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Published: March 9th 2014
Due to the Eid al Adha holiday all government buildings were closed in Khartoum, meaning we were holed up for a week in a wonderful old colonial building in among the equally lavish foreign embassies that make Khartoum (2) their home. The lack of tourism in Sudan saw to it that we were the only guests staying in the YHA for the entire week and I doubt they'd had many visitors in the last few years. This forced hiatus allowed us to re-charge our batteries after the tough trip down through the Sahara from Egypt. It also gave us time to plan our assault on the 'forbidden south'. It wasn't usually possible for tourists to visit the southern half of Sudan due to the Civil War - but I had a rather brash plan.
When Khartoum sprang back to life once again we decided to put it to the test. To gain permission to visit virtually anywhere unusual outside of Khartoum you first had to visit the Ministry of Tourism and tell them where you intended to go. We were given some forms to fill out and as we chatted I thought I’d try my luck by scribbling
down names of some smaller towns down south, slap-bang in the middle of the rebel-controlled zone, hoping they were fairly unknown to those living way up north. The guy nonchalantly thumbed through our paperwork, pausing at some of the more obvious towns we added for good measure; I asked some questions to divert his attention at strategic moments, and he stamped away!
Bewildered by the ease with which we had been given permission - I folded up my sheet, put it in my pocket, and asked the guy, gesturing to a large map of Sudan on the wall, whether it was possible to visit the Nuba Mountains. "No!" he said "very dangerous…a war zone!" I didn't have the heart to inform him of his little error - we quickly left. Now, in theory, nobody could stop us - after all we had government permission!
When visiting Sudan there were many checkpoints leading into and out of towns and cities. People needed permission to pass these. Once inside these towns, you were not allowed to check into any hotels until you had visited the local police/army, showing them your permission to visit the
town and a letter from the hotel you wished to stay in.They in turn provided you with a rubber stamp to stay at the named hotel. Such systems are set up to control movement. Huge webs of bureaucracy. Through my years travelling in such destinations I had learnt that strict bureaucracy leads to a marked common sense lobotomy. If you haven't got the right stamp, you can't pass, regardless of your reasons. On the flip side, if you possess the required rubber stamp, doors will open, regardless of the reasons.
The trip down was tough, even by African standards. At El Obeid tarmac gave way to sand and dry mud. The faces changed from Arab to African and seemed to get friendlier the further south we ventured, even by Middle Eastern standards. Locals (strangers) would buy you endless cups of tea and coffee, pay for your meals and offer you to stay at their homes. The people we got to know reasonably well (after an hour or two) even bought us gifts - leaving us totally shell- shocked and feeling strangely guilty. You’d stay at a hotel a few nights and when you went to check out they’d have
bought you a gift, which in many cases easily cost as much as the bill. Out on the streets in villages drinking tea, we’d get up to pay and they’d comment that so and so who was sat over there had paid for us before they’d left.
With our magical piece of paper we skipped through the security formalities with a minimum of fuss, and after a week we arrived at our destination. Kadugli is only about 1,000km from Khartoum but light years away culturally and geographically - down here it is mountainous and relatively green. This is where the fertile soils of the south meet the Saharan sands of the north.
But amazing as all this was, it would be just the start of our adventure – my main interest being to discover what was left of the indigenous Nuba animist culture after the genocide that had allegedly been perpetrated by the northern central government over the last 20 years. And this would involve venturing a little further into the unknown: the Nuba Mountains.
During the (second) Sudanese Civil War, over the previous twenty years, this part of the world
Abandoned_Nuba_village
Demonstrating typical terrain in the Nuba Mountainshad suffered serious neglect, virtually no infrastructural development…not to mention the destruction and displacement wrought by the war itself. The reason it had been at war was due to the ethnic and religious division of Sudan: Arab Muslim north and a mainly Christian and animist south. This in itself would probably not be enough to push a country to civil war until you factor in that 75% of all Sudan's oil reserves are in South Sudan.
