In Wadi Halfa, Sudan, I met two young men in search of gold. Apparently it is a rather common pursuit in these parts.
‘There is gold in the desert,’ they insisted, ‘and we’re going to find it.’
Dreams of the common man discovering gold have fluttered all around the world and lured many believers to promised lands. For Ahmed and Muhammed, who had caught the same ferry I had from Aswan in Egypt and were staying at the same lokonda, it was the endless sands of northern Sudan that captured their imaginations and glittered with buried riches.
Apparently, Ahmed and Muhammed are not the only ones with such a dream. Bussing down the 11 hours of desert stretch from Wadi Halfa to Khartoum, I caught glimpses of a few solitary figures roaming the dunes with long stick-like devices (metal-detectors, I am told). In the 45 degree heat of the desert sun, where the horizon is lost to a sea of sand, they moved like snakes across the dunes. I’m not sure how long they had been out there. Perhaps they’d been searching all day. Perhaps only a few hours. Nonetheless, given that heat, I’d imagine it wasn’t a particularly enjoyable experience.
So why on earth do it? Everyone knows that those stories of gold-finds are more often false rumours that end up bankrupting those who chase them. But bussing across the northern desert, I was converted. Indeed, Sudan does have gold. It was everywhere before me: as the sun sunk lower towards the horizon, it sent out golden rays which illuminated the apricot sands. Rocks glittered a warm brown with streaks of red. Lemon yellow sands melted into a deep orange glow, and here and there, tuffs of lime green grasses and patches of straw-like bush lifted their shining heads. Warm citrus colours embraced the clouds of dust puffing out behind the bus and enclosed us in a butter-hued hug. Everything glowed, sparkled and shone. And everywhere was golden. Yes, there is definitely gold in the desert.
If the evening colours of the desert could convert me once into believing in Sudan’s gold, then the midday sun of Khartoum could convert me again. At a soaring 45 °C, the past few days in Khartoum have been some of the hottest I have ever experienced. Every morning I awake sticky, and as the day progresses my skin seems to gather the heat and hold it relentlessly so that, come evening, I am heavy with it. The sun in Sudan, high on its podium in the sky, is a large fiery king as oppressive as the country’s own president; it flogs with long yellow arms and beats down on us with golden strikes. Like the sought after metal, it is solid and unyielding. It does not relent or break; it simply shines, shines, shines in its own ego. Yes, there is gold in the Sudanese sun.
And, as if the colours of the desert and the nature of the sun weren’t enough to convince me, the sheer goodness of Sudanese people confirms everything. I am having such a wonderful time here with Sabah (my dear old flatmate from UCT) and her friends and family. I have met some wonderful people and been treated so kindly. These experiences are infinitely golden – valuable and treasured, cherished and adored – and I feel so wealthy for having them. Yes, Sudanese people are made of gold.
Yesterday, I met a taxi driver who had been on his own gold-searching mission in Wadi Halfa a year ago. He, however, had returned to Khartoum empty handed. ‘There is too little gold out there. It is hard to find,’ he said. A week ago, I would have commended him for his return to reality, but now I can’t help but think he’s been looking in all the wrong places.
I’ve found my gold. Sudan is infinitely golden to me.
