All Aboard

Despite the horrors recounted by other travelers the 18 hour ferry ride from Sudan into Egypt was relatively mundane and almost pleasant. It was the bureaucracy that was painful. For some reason the only way you can cross from Sudan into Egypt is by sailing up Lake Nasser to the port town of Aswan. There are roads crossing between the two countries, but no border posts. Everyone and everything must go by barge. Crazy? Beyond crazy. And the kicker is that you cannot travel on the same barge as your car (and are usually forced to relinquish your keys). And…the ferry only leaves once a week! So in order to get to Egypt from Sudan you need to arrive in Wadi Halfa Sunday or Monday (to load your car, apparently the car ferry takes 3-4 days). You’ve no other options than to hang out in the dusty border town until Wednesday when you check in at the ferry terminal at 11:00 am for a ship that finally sets sail around 6:30 pm; the next 18 hours are spent sailing up the Nile. If you’re lucky (and we were) you car will be waiting for you at Aswan. If you’re not so lucky you get to wait in Aswan until it does. We’ve heard some grizzly accounts of travelers stuck in Aswan wondering where there car is…for days on end.

We docked around 9:00 am. By the time we cleared customs with the necessary paperwork stamped and filed, the standard Egyptian slimeball ‘tax’ extracted and doled out to the various ‘officials’ and ‘helpers’ it was 4:00 pm Thursday afternoon: a 4 day border crossing, our longest yet.

But we’re here and loving it so far.

My love,

Corrin

PS: If you’re en route to Egypt via Wadi Halfa and come across an Egyptian ‘fixer’ named Kamel beware. 

On Being Canadian, I Mean American

Just today I was standing outside of a café waiting for Glenn to clear emigration and load the truck onto the ferry for its 3 day journey up the Nile into Egypt. As I was sitting on a dusty concrete porch - watching a kid chase after a tottering wheel with a lead stick - a large robed Nubian man approached; in perfect English he welcomed me to Sudan and asked my name. During the course of our conversation Qutpi asked where I was from. I told him The United States, a truth reserved for officials but generally withheld from passers-by. His lips betrayed his narrowing eyes, a wry smile spread out across his face; he asked, “aren’t you afraid to be here?” “No,” I replied playfully. “Should I be?” I asked raising an exaggerated eyebrow to mirror his mockery with my own. We laughed at the absurdity of policy and he went on to tell me of his family living all around the United States and welcomed me to Sudan with a warm handshake.

Fear is a weapon that divides, a concept known all too well by people throughout the world. Sometimes it is dressed in a cloak of culture and other times faith, it is the classic us against them mentality. It usually boils down to unfamiliarity, all too often we fear the unknown. This Nubian man understood such divisors, and felt propelled to thank us for coming to Sudan. He asked me to write home and share our experiences of what it really feels like to be here. He understood that something as simple as a familiar face is often times enough to turn an adversary into a friend.

I must admit that the media machine helps perpetuate these imagined divisions between people. My first day in Sudan I was walking through the souk (market) sussing out the various array of Sudanese produce, taking stock of the new ingredients on offer. As I traversed the alleyways tasting and sniffing my way through I was welcomed to Sudan no less than a dozen times. The question that follows is: ‘where are you from?’ Up until now we’ve been pretty stoked to be American since Obama is nothing short of a demi-God in Africa. But Sudan is another story and one not so easily bridged by skin color or bought with food aid.

So are we afraid? We claim Canadian citizenship to the casual asker, so yes, in a sense we are. But I do feel more than a twinge of remorse lying to these beautiful people who simply ask out of curiosity. I am torn between portraying the truth and extending another face of America to a population as unfamiliar with us as we are to them. So why the lie? Good question. Of all the countries we been through this past year we’ve yet to feel as safe as we do here in Sudan. Glenn says that it is a safe bet, everyone like Canadians, but I think there is something else, a reason that isn’t as easily explained. Perhaps it is out of fear, but the answer isn’t one that I can put my finger on.

My conversation with the Nubian man changed my perception of the banality of that lie. I am withholding information that might break down that fear by replacing it with a human face; every day I have the opportunity to be the familiar face of America. Come to think of it, we traveled under Bush for 8 years, talk about hated, so what is the big deal? Is it because the Sudanese are Muslims and we’ve been told that Muslims are ‘bad’? How much of the fear mongering has actually taken hold? I don’t know.

From here on out we will claim our rightful nationality. Not everyone likes Americans, so what better reason to be American? We might be the only Americans presently in northern Sudan, so we’ll do our best to represent y’all.

My love,

Corrin

Thank you Qutpi…

Our photos around Sudan can be accessed here and here. 