The people of the Nuba Mountains are not culturally or politically aligned with the north under religious law nor the Arabic Language. As a result of this, and living right on the border between north and south, the Nuba have been persecuted from the north. This being the only mountainous area for hundreds of miles around makes it a strategic region both for those fighting the north and those fleeing the fighting all around. This has seen this region suffer indiscriminate bombing and attacks on civilians. It has also seen methodical mining at entry points to the Nuba Mountains, in attempt to cut off supplies and flush the inhabitants out.
In 2002, due to the extreme
starvation of the people of the Nuba Mountains and under the international pressure from the UN, Sudan authorized an interim cease fire to provide food and medical equipment/support to the people of the Nuba Mountains. In exchange, the southern army the Sudan People's Liberation Army/SPLA, which largely controls this area, agreed not to attack the south-north oil pipeline which runs through this region. An international group of observers/advisers (The Joint Military Commission/JMC), set up by 12 nations in an attempt to bring peace to the mountains, was deployed to Kadugli with several international advisers deployed directly into the Nuba Mountains to monitor the tentative cease fire.
Breaking New Ground
The destination we had in mind was a Christian town called Heiban to the north of the Nuba Mountains - from there we could explore the surrounding mountains. Unfortunately, due to the ongoing war, most of the roads were littered with anti-tank mines and the only way to get to Heiban was taking a truck 100km or so and walking the remaining 30km through the mountains.
As we were the first tourists in town for a decade we were advised by locals to speak
to the Joint Military Committee (JMC) to seek advice on this trip. In what was effectively an army base set up outside town I spoke to a British guy who confirmed that nobody had made this trip before. He added that when they wished to visit Heiban they personally drove the long way around, which took a full day in 4X4 or 2 days in a truck. In emergencies they would use a helicopter.
They also informed us that our planned trip would require us to trek through the mountainous rebel territory controlled by the SPLA (Sudanese People’s Liberation Army) -- the enemy of the government. They were a little worried about it and the soldiers we spoke to said that if we achieved this feat, we would certainly be breaking new ground - hearing that phrase was all the incentive I needed. We said our farewells, with them commenting that they would love to hear from us afterwards if we passed back this way…little did they know.
To get to the rebel border we needed to take a local truck which was one of the most difficult days of travel I had ever experienced - 50 plus people (plus belongings) crammed into the back of an open topped truck. Temperatures well over 100F. A distance of just under 100km took 11 hrs to cover because we were forced to drive alongside the dusty 'road' because it was littered with anti-tank mines. Most of the chickens died en route, and then to add insult to injury, we were attacked by a plague of locusts, in the dark!
Arriving at the end of the road around 3am, completely wasted, knowing we only had a few fitful hours of sleep until we left - we bedded down on the hard dusty earth and waited for dawn. The biggest problem however was that we had no water and so around 5am I went wandering around the mud huts which littered the village to see if I could find anything. I managed to anger a few dogs, but water in this part of the world is a valuable commodity and isn’t left lying around, I was to discover.
When the sun came up we waited our turn at the communal well in the morning, with about 30 local women staring at us in absolute amazement. Then an hour or so after the sun came up we were ready to set off with a small group of local people and head off into the mountains on foot. Just outside the village we passed an army barracks and a makeshift border of large white blocks daubed with black X’s – but since nobody seemed to be around this early we passed unchallenged, seemingly into SPLA territory, the Nuba Mountains looming ahead.
There are literally no roads in the Nuba Mountains. The villages that are there are connected by ancient paths that can only be reached on foot. This is the refuge of the Nuba people who reside in one of the most remote and inaccessible places in all of Sudan. Jutting out of the vast and barren plains this is considered a place of refuge, bringing together many disparate peoples down through the ages fleeing oppressive governments and slave traders.
The dozen or so people we were walking with held a constant and brisk pace. The temperature this early in the day was tolerable, but as the day wore on the mercury began steadily rising as our fellow travelers gradually drifted off in different directions. It was a challenge keeping up with the small family which remained as we followed them, struggling with our big backpack/daypack combos. The terrain as we entered the valleys inside the mountains became markedly steeper, though unfortunately still not high enough to see any significant reduction in temperature. At midday it reaches 44C nearly every day in this part of Sudan.
