Life in Ed Damer so far

Our courtyard

A home away from home

Our home in Ed Damer is a simple, yet comfortable sanctuary surrounded by mud brick walls, with a wide verandah and white-washed arches that lend a certain colonial elegance.

A hardy tree and several henna bushes also add an unexpected splash of green to the otherwise bare courtyard.

There is one tap in the bathroom, but water is only switched on at certain times of the day, so to ensure we have enough to keep us going, we fill a large barrel for use throughout the day.

Tap water...after boiling

These days I use a bucket for almost everything  - from showering, to flushing, laundry and washing up.

The water supply is pumped directly from the Nile and is brown in colour, with a slight muddy consistency, even when boiled. 

The locals say it’s safe to drink, but I’m not too keen to risk it.

Ed Damer itself is a biggish town with a village feel that on the surface seems rather unremarkable.

Wide dusty streets comprise of a series of low-level interconnected mud-brick houses distinguished by the brightly coloured metal gates so typical in Sudan.

There is little in the way of restaurants, cafes or entertainment. Even the omnipresent tea ladies so common in Khartoum are hard to come by.

Railway tracks cut through the centre of town, with a modest brick structure marking the station. The bustling rail industry during British colonial has long since faded and passenger services no longer operate.

The rhythm of life here beats at a constant and unhurried beat, driven by the ties of family, duty and faith.

Nights are mostly quiet and uneventful here, except for the distinctive braying of donkeys.

My bed, with improvised net

I sleep outside on the verandah under my mosquito net – and although it’s winter in Sudan at the moment, you’d hardly know it.

As I watch the stars just before falling asleep, I sometimes get the feeling I’ve fallen off the edge of the world.

Our neighbor and alarm clock every morning is the local Suhaili mosque next door, which sounds the morning call to prayer at about 4.30am each day.

Ed Damer sits on the Nile and this is undoubtedly the town's jewel and lifeblood, with the famed river's clear blue waters flowing through fertile farmlands on its way north to Cairo.

There is something majestical about watching the sunlight reflect off its glimmering surface as men in white jalabiyas walk stroll along its banks with donkeys in tow.

When cultures collide

I’m yet to start teaching as it has been a holiday since my arrival and my timetable arrangements are also still being decided.

Rebecca has introduced me to some of the local English teachers at a nearby girls’ boarding school.

Local ladies

They are enthusiastic and welcoming, although their language abilities are limited.

I find myself experiencing a collision of worlds when a discussion begins about polygamy. 

For me the idea is unthinkable, but the women here are pragmatic.

As the head of the English department explains, while ladies certainly don’t like sharing their husbands, under Islam men are permitted up to four wives and if their husband decides to take another woman as his wife it is their duty to accept it.

Later the conversation turns to life in Ed Damer. I ask one of the young ladies about a camel market I have heard about it, and her eyes widen in surprise.

Women aren’t allowed, she explains, it’s only for men. I ask if I can go if I am accompanied by a local man, but she says even that is not permitted.

Girls' boarding school

In fact I soon discover that women are not allowed at any of the markets – with the exception of the ladies souk on Saturday.

If women need something during the week they must send their husband or a male relative to fetch it.

This seems ridiculous given that women in Sudanese households manage all of the cooking and domestic chores.

I can't imagine Sudanese men have a particular love of grocery shopping either.

The teacher also tells me that as a young, unmarried woman she never goes to the souk herself, sending instead her mother or sister in her place - even on Saturdays.

Market handicrafts

She recommends I do the same myself, although I’m not sure of how the logistics of that would work given that my mother isn't exactly living in the same neighbourhood.

When I ask the young lady why she doesn’t go to the market to get the things she needs herself … she shrugs and says that’s the way it is.

I bite my tongue at the time….but I still can’t completely shake off my feeling of annoyance at what feels like an imposed restriction on women from going about what is essentially a normal daily routine.

My Sudanese family

Fadia and her family have taken us under their wing since our arrival in Ed Damer and have been very helpful in settling us into our new home.

Their house opens out onto a lovely green courtyard and has a comfortable, lived-in feel.

The Nile in all its loveliness

Fadia's children Sheza and Ali also speak English and have been very welcoming. I feel as though I have already started to consider them my Sudanese family.  

They invited us for lunch at their home on the weekend, and we passed a lovely afternoon that turned into evening as we sat chatting, drinking iced karkade  (a sweet drink made from hibiscus flowers) and milk tea.

After lunch we set out for a short walk through the neighbouring farmland to the banks of the Nile. Along the way we bump into some local brick builders, who oblige by posing for a photo.

