpected happened, and as if this trip needs to get any more interesting… it rained.

That night we had omelettes for dinner in which i found a charred fly in. I don’t think it would have been appropriate to send back the omelette because I think in this part of the world, or 3rd world Africa in general, the return on food would have been laughed at. I figured even if I demanded a new omelette they would just flip the old one around the grill to warm it up, put it back in on my thin aluminum plate, and return it to me for round two. Not that it mattered because I’m not typically that fussy anyway, but I think it’s funny how to my standards things are more acceptable in certain places in comparison to others. In SA I would probably have sent back my plate, but here I decided to not worry about it. I’m alive and well so maybe we should stop worrying when we find a charred bug or rat in our meals. Only joking, but it’s good to approach these things with an open mind, it’s no place in the world to waste food and that’s something I’ve learned on this trip.

Whether its accepting that the unused bread will be given to the next person or just accepting that health standards are different in Africa. Ray joked that people in South Africa would make a killing business in Wadi, “but they’d probably get shut down for being too clean”. We laughed, but it might show tribute to the fact that maybe we baby ourselves too much at home. If the locals can eat it then so will I, and so I think a lot of the guys (and Jacci) have adapted to eating local foods very well. A big part part of stepping outside of ones comfort zone is eating unfamiliar foods and I think everyone’s conquered this natural fear as first world citizens and learned something new as trans African travelers.

Day 32 Khartoum- Dongola

I’m being honest when I say that there is not much between these two cities. In fact unless you enjoy admiring vast open plains of sand, rocks, and the occasional mountain or sand dune this is not the section for you. I’d be lying to you if I said it was a rough day infact today was chill, relaxing, easy for everyone- but then came the heat, all 45 degrees of it. Lucky for us, the early morning “get up and go” was the best thing that we could have done for the day.

We shot into Dongola not even 5 hours after we left Khartoum, it had been a very fast drive. Waking up early certainly pays off especially when the idea is to “kill K’s” in the morning to avoid the heat later in the day. A big concern of the group has been the intense temperature highs that strike this part of the continent, 45 degrees is quite the norm with the mid fifties being the upper extremes. We pulled into Dongola right as the sun started pushing through the clouds, we were just in time to escape it’s grips and in time for lunch. The hotel we chose to stay at stood right across from a wonderful little one stop grocery store with its own Falafel stand outside(however it’s spelled). Inside they had a variety of grocery goodies along with ICE cold drinks and even chocolates! It had been a long time since I had eaten some of those and they looked very tasty from the one side of the refrigerator glass. But before we could dive into food we were hustled straight to the equivilant of “the department of homeland security’s” office. At first we were all a little bit sketched out and were under the impression that we were going to get a lot of shit, but when we arrived the agents seemed to be more worried about finding us all chairs to sit in than checking if we were spies or terrorists.

After heading to the hotel and sitting with some town folk on the stop of the store while munching on some chili drenched Falafels for lunch, we hit the room which barely would have suited any countries health code standards but due to the fact that it had comfortable beds and high powered air conditioning units. I don’t think any one seemed to mind, it was a typical one horse town without the horse, there was a lot of nothing going on and thats kind of how it seems like things seem to be in Sudan. The men sat around smoked pipes, drank tea, and watched passing pedestrians clogging through the sand.

As a lot of us took a nap through the hot part of the day Jacci, Rolf, Brandon, and Ryan went for a little tour of the Nile by taking full advantage of frolicking in the water so renowned for its crocodiles and parasites. I guess there is some unspoken rules of swimming in the Nile, have a buddy watch your back for modern day dinosaurs, and never swim in water that isn’t moving because of parasites. I haven’t quite gotten word yet just what these parasites would do if they got into your system, but judging by the way Allain reacted when he heard they went swimming, it probably makes body parts fall off or chronically shrivel up.