As the sun reached its highest point in the sky it became apparent the family we were following was lost. After trekking halfway up the side of a valley with us struggling to stay with them, they paused for some time and double-backed, shaking their heads. They, and inadvertently we, had taken a wrong turn.
To top this off, our seemingly profligate water supply collected earlier that morning had dwindled to virtually nothing owing to the amount of water we’d consumed in staving off the heat. It was at this point I made the decision to go it alone. After the energy exerted getting up here I wasn’t about to walk all the way back down again.The path we were on was obviously made by people, so it must eventually lead to people. We split from the family with them indicating we would come to a village if we continued up the valley and over a pass.
We continued on. At this point I was beginning to become concerned. We carried on up the side of the valley increasingly exhausted, carrying everything we owned (including tent and my personal library of some dozen books). The one consolation being that our load had become lighter now that we only had about 250ml of water remaining between us! After a pause under the shelter of a tree, I made the decision that we should climb to the next pass. If there we could not see any signs of life we would seek shade, take rest and wait for nightfall. Then we could ditch our belongings and continue onwards at night, out of the sun.
We finally reached the pass after a further hour’s hard slog, on the other side of which we could see a tiny life saving village just 500m down the valley.
With the aid of gravity and energy I didn’t know I had, I literally ran down the other side of the mountain and collapsed on the dirt in the village next to some rather surprised locals. A small pig began sniffing around me, which meant this village was likely animist. After having traveled all those months through a whole host of Muslim countries to get to this point – via Pakistan, through Afghanistan, Iran, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Egypt and now Sudan – it was no exaggeration to suggest I would have been happy to die right there and then in such close proximity to bacon.
We were ushered into the nearest hut, a round stone structure with a thatched witch’s hat shaped roof, and as I lay exhausted on a raised string bed totally spent, I was fed nuts and water by a rather worried looking older man. Most of the village by this stage had assembled outside the hut and came in to gawk at us and offer us endless gifts of nuts and hardboiled eggs.
Before the sun went down that day I took an investigative stroll around the village. We were met with wonderment by the inhabitants, and sheer terror by the children! The children would run for cover as fast as their little legs could carry them, genuinely terrified. One scene which will forever be etched in my mind was of a lone child of about 4, who stood paralyzed, screaming; his hands clapping and feet stamping waiting either to be either eaten by us or rescued by his friends! I have never seen this kind of terror anywhere, but I now know the meaning of the word hysterical!
Although I was delighted to see people living here, in what is effectively a war zone, many of the kids were unfortunately suffering from malnutrition judging by their swollen stomachs.
Despite their perilous existence, these people were prepared to give us what little they had, and it was certainly humbling - in return we gave them some gifts we had received from others during our time in Sudan. And even though I was aware of the faux pas, I still offered money, only for it to be met with reactions of mild disgust.
They gave us fermented milk to drink, and offered to slaughter a chicken or a small cow. We pretended we were vegetarian (although if they offered a pig I might have been tempted). They were constantly saying that they should have more to offer us, and it was genuinely moving. These mountains are a rich fertile area, but due to the Civil war these people suffered needlessly.
One of the men spoke the rudimentary English he’d learned whilst stationed in northern Kenya, where the Sudan People’s Liberation Army’s political wing was located. He became the village’s translator. I told him I felt troubled with people giving us stuff they clearly didn’t have. He said they felt troubled since they should be able to offer us more. After all, he said, people in our country would do the same for them if they were ever to visit. I nodded, pondering the reality of his statement. A statement that had a profound effect on me, and does so until this day.
At 7am the next morning we waved goodbye to our village and were accompanied down the valley by a few of our host’s teenage children who helped carry our day packs. I strategically left behind my Walkman as a parting gift. After about 2hrs hike down into the valley we arrived at a dry riverbed. This being February, it hadn't rained in months. Women were digging at the bends of the dry riverbed to retrieve muddy water buried about a metre down, and then carrying it back the village 2/3 hours away. The reality is that if they lived down here in the valleys they would become sitting ducks for government bombing raids from the north.