We reach the Nile just as the sun is setting. It’s a beautiful site as the orange and pink hues converge and sink below the horizon.

The moon is nothing more than a thin sliver and Fadia clasps her hands in front of her sends a short prayer into the sky, a special hadith said at this time of year to mark Al-Hijra (the Islamic New Year).

Local brick workers

When we return Griselda recites a limerick verse she composed for me while we were out concerning my encounters with the vagaries of Sudanese bureaucracy. 

It’s the first time someone has written a limerick for me and I’m quite chuffed to say the least.

The following day we picnic on the banks of the Nile a short distance from home. 

I play marbles and Scrabble in probably the first time since high school and somehow manage to fail convincingly at both.

Fadia also takes us to the ladies souk to shop for weekly supplies. It’s a noisy, assault-on-the-senses, but easily laid out with all the essentials. 

Fadia helps with bargaining and I memorise the prices of things so I can try out my own negotiating skills next time.

I’m still pretty shy when it comes to bargaining, but it’s a way of life here, so it’s something I’ll just have to get used to.

Picnic by the Nile

The traders are wide-eyed to see Griselda and two other Khawajias (foreigners) wandering amongst them and words soon spreads around the souk like a game of Chinese whispers. 

Of course everyone wants to know what we are doing and why we are here.

After the hustle and bustle of the souq Rebecca plays us all a tune on her viola back at the house. 

There are tears in Griselda’s eyes at the end as she tells us how much her late husband would have loved to have been here to hear music played in their home and how glad she is to see it come alive again.

On the wall hanging opposite us a portrait shows a reclining Abdullah Tayib laughing and relaxed, so in some way it feels as if his presence is here after all.

“You're not in Paris, you know!”

The streets of Paris ...?

After almost a month in Khartoum, my paperwork is all finally in order and it’s time to move on to Ed Damer and what will be my new home for the next seven months.

There are some nerves about what I can expect there, but I’m also looking forward to settling in and being able to unpack after living essentially a transit lifestyle for more than three months – first in Rome and then in Khartoum.

Ed Damer is the capital of the River Nile State in north-eastern Sudan and about 300km from Khartoum. 

It lies across the bridge from neighbouring city Atbara, which sits at the junction of the Atbara and Nile rivers and was once the centre of the Sudanese railway industry, which has now fallen into decay.

Home away from home

I made the trip to Ed Damer by bus with Griselda – the British widow of famed Sudanese scholar Abdullah Tayib – who has kindly offered her vacant house for me and Rebecca’s use during our stay in Ed Damer.

Now in her 80s, Griselda has lived in Sudan since the 1950s and is somewhat of a minor celebrity here.

While we were buying bus tickets, locals snapped photos on their phones and watched on half in amusement, half in open admiration as she fired off orders to her entourage in rapid Arabic.

She might rely on a walking stick to get around, but there was nothing feeble about her scathing dismissal of the hawkers stubbornly haranguing us.

“Isn’t this just ghastly?” she says with posh British aplomb as she cuts a pass through the bustling marketplace and we board the bus. 

Despite the madness and chaos at the bus station, the journey itself was surprisingly civilized.

There’s perfumed air conditioning and light snacks and drinks were even provided. 

Farmlands around Ed Damer

Admittedly, there were some genuine moments of terror - most notably when the bus swerved - not once, but twice - to avoid an oncoming vehicle.

At this point rather than slowing down, the driver inexplicably accelerated, causing the bus to lurch dangerously off-road and almost tip over.

There were also several stops along the way for the men to pray and pee (women must hold on) and in the end it takes about five hours to cover the 300km distance.

Griselda is a lively conversationalist nevertheless and keeps me entertained me with stories of her and her husband's early life, as well as pointing out archaeology sites and other points of interest along the way.

The terrain for the large part is unrelentingly flat and dusty – empty except for a few nomadic goat herders and the spindly low-lying trees that somehow survive in the harsh desert environment.

The junction of the Atbara and Nile rivers

Later, some remarkable rocky outcrops break up the flatness of the landscape and the scenery becomes more dramatic.

As we pass close to the Meroë pyramids, orange-hued sand dunes rise out of the desert and the road suddenly cuts briefly through a small mountain pass.

Griselda’s niece Fadia and her husband Abdul-Raheem are waiting to pick us up at the station in Ed Damer.

It is already starting to get dark when we arrive, but in the distance I can see the familiar gait of camels moving nochalently across the shadows, as well as the distinctive tents of the nomadic tribal people scattered along the outskirts.

As we drive towards the town centