A weekly boat is the only means of connecting Egypt with Sudan, one of the poorest countries of the World. Overcome the passport control chaotic, one is walking up the decrepit vessel. It's like a buffalo stampede. The pier is crowded with various objects. The crowd loaded with bales dodges; This is a place on deck or in the halls of second class. But the gateway is small. Very small. Just be a person, but here are hundreds who want to get together with all their impedimenta. Aged, children, women, young, suitcases, boxes, bags, Carpet, bumps and bicycles ... humans are pressured to go while entering. Shouting, sweats, jostle, curses ... It is as surreal as awful.
Push tirelessly to advance through narrow aisles with a finger grime on the walls. There are people everywhere. El olor to Mankind, molasses, sweat and snuff is choking, you can almost cut with a knife. I cross the dreadful kitchen where garbage is piled with food, although in reality it is difficult to distinguish one from another. The tea cups and scorched black look, grounds crammed and flies. The site found enough are lying bare feet and rolled up chilabas.
I have to overcome hundreds of bodies lying on deck. When hooked wrestle my luggage on a door and breaks one of the beers that charge. I feel its coolness on my back. The smell of fermented hops expands and overrides for a moment the air acidity. I take my backpack and pulled out quickly the can. Before you waste the precious liquid is the plight of a drink. Ah, fuck, I feel better now. After the snack, charge again penetrated my heavy luggage and first class. It's just as filthy as the second, but at least we have the service close.
Three chipped sinks, a toilet and squatters for a 700 People. ¿Unhealthy? I do not worry about the span of water that flooded the latrines. There is stagnant. It is continually renewed through the overflowing of one of the pools muffled where the next day the true believers will meet the foot cleansing ritual before praying. Meeting my cockpit. The number 17. I open the door unlocked and before me I find two square feet of space occupied by a litter of brown sheets for much use and the few washings. The rest of the furniture I make pillows filled with stains paths, formica table torn and full of waste paper.
In the microcosm of the boat is just knowing that you are close by because. Literally stuck. There are two British cyclists. A family of German overlanders. A group of Japanese. An Egyptian who speaks broken Spanish and has worked on a luxury boat on the Nile. A former Protestant minister Coptic that go to Khartoum to preach. And the stars. I have discovered the best kept secret of the ship. You can go through a door to bow. It is down the hall class. At night we went to the deck of the bridge. We drink our beers. Navigation is calm and draw upon us the clearest Milky Way. This clarity is amazing, this purity. As always, watch the African sky gives me a reason to be doing what I do. At such celestial immensity everything else is blurred and even the water that flooded the filthy toilets I think it is nothing more than a little out of place Nilo.
At night we went to the deck of the bridge. We drink our beers. Navigation is calm and draw upon us the clearest Milky Way
We have managed to land, but the bikes are still arriving. Wadi Halfa is a moridero. We can stay here forever accompanied by dust and life goes slow. My routine is always the same, sometimes lively night visits as of last night. I heard noises bag, like someone in our olives hurgase. I move and I see a movement. An animal jumps out the window to the outside. I hope it was a cat instead of a rat, although in reality it does not matter.
I get to sleep despite the heat but awake soon, almost at dawn. I drink coffee with cold water. I go out of the room. Draw the beds of the other guests scattered through the halls. Insufferable visiting the latrine where the shower hole shares space with the Turkish plate. I run before the oven saharan do the impossible. sudado back after an hour of stepping on sand.
Alicia's awake. We locate something to eat. Today I went to the market and I've eaten a watermelon right there for five pounds. I bought after provisions for both. A kilo of tomato, seven lbs. A kilo of bananas, three. four pomelos, five. Three unleavened bread, one pound ticket sobado. It's funny what ticket. Sudanese currency may be impaired, No dollars. If they are minimally torn, not accept. No way. I remember the issue of dollars predate the 2000 in Kenya I narrated in my book A million stones. I tell the story of the color of money into German traveling with his family and Descojonado, although not in a good mood, he is tired of waiting for his vehicle also.
Sudanese currency may be impaired, No dollars. If they are minimally torn, not accept. No way
But it has not come today. Wind Culpa, say. We expect another day of lassitude. This hamlet flabbergasted at the galbana not revive until dusk. Then crowded the main square. What is a mean square, It is not more than a field in the middle of a rectangle formed by the miserable adobe buildings here. Center is called because this is where they sell cold drinks just some preserves and pickles. There are also some hotels catadura even worse than ours. As the sun, a lively crowd comes from who knows where and sit on plastic chairs to watch TV. Dozens of monitors scattered around the village. The people of Wadi Halfa gawk front of the screen admiring Arab TV series, Z serial old movies or football games.
As they, have come to account for a basic dinner whose composition depends on what is available that day at the barbecue made with metal drums cut lengthwise and in a weak smoldering embers. Yesterday was fish, Today was chicken, but when we arrived we are over. Instead we serve lamb meat grilled. It is tough and leathery, but we are hungry and spicy onion and lime juice tiny the wolfed.
¿Health problems by eating with hands? No need to worry. There Nile water to wash. The population is well stocked drums with taps and soap to wash before eating. Rinse hands, mouth, a gargle and hemming and finally sounded good noses with two fingers to expel any mucus clinging to the nostrils. Ready to pray, eating or drinking tea with friends. This hygienic ritual is repeated several times a day from early well and we can delight us with their music still lying in bed. In fact, sound ablutions guests Hotel Kilopatra help us wake up.
When we finished the banquet, fat and friendly welcome to business owner, Always dressed in a crisp white djellaba and we go walking to the hostel raising puffs of dust deadening our step. Still, tomorrow is another day just like. The bikes will not arrive because the boat has mysterious mechanical problems and return to tell us not to worry, to arrive tomorrow. How long will this dream eternal Groundhog? Impossible to know. There is no way to break the jinx. Everything is a mystery in Wadi Halfa, where the horizon is infinite earthy, where it all begins again where it ended and where the theory of relativity with its elastic space / time here comes into its own.