We organized a dinner and all hopped into a variety of taxi services including the famous Tuk Tuk’s that seem to thrive on east african roads. Alain, Doc, and myself wedged into the one and a half meter wide back seat and pretended to be comfortable at which the driver stared in his mirror with wide eyes and aggravation. The Tuk Tuk’s engined groaned as we pulled away, it had probably never struggled that much in it life with a big Swiss, Boer, and American in the back seat. Not even five minutes later we walk up to an empty restaurant with only one person lurking around the boundaries of the place. In the background the loud speaker was droning from the prayers at the Mosque and then suddenly it occured to me while nothing was going on.

Brucey Bruce

The place seemed to almost have been left in ruins but it was because every Muslim in the country was praying.

We got shuffled to the attrium in the back of the restaurant which felt like an oven with the walls shading us from the cool (relatively cool) breeze. We had most of the guys out with us and we were all ready to experience an official Sudanese resturant but ironically what we ended up being served reminded us more of South Africa than Sudan. Ray arranged for each of us half a grilled chicken with bread and some chili sauce that tasted EXACTLY like Nando’s chicken. It was incredible that a guy with a small coal grill could quite possibly lay down the competition with a chain resturant back in SA. He was an opperator and just like with almost every resturant, when the group orders food, it’s usually quite above the volume of food that the cooks are used to serving at once. And just like with everything, What Ray demands, (food all being done at the same time) is what he gets.

We for some odd reason decided to walk back to hotel, not odd because of the distance, but odd because we had no idea how to get there. After guessing the wrong turn on multiple occasions and after Ray’s “enjoy the journey” motto started wearing even his nerves thin, he started asking for directions. Doc had not worn socks and was burning blisters into his ankles, while all the other guys were so full that walking was the last thing on their to do list. I must say that Alain, Robbie Berman, and I seemed to have the best time of them all- but we figured that had more to do with age than anything else! After 30 minutes of walking we finally strolled into the hotel ready for a quick snooze before yet another early morning. The AC was on full blast and the fan was spinning with such furosity that it surprised me the next morning with the roof was still there.

Day 31 Day of Rest

Pyramids of Meroe with Rob Noel

• Leisurely rising- natural wake up at 6 30, nice shower and brekkie!
• bike washed a second time after dust storm and rain the night before!
• hearty breakfast- passports and docs for security check at Wadi Halfa
• backed up pictures and data to dirks pc
• excited for pyramid tour but started very late…11 30 we left in two double cap toyota hiluxes
• the drive was plus/minus 2.5 hours each way. Plenty of time to chat to james and Ofer in th car
• on arrive at Meroe, we were quickly joined by two camels  owners. Ofer, Jacci, Rolf, Ryan, all went for a spin
• I watched the leg
• short walk on fromo dunes up into the site…was surreal…breathtaking
• well worth every penny!
• sudan is clearly not blocking tourism, but they also do  not make i tbig!
• no curious, curio shops, restaurants!
• had a novel lunch at a local roadside stop on th way. Learnt, “shukran” as thank you in Arabic

Wad Medani- Khartoum 200 km
I had made no effort to stay awake since the sights were so bleak that they hypnotized me into a sleep. Before I knew it we pulled into a petrol station about 20 km away from downtown Khartoum. We pulled into to a large group of the motorcyclists waiting, we were minus 7 guys who preferred to leave the hotel in Medani later than the rest of the group. In doing so, they void any type of back-up support that they had signed up for, while gambling that no break downs will occur before they reach the main group again.
We pulled into Khartoum in search of the Plaza Hotel, an accomodation organized by one of our Sudanese contacts here. The mosques towered above almost all buildings with its iconic needle towers piercing the air wherever my eyes touched the horizon. It’s bland color scheme was a stark contrast to the lush Ethiopian highlands from only two days before. In a sense it was quite beautiful, the impressive difference between this desert dwelling in comparison to any of the other large african cities we had visited till now. It reminded me of the pictures and clips I’ve seen on the news of from the war in Iraq and the conflicts in Afganistan.
The middle eastern culture fascinates me, especially when it comes to muslim beliefs and traditions. The men and women are seperate in public, and it reminds me of how it must have been where certain groups we’re not allowed to enter the same facilities by law in many history books around the world. To me it’s form of discrimination because my culture has taught me differently, but here it’s completely normal and upon talking to a young woman by the name of Manal who sells exotic African artifacts in the hotel (which include amazing works of art carved from ivory) she seems to dislike this “exclusion” of women in every day life.

