Boat rustlers!

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This is the story of how I ended up floating down the Nile in a leaky, wooden dinghy and had to be rescued by Sudanese fishermen.

Climbing down the steep brick steps to the muddy water of the Blue Nile below, the first thing I noticed was the floating jetty was neatly tucked away on the shore. The boats were still tied to it though and with a bit of clambering and a small jump it was still accessible to our party of six.

We were celebrating the breaking of fast one muggy Ramadan night, with a picnic by the famous waters of the river, Blue. Sudan has both the White Nile and the Blue, converging in the capital Khartoum.

Someone has the bright idea of climbing into one of the boats. We pick, amongst an array of motor boats, water homes and the like, a small, white, paint peeling dinghy. Immediately our shoes are soaked from the brown, murky water swooshing around inside the vessel and we laugh as it sways precariously back and forth, desperately trying to hold our weight.

Then someone has the even brighter idea of untying the boat. ‘Why not!’ we cry, and I think to myself, ‘What a great photo opp.’

As soon as the rope is untied the once sad, unassuming dinghy leaps into action. It pushes away from the ledge and catapults itself into the oncoming current. Still laughing we realise the paddles on the boat are actually just two long wooden sticks that fatten about two inches at the end. The guys heave and push and throw water about until we are spinning round and round like a ballerina, all the time rushing further away from the shore and faster along the Nile.

There is a point here, were the laughter fades away and we gaze around at the dark rippling waters sprayed with reflecting specks of gold from the lights on Tuti Bridge. The giant egg-like shape of the Corinthian Hotel (formerly Gadaffi Hotel, but recently changed) looms in the distance and the air is filled with the shrieks of tiny birds and bats. The full moon lights the dusty sky and for a moment a look of awe crosses every face huddled on the creaky, wooden dinghy.

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And then, reality: ‘Shit! How do we get back? Guys row in time!’ More sploshing of water around, more spinning, desperate grabs at passing reeds and tree branches, more laughter, although this time there is a hint of anxiety in it. What we don’t know at this stage is that the jetty was tucked away because of a no-row policy in place. After rains the Nile expands rapidly, stirring the thick, gloopy mud to the surface. It is extremely dangerous to swim at this time as the mud weighs down on people and can pull them under. It is fortunate none of us got in the water, although it was heavily discussed. Turns out later, the reason for not swimming was due to my good friend wearing a thong. A thong may have saved her life.

The Nile is filled with sediment washing down from mountainous regions (the Blue Nile starts in Ethiopia, the White through Uganda, as far down as central Africa) and bringing with it nutrients and minerals that are integral to desert civilisations such as the Sudan and Egypt. It can be said, that these civilisations existed for hundreds of years purely on the fertile sediments flowing in from the Nile.

It is this, life-sustaining sediment, which could have easily drowned the lot of us.

A fishing vessel from Tuti Island, warned by our anxious picnickers back on the shore, hurries out to meet us. They have a large boat with a roaring motor, which still struggles against the heavy current of the Nile. We bring back our now water logged dinghy safely to shore and apologise to the owners, who accept with gracious good faith, our foolish endeavour.

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If it’s brown…

Know that saying:

‘If it’s yellow, let it mellow, if it’s brown, flush it down, if it’s black send it back’?

We flushing dis sh*t down.

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Sudani Cookbook #2

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Start with a fresh, sweet mango from the fruit stall on the street near the bus station.

Middle sized, sweet/sour, green mangos are great for this dish as they offset the sweetness of the dates.  By the way there are ten varieties of mangos in Sudan, so we can be picky!

Once diced, add three sliced dates. Dates are bought on the street (see a pattern forming) in large baskets surrounded by teas, peanuts and miscellaneous seeds. I go for semi dried or soft dates, but again, there are many different types and grades of softness/chewiness/sweetness.

Add yoghurt (bought in a corner store!)


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Watching the sky for that moment to come

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Apparently next week we should prepare ourselves for transportation to our teaching destination outside of Khartoum.  As this is the fourth week we have been told this, we are not overwhelmingly convinced of leaving the capital, but excited none the less.

Maybe I will miss the hustle of the chai stands at night, the ‘Tss Tss’ sound men make in the Souq when we walk by, the cries of ‘Money, change’ and ‘You, dollar, euro!’

Or maybe I will miss the plastic bags wafting down the street like a wave of jelly fish, the black, smelly liquid emitting smells only just able to ignore, but I don’t think so.

I will certainly miss the strange little plant I have watered daily and tenderly touched each tacky new leaf as it unfurls. I will, of course, miss the friendships formed with the other volunteers, our ‘in’ jokes-of which we have many, including: ‘traditional, Sudanese, Amazing.’

Laughing at the slight difference in pronunciation, spelling or semantics between the Australian, the English and the Americans.

I will miss all the hidden gems of Khartoum: The frog fountain at the Botanical Gardens, the Tammiya stall down the road, the forest of cracked earth and dead trees alive with monkeys early in the morning.

I will miss our Sudanese friendships; awkward, intriguing, superbly humbling and generous.

I will miss the flat, once despised, determinedly cleaned and now our home.