Getting Closer to God

Islam is grossly misunderstood in the west. In The United States where freedom of religion is one of the cornerstones of our country – not to mention one of the freedoms many of us cherish the most - one gets a sense that those religious freedoms were not intended for Islam. Besides, Muslims are different from us. Their God is named Allah*, very unlike our God. Sometimes I wonder if freedom of religion actually means freedom to choose your preferred version of Christianity.

Sudan is 70% Muslim with most of its adherents Sunni, so it is best to know a thing or two about Islamic culture if you’re going to be out and about. I have more than a slight aversion to the term ‘culturally competent**’, but I try my best to keep any major guffaws to a minimum. Besides, Sudan does not have a friendly relationship with the USA, our government’s long history of foreign policy precedes this little micro adventure of ours and we’ve certainly felt the effects. As diplomatic as Glenn is, he hasn’t been able to iron out the wrinkles we’ve created in this part of the world, yet.

Without getting too off course on policy issues there is a breakfast dish here called Bush. It is a thin gruel of bean water; no beans, they were too precious after Bush cut relief to Sudan in response to Sudan’s backing of Saddam Hussein in the first Gulf war, just bean water and a slab of onion, which pretty much sums it all up. And financially Sudan is cut off from the world: no visa, not ATM’s that are not Sudanese owned, so our credit/debit cards no workie here in Sudan. Just two little strangle holds the western world imposes when you choose not to play ‘their’ game. Ok, back to Islam.

So when we heard about Omdurman’s Sufi dervishes we had to check it out. How many of you hear whirling dervish and conger up an image of the Warner Brother’s Tasmanian devil spinning up a dust cloud? Surely I am not the only one. As famous as the dervishes are, I didn’t know a thing about them - apart from my comic imagination - until we joined them one night in a ritualized chant of la illaha illallah (there is but one God).

Sufi’s are a separate order of Islam who abide by the sharia (Islamic law prescribed in the Koran) but they differ from Orthodox Muslims in their belief that the path to Allah is through more mystical means, like trance and meditation, not ritualized prayer. Sufis often garner skepticism from mainstream Muslims but their long and varied history in Sudan is a testament to the relaxed traditions of Sudanese Islam. And you would be hard pressed to encounter a population of people more welcoming and gracious than the Sudanese.

On Friday Glenn and I hopped in a cab and headed out for a night of chanting, whirling and spectating as the dervishes shortened the gap between them and God. Here are our photos of the weekly ritual. And despite being a woman wedged in between all of the men I was singled out by a beautiful Sufi chant leader who took it on himself to lead me in my own personal path to God. There was an indescribable tangible quality to the evening and I could almost grab hold of the love that radiated out from the dancers. For one night we were all Sufi and love ruled.

The rest of the photos are here.

Sending my love to you,

Corrin

*Allah is God in Arabic.

**Do you actually think that one can become culturally competent in a culture that is not your own? Think about it.

 Is it possible to bone up on another culture in say a few weeks? a few months? I don’t think so. Cultures are so rich and diverse because you grew up learning all of the intricacies over a lifetime. They can’t be explained away in a book of etiquette.  So you see the rub. You can certainly become sensitive to other cultures extending a basic knowledge as an offering of respect, but to become competent without living in an environment seems like a nice way for westerners to strive to ‘understand’.

Afrihassles

We have had an eventful week in Nairobi. We rolled into Jungle Junction last Wednesday. We planned on picking up a few packages that were ‘waiting’ here for us before heading north. Despite having two of the four packages sent and ‘signed for’ several months ago, they still haven’t arrived. Now this isn’t a big deal, this is Africa where - to quote Glenn - “EVERYTHING IS A *bleep* HASSLE! After eight days of phone calls, internet tracking searches, more calls and questions, we have located our loot. 

Apparently the replacement power cord for my Kindle is in transit to JJ as I type. Our WaterStick® water filters have completed their second transatlantic flight to Africa, this time sitting in the Kenyan Post Office for a couple months growing mushrooms in the back room. Why they weren't delivered to the addressee is another question and one I haven’t the answer to. After several calls to the Postmaster I believe they are en route to the post office nearest to us, but I’m not sure. When I asked him to confirm the address on the box before he sent it over, he told me that it was too late, “the package had already been sent.” So let’s hope that whatever is in the ‘big box’ is at least as good as pure drinking water for the next few months.

And then there is what we've begun calling the million dollar Christmas presents, a parcel of thoughtfully gathered goodies express mailed 2 day air to us by Louise so that we wouldn’t have to wait around in Nairobi. These little treats - that we are sooo looking forward to - are being held hostage for $200USD ransom at the customs office at Nairobi International Airport. Not kidding you. The customs officers actually believe that some pancake syrup, a couple tubes of toothpaste, some lip balm, lotion and a couple t shirts should be taxed 14,000 Kenyan Shillings! I have Earnest at DHL working on it for me, but it looks like I will have to take a $25.00 cab ride to the Airport (we leave city driving to the pros) with a box cutter and some finely honed negotiation skills to see what we can work out.