Rob and Ray

We got to the hotel after all the motorcycles had pulled in, and naturally we were the last to check in. We filled out all necessary paper worked and then Alain organized an outing to a local Cafe to smoke shisha and drink tea which is an Arabic tradition. My dads eyes almost fell out at the fact that I “smoke” when I told him that I have my own hookah at home, but in a social manner it’s actually quite a very good experience of their traditions, and it’s not like smoking shisha can turn into an addiction-it’s just as unhealthy as a cigarette but the smooth flavored tobacco is a sure hit to first timers. “Hubbly bubbly” is what people call it in South Africa- two words that I still have trouble saying with a straight face.
So off we headed, in search of a cafe, with what ended up being a pretty large group of us just dying to jump into the experience. Alain and I were joined by, Ofer, James, Rolf and Jacci, Doc, and Ray initially. Some of the older guys didn’t seem to really want to go, but I think our excitement finally over powered their will to stay, so they obliged. After 3 stops we finally were chased down by a guy who was willing to open up his back alley hookah bar to us. As we disappeared into the pitch black alley once again, we stop at a couple of green ware house doors (which was pretty creepy at the time) and entered th dark facility.

The room was painted with bright green pain which had flaked off around the entire border of the room from people having rested their heads there. The room was lined with about 25 flimsy and very dirty plastic chairs and in the far left corner sat at least 10 hookah’s ready for a day’s work. In an instance the man organized 3 for us while the woman in the room started brewing some tea which was typically served in a glass that was just bigger than a shot glass with a lot of sugar. I guess the ony sketchy part of the experience was the fact that at any place in the States you would be given little plastic mouth covers so that you didn’t have to put your mouth on the hose that someone else might have used. We made jokes about having sores all over our mouths tomorrow but what we said is way too vulgar to post on any travel blog.
The way the hookah works is that you take a very wet flavor soaked tobacco and put it in the clay bowl on top. Foil is then wrapped around the clay bowl, poked with holes, and then hot coals are placed on top to heat up the tobacco. When you draw in the smoke (the flavor in particular) it pulls it though the water which acts to filter out some of the dirtiness and tar and if the bowl is packed properly it should be a very smooth and flavorful draw. It’s nothing like cigarette smoking and even the first timers thoroughly enjoyed themselves with no hacking and coughing. Rolf and Jacci were so convinced that their children would never believe them when they were told this story that I made sure to take multiple photos as PROOF! It was a wonderful experience, and I found it hard to wipe the smile off of my face. After 20 minutes every seat was packed with locals and not too long after Archie, Ryan, and Brandon all showed up to join the fun.
While we were sitting busy with all kinds of “kak praat” two little black boys walked into the room carrying two pairs of very fancy shoes. We looked more closely and saw a serious flaw in the men sitting in front of us. The two black men were dressed in the most formal attire, but they each wore very ragidy half torn flip flops, which were very fashionably combined with dress socks. When the two boys dropped their shoes to the ground we noticed the exchange, when you get your shoes polished, the polishers trade their shoes for yours until you pay them. For only 1 Sudanese pound, which is about 3 rand, we convinced Archie to turn in his old dusty boots for a cleaning and he also was handed a pair of busted and undersized footware.
After paying less than 20 rand for 6 cups of tea and the hookah, we headed out back to the Plaza hotel to catch a bus to watch the South Africans play the Aussies at a different hotel. Before we left three little kids who had come into the bar and started begging for money were very impressed by the size of mine and Doc’s bare legs. They would run up and touch my skin and then run away out of fright or embarassment (I have yet to figure out which), but when I showed them that it was okay to touch them I felt like a pony at the local petting zoo. The one girl, who I had previously refused money to, took it upon herself to not just give my leg a good squeeze but instead latched onto it like a vice grip. Then she some how managed to pick it all the way up forcing me off balance and bouncing around the side of the street like an amateur! After prying her from my person, I dashed toward the group heading to the hotel, very intent on never crossing paths with her again! I was held hostage by a little 2 ft tall Sudanese girl refusing to let go until I gave her money, she’s got the brute force down, now all she has to learn is some smooth talk.
Lunch negotiations after Rugby consisted of pointing, nodding, and confused looks. We had these wonderful chicken and pepper filled breadies that soothed every hunger craving that I had for the day, which I once again will mention was for a very good price. These filling treats reminded me a lot of the Kebab stands in europe that were always so cost efficient. Let’s face it, eating local is always more fun than eating at a buffet. Okay so you might get sick from time to time, but it happens to everyone. At the end of the day you’ll have a good story to tell and hands down someone to share it with.
Later that night our Sudanese contact took us to a place to eat some traditional food which ended up being more like what we’d consider a fast food restuarant. It was very wonderful but what was even more intriguing was the fact that the streets were flooded with water more than a foot deep. In fact we drove past a pothole that was so deeply flooded with water that a plastic lawn chair was almost completey submerged in it. I guess rain is an unfamiliar face around here and I was particularly surprised to see that it was wet out, especially in the middle of the desert. Khartoum doesn’t have the modern drainage systems that we do so it seemed as if everyone was swimming or stuck in the knee deep water at times!
It’s a shame that it’s such a difficult country for people to get in to, but I think one day when people get to experience it for themselves a lot of negative oppinions would be changed about it. I was kinda iffy about coming here initially, but after spending the last couple of days here, I have no complaints and I would easily come back to visit.

