5th November 2009 – Day 38 – Dongola, Sudan

After more truck-bus and service-station adventures (this time with cold Pepsi) with the newly formed gang, we arrive somewhere on the outskirts of Dongola in the delightfully African position of not being able to find out where we are. People, as elsewhere in Sudan so far, are very friendly, wave and greet us but their ability to give directions and distances is far inferior to their friendliness and we start to wonder if we are going in the right direction. We are consistently waved in the same direction though, and our curious column plods on. I can only imagine what people must have been thinking behind their smiles – 4 white guys, one woman and a Chinese guy lugging their backpacks along the main road into town, greeting everyone along their path and asking for the nearest hotel. M remarks that it looks more like a low key military invasion of Dongola, and at one point the group decides to invade a small shop and get supplies (Mirinda and Pepsi). Here, the battalion set up camp and sent an advance reconnaissance party in the shape of Dixon and myself, and we continued, freed from the burden of the backpacks, down sandy streets to eventually find a cheap hotel where the owner offers to put 6 beds in one room for 12€. We head off back to pick up the rest of the battalion. Dixon’s a very enthusiastic character about most things and on this occasion, he asks a boy on a passing donkey-cart for a lift and the boy waves us on without stopping. The impact of two guys on the back of the cart is enough to tip it over and the boy falls off the front but in a show of deftness probably eliminated from the Western gene pool, he manages to take a few steps between cart and still-moving donkey and hops back onto his cart, balancing it perfectly, in one movement. He laughs and we carry on our way.

The cortege marches into town

The Lord Hotel is a novelty in many ways. Firstly, it is next to the first set of traffic lights we have seen in Sudan – it’s strange how quickly you forget that these things exist and their sudden reappearance can even cause mild excitement! The pleasures of travelling, eh… Secondly, the Lord actually has showers. Being naked before going into the shower is also a sensation that is easily forgotten, and I have some kind of sensation that something is missing. M had showered already and drowned the cockroaches which were lurking, and I flicked them into the Turkish toilet that the shower shares floor space with. Fresh and smelling good for the first time (and probably the last time) in many days, we head to the street café outside where the guys are sat with Mohammed.

Mohammed is an English literature teacher at the University of Dongola and his English is a fantastic mix of high-class Windsor and L.A. ghetto and his sometimes complex sentences are interspersed with “dude, no biggie” and “Wassup my man” and tales of appreciation of series like Only Fools and Horses. We suggest that he watches Fawlty Towers, which he hasn’t heard of but shows a great interest in. Eventually he gets up and invites us to his friend’s wedding just round the corner and we happily accept this time. No sooner have we arrived than we are brought chairs and, five minutes later, a guy in a Jalabiyya comes and drags us off to the “dance floor” where we bop around to Arab-Nubian wedding music and congratulate the bride and groom. The guys and the girls dance close to each other but separately. Seeing us guys dancing, a big group of younger guys from the wedding party come and dance with us and egg us on. M’s efforts with the girls are rather less successful and, with the exception of a small girl, the other girls seem either shy or confused, or both, and just stand and stare as M struts her stuff in front of them. Her efforts to wriggle out and join the guys are unsuccessful and she is relieved when the rest of us go to sit down. Mohammed’s a great host, answering our endless questions happily. When he leaves, he agrees to meet us tomorrow evening and take us to a small castle on an island close to Dongola. We stay on a bit longer, get dragged off to dance some more and take our leave, sleeping like babies.