Now we have certainly been in Africa long enough to learn how to graciously accept these little setbacks; TIA (this is Africa) is a saying that we hear often. So whatever happens, happens. Besides, St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, has been watching over us the entire trip, so who are we to second guess him now? To us, this is the Universe sending a message, and when the Universe speaks, we listen. There is some sketchy stuff going on in Sudan right now, so maybe being delayed in Kenya another week is all part of the plan.

Speaking of Sudan, yesterday we were denied our first visa (gulp). We were told by other travelers that you can obtain Sudanese visas in Nairobi. Well, apparently you can, as long as you’re NOT American (Glenn says they are jealous of our freedoms). We stood there with our applications in duplicate (yes, you actually have to fill out two with such tidbits like your religion, mothers name and blood type) looking a bit dumbfounded as the lady told us that Americans cannot enter Sudan. Nope, not possible, bye…then she refused to look at us, let alone talk to us and the plate glass barrier between us was a little hard to overcome. No explanation, nothing. We were dismissed. I think I whimpered, but… she was too distracted texting her friends to interpret my plea. We were caught off guard because there is no such restriction on either the American or the Sudanese websites and frankly, up until now we really haven’t come across a rude African. 

Humm. There must be a way. We had just met an American girl who drove through Sudan a month or so ago; it is possible, it's just a matter of figuring out the logistics.

We are determined to get through Sudan. Going around Africa’s second largest country would mean crossing back through Kenya and Tanzania, Going through the Democratic Republic of Congo (ya, no), Chad and Libya… opps, as Americans we can’t get into Libya either (can’t say I blame them given our history of ‘foreign policy’), so we’d have to skirt Libya going through Niger, Algeria and finally into Tunisia before getting on a ferry back to Egypt. Or we could go through Kenya, in to Djibouti, load the cruiser onto a cargo ship sail up the Red Sea around Sudan then on to Egypt…a better of the two options for sure, but we’ve heard wonderful things about The Sudan and we really, really want to see it.  

So we head over to the American Embassy for travelers assistance. Well, if you’re an overtaxed American citizen apparently you can’t visit your own embassy without an appointment. So we spent an hour trying to make an appointment via cell phone while loitering just outside the enormous gate - which surrounds an even bigger embassy complex - and were told that we cannot make an appointment because there is no one at the embassy who can assist us. Bu bye. We are AMERICAN CITIZENS WHO NEED HELP! Isn’t that what embassies are for? Can you guys at least let us past your AK 47 toting pit bulls so we can ask someone to call the Sudanese embassy and see what's up?!? You're kidding right? Nope. You can't come in. We can't help. Go away citizen.

Meanwhile, as I was wrapping up the 10th of my 12 phone calls to the embassy, Glenn was circling the complex in search of anyone who might be able to get us past the guards. As it just so happens, in a city of 3 million people, Glenn winds up talking to the brother of the woman who denied our applications at the Sudanese embassy just moments before (see what I mean about St. Christopher)! So of course, this is Africa and anything is possible, Glenn tells the brother that we will do, “whatever it takes” to get our visas. Mohammad rings his sister and they chat. He is speaking Swahili tinged with English all we can make out is: Americans, do whatever it takes, visas, Sudan. He is quite for a bit, apparently she talks after all, then hangs up the phone. He confirms that there is nothing she can do.

We return to the Jungle Junction and Glenn takes up the task of getting visas for Sudan. He makes a few calls, talks to a few fellow travelers and consults Chris, the owner of JJ and get’s us sorted the following day. Whew. Apparently, Midhat, our newly hired Sudanese fixer, can ‘arrange’ for our visas to be sent to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia upon our arrival. Yeah Glenn. Yeah Midhat! Now we’ll see what really happens in Addis.

So today we’re hanging out in Nairobbery, contemplating a second visit to the giraffe orphanage while tracking down packages and surfing the web. Thank goodness for Internet. Hopefully our packages will arrive today or tomorrow and we’ll be spared any further Afrihassles...at least for the week. I am ready to hit the open road. We are itching to see Ethiopia.

Big love to you guys. Thank you so much for following along, you make sharing the adventure a delight. Please keep the messages coming, we love reading your letters/comments.

XO,

Corrin

A week in Nairobi is enough time to discover the campground chameleon, visit the elephant orphanage, the giraffe orphanage and an animal prison (by accident. It was called an orphanage, but was nothing more than a zoo). Here are the photos of our week.