Tea With The Nubians In The Desert

"Now we drive two hours in the desert." announced Rasheed, as we turned off the tarmac and headed out towards the dunes. He wasn't exaggerating. There wasn't even a single track to follow. There were hundreds, heading off in all directions. God knows how Warbarak, our driver, knew which way to go. 

For the most part, the ground was firm underneath a thin layer of sand - Keith, sitting up front, said it felt like skiing down a piste, following partly filled tracks, after a recent dusting of snow. But in places the sand was deep and soft and our four-wheel-drive struggled for grip. When Warbarak saw a tricky patch coming up, he'd accelerate to get us more momentum. That meant that if we hit any humps or holes we all went flying. 

It was after one particularly jarring bump, and having not seen another vehicle for half an hour, that Keith suddenly thought. 'What if we break down? We're in the middle of nowhere and it's 40°C in the sun.' At that moment Rasheed's mobile rang. Even way out in the desert we got a signal. Amazing.

The sudden increase in plastic bags clinging to bushes and bottles strewn across the ground, signalled we were getting near to a village. Like many third world countries, Sudan suffers from a litter problem. But it seems so much more noticeable in the desert. And no one seems to care. At one overnight stop, we spotted Warbarak dumping, onto the ground, all the plastic bottles we'd carefully saved up for several days.

When we arrived at the village, full of typical Nubian houses with colourful doors and white walled courtyards decorated with simple paintings, we stopped at one for a cup of tea. The lady of the house was very friendly and, while she lit the fire for a brew, Rasheed showed us around. In the kitchen, he pointed to a small hole in the ground full of burnt embers. Apparently the Nubian ladies 'purify' themselves by lighting some acacia branches and squatting over it, wearing just a loose robe, allowing the smoke to permeate their bodies. It's also supposed to lighten the skin but they must be kippered by the end.

About an hour later, we stopped at another, similar, Nubian village for our second cuppa. The kids had been very quiet and a bit shy in the first, but here they were very chatty. We couldn't understand what they were saying but they all kept tapping at their wrists. "They are asking for a watch" explained Rasheed. We'd, thankfully, seen very little opportunistic begging in Sudan and the schoolchildren here were by far the most. But why a watch? Who carries spare watches with them? Some tourist must have come out with a bag of cheapies and handed them out, creating this expectation. What a strange thing to do.

We didn't stay long, partly because of the flies and partly because we were now feeling slightly uncomfortable. Rasheed didn't pay the hosts we descended on he and didn't know them either. He was relying on their legendary generosity.

School was coming out, as we left the village. We must have passed a hundred kids, some on donkeys, all tapping their wrists. Keith couldn't help mimicking them, to Warbarak's amusement.

Another half an hour later, and virtually smack on the two hours of driving Rasheed had predicted, we bounced over the brow of a dune and saw the start of a straight tarmac road ahead of us. It looked like a runway, and just like after a bumpy flight, it was a very welcome sight.