Entry: 8 December 2009 (Day 56) Place: Wadi Halfa, Northern Border
Exit: 3 February 2010 (Day 113) Place: Gallabat, Eastern Border
After many warnings about the roads in Sudan being the worst in Africa, we were surprised to find that newly built tarmac roads greeted us. Free roaming?
After some time in the capital, Khartoum, we were keen to get off the beaten track and do a roundtrip east to the coastal town of Port Sudan, then down through the Dinder National Park and back again. We made some enquiries into whether we would need the rumoured travel permits. Not according to our friend who worked in the government. Free roaming?
The freedom lasted about 250km until the first police checkpoint sent us back to Khartoum for not having a travel permit. We went through the process of obtaining a travel permit, for which there was no fee. Free roaming?
Yes. Except for that the office printing the travel permits had run out of ink, and it would take 2 days for a new cartridge to be officially issued, so we had to buy them a new one.
These pieces of paper that granted us freedom to roam were met with a variety of responses:
An empty checkpoint.
Utter ignorance at their existence or necessity, despite us proudly displaying them.
A total lack of interest, resulting in an indifferent wave-through utilising the minimum amount of effort.
Mediocre interest, resulting in a somewhat more active arm waving us through.
A friendly welcome and enthusiastic, arm-spinning wave-through.
A rigid palm held up, followed by perusal of our documents, one eye lifting up to inspect us, before the barrier is reluctantly lifted.
Intense scrutiny, near interrogation and a meaningless argument, until we are finally allowed to pass.
The pinnacle of this scale of responses was a full-blown fiasco, which took place in Kassala, where tensions are higher due to the nearby border with Eritrea. We camped a short distance out of town and the next day set off towards Dinder National Park. I had gotten into the habit of walking ahead in the morning for some exercise. Two people in a small vehicle pulled up next to me. Despite the language barrier, I could make out that they were not very enthusiastic at me walking alone there. Being used to people being concerned and asking why I was walking, I smiled and indicated with my body language that all was fine and I would walk on. They didn’t smile and indicated with their AK47s that I should get in the car. They were policemen, who escorted me back to our campsite to the surprise of Gwyn and our Sudanese friends.
We were instructed to follow them to an office for a long argument about why we were so close to the Eritrean border. Illogically, we then had to follow a motorcycle down a long bumpy dirt road to a larger office almost directly on the border. The motorbike broke down, so the rider abandoned it on the road and got into our car with an expression of, “Don’t even think about laughing.”
At the new office we engaged in the same arguments with a new set of opponents, after which we were taken to Kassala town to a main office for a renewed round of arguments. Eventually we found ourselves in the office of a high-ranking official who, barely looking up from his phone call, checked our documents and indicated that there was no problem and we could leave. We were later nearly roped into another argument by a new official, so we quickly made tracks out of town.
The barriers to roaming free were well worth overcoming for the reward of exploring the reefs north of Port Sudan; and to feel at home in the wild, beautiful and unpretentious Dinder National Park, both occasions in total isolation.