At this stage we were again alone, though feeling safer with the directions we had received to simply follow the dry river up the valley. Near the top of it we reached an SPLA army base where we were waived over by some SPLA soldiers.
We were asked where we were going; they wrote us a small note in Arabic and sent two of their colleagues to accompany us up the valley. The soldiers who attempted to help in carrying our packs gave up after a few minutes. The heat was rising once again by this time, but with the help of some more locals and in particular one woman who somehow managed to balance my pack on her head, we proceeded at a healthy pace.
Once we arrived at a main SPLA stronghold at Kauda, we were met with more soldiers who were asking our mission and whether we had permission to be here. We were then escorted up to one of the top army chief’s huts and briefly questioned.
We were permitted to rest there during the heat of the day before some guys came in (some with limited English) who began searching our belongings. They took out maps I had hand drawn of the area and some older ones I had made of cities in Afghanistan, from which I had made a small guidebook I’d distributed to fellow travelers in Iran and Syria. And though they carried AK47s they confiscated our pocket knives and cameras. They also leafed through some of my photos and were particularly interested in those of Afghanistan and one with me standing beside the third highest religious man in Iran, and a picture of me dressed in Shalwar Kameez in Pakistan firing an AK47. It was at this point I began seeing this situation through their eyes and that they thought I was working for the ‘other side’.
About an hour later some army interrogators arrived and took us away for questioning - 2 hrs each, separately. They spoke perfect English, and they had clearly done this before.
They told us from the outset we were in trouble! Yes it was a cease fire at present, but that meant that they were still technically at war with the government. We had effectively illegally entered their 'country' without permission. But not to worry, if they thought we were the enemy they would have killed us already...yet they were still trying to find out if we were just that!
Our excuse of being 'tourists' wasn't convincing anyone. No tourists had been in here since 1983, they said. And if we were tourists why hadn’t we obtained a permit from their political wing (SPLM) in Nairobi, before our arrival? Sure we wouldn't have been granted permission but at any rate, the procedure for official visits was to fly directly here from Kenya, without stopping in Sudan. Then to be escorted around by soldiers in areas of their choosing. They were concerned we had seen highly sensitive areas that no outsider was allowed to see - and we had apparently just wandered in with our backpacks, taking pictures of children!
They fed us and told us we weren’t going anywhere before more investigations could be made. Early next morning I was awoken for an hour’s personal scrutiny. They were interested in my 'mission' and just why I had been to all those Islamic countries.
We were forced to remain in what was effectively a prison hut for most of the rest of the day - interspersed with brief visits and more questions. Then in the early afternoon we were asked to gather our stuff and head down to the main base.
From a distance we saw a white man approaching up the hill on a quad bike. He was a Brit called Phillip (not his real name) who was Sector 1 commander for JMC. He told us he was a top retired military man who had brokered many peace deals and seen many conflicts.
He explained that we were indeed in trouble - that we had entered SPLA area illegally and that our embassies had been notified and he was awaiting news from London. He said he had asked the rebels if he could take us back to the main JMC base and then return here to go to court when needed. If found guilty of entering illegally we could face 6 months in prison. However, the SPLA, he said, thought I was a spy and so I couldn’t leave. I didn't ask him the penalty for being a spy. Or what if we were sentenced to 'jail' time?...The ceasefire was only to hold for another 4 months!
Phil left on his quad, promising to return after seeking directions from the Foreign Office in London. When he returned just before nightfall, he had some good news and some bad news…
NOTE: This blog was originally posted on the website travelblog.org ten years ago to the day -- However it had no photos (due to content). Several months later I took it down vowing to re-post it again one day with photographs. So here it is, replete with photographs courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Enjoy!
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Home and Away
Bob Carlsen
I knew that entry date had to be wrong...
you and your family were just in Spain...not Central Asia. And the "we" didn't fit. Why would you take your wife, much less your kids, on such a dangerous trip! And you are supposed to be teaching in China right now. Thanks for the clarification!