We arrived at the Ethiopian border post where we quickly learned that we had a vital part of information missing for one of the crew bikes. Apparently we had some how managed to lose a vehicle registration paper and if not recovered soon it would mean that the bike would be sitting in an Ethiopian impound facility rusting away until we got the problem sorted. There always seems to be cars soaked in dust crammed together like sardines at every border post, I guess those cars were either stolen or suffered the same fate as a lost paper. Usually Ray seems to have something up his sleeve to get us out of a tight situation, but today he seemed to be a little more worried. He said it himself “I can see us waiting around here for a while” and he was right, especially when it came to the Sudanese customs control.

After about an hour of apologizing, shaking heads, and shrugging, the border control officer (dressed completely like any old Joe off the street) showed us some kind of mercy and let us through. Not that busting through the gate would have been a problem at all, on the account that it consisted of a old thinning rope which had already been weakened by a donkey car that had easily snapped it in half, but it seemed like everyone in these parts of town carry Ak-47′s and I didn’t want to get some trigger happy gate guard to start pelting lead in our back ends. As we approached the Sudanese border one of Ray’s contacts showed us to the immigration office and which when we got there seemed to be quite a fast pace environment, but in retrospect I expected a little too much out of Africa that day.

We all barged into the doors expecting magic to happen, instead after receiving all our passports and stacking them onto a table JUST out of reach it was lunch time and no one was going to sit around and work while everyone else stuffed themselves full. Watching them eat reminded me of how hungry I was and I’m sure everyone else felt the same. The stiff and dry pieces of toast and over boiled eggs (they were green and thats just what I told myself) did not fill the empty gap in my stomach. As I sipped on a semi warm Fanta that Ray had bought for all of us and concentrating hard not to let my american accent slip out, I day dreamed about the conversation I had earlier about how Rolf got back his passport and carnet with the help of what most would consider a small army.

If I can remember right he had about 12 guys 6 or 7 who were military the second time they went back to that Samburu camp in which we slept. Although it was a great experience for me and plenty of the other people, thinking back we probably could have been more cautious about locking our stuff away. “It was all a set up from the very beginning” Rolf told me as we sat at the Ethiopian border as the officials went mad trying to check everyone’s engine number and license plate. Initially a tall man with an orange shirt took us to the village and said that they would let us stay there, dance, take pictures, etc. As the sun fell he soon disappeared and like we initially expected it was when the dances were happening that these people (along with the neighboring village) were busy going to town with their sticky fingers. The part that kept echoing in my head was when he told me what the police had said to him. “Those Samburu people are the rebels who put up the road blocks at night and ambush oncoming vehicles” and I was stunned, I couldn’t beleive it. There we were right in their back yard, thinking it was completely safe.

I woke up from my dream right as everyone started coming back into the office and started looking busy. It took these guys more than an hour to stamp our 20 or so passports and even had Ig running around helping them photo copy each persons passport. Only after returning them to another man behind the counter were they then inspected and stamped. I must admit that I was quite excited getting into Sudan because without my South African passport I would almost never have been able to get a visa. I was excited for Ofer too because having visited Israel (not to mention being an Israeli) and having an exit stamp is an automatic disqualification for entering the country, having a visa or not. Alain once told me a story of the time he came down through Africa on his motorcycle for the first time having been in Isreal right before. After walking up to the customs agent and handing him his passport, the man accused him of having been to Isrea,l spat in his passport, and then chased him out. There is some serious hate going on toward these two groups in this country, but these Arab countries really fascinate me. The culture, the religion, and their traditions are all so different from what any of us get to see at our homes and I’m so happy to now be able to say that I’ve visited at least ONE of these countries in my life.

The immigration section was only the easy part, for the next 3 hours we spend sitting around waiting for all 20 carnets to be stamped. Initially the agents all sent us on our ways, and it was with the intention to just get us out of there because of their own hidden agendas. After all the guys left Ig. Doc, and myself couldn’t understand why Ray and Alain were taking so long. I by this time had finished my project and was battling one of the hundreds of flies who seemed to make a game out of landing on my face as it were a landing strip. Upon walking out Ray’s contact informed him that they did not yet have all the papers they needed, and it ended up being a life saver. When we demanded to have the papers written and stamped the agent told Ray that they have Mosque now and for him to come back tomorrow, and this was unacceptable. After agreeing and only making papers for 3 of the motorcyclists, the guy left the job to a younger man who knew nothing at all of what he was supposed to do. I walked into the room to a sight of Ray sitting behind the customs officials desk with papers sprawled all around him, making a check list, and fussing through papers while Alain stapled and stamped all the documents with the official Sudanese immigration stamp. My eyes were bulging and my jaw dragging out of the astonishment of them hustling around the room barking orders at the young man who I could tell also did not have the slightest clue of what was going on.

As we pulled into the gas station (where petrol was 5 rand a liter) I couldn’t help but chuckle at the random and quite entertaining situations that always seem to happen on a daily basis. The rest of the 300 km drive took us to a place called Wad Medina which was only about 200 km out of Khartoum which meant that we were going to have a very short day tomorrow. At the meeting at dinner in the “Imperial Hotel” we all found out why those papers were so important to Ray and Alain and to the rest of the group for that matter. If we didn’t have those specific papers, we never would have been able to get on the ferry to Egypt from Wadi Halfa only a few days away. Those were probably some of the most important documents that we have in our possession at the moment and the customs agents did not have a care in the world about our tight schedule. I was completely astonished but happy that we have such street smart crew members and such good Sudanese contacts, without them, we might have had to wait a week for the next ferry to arrive which would have been nothing short of horrible with the fore-casted 50 degrees of heat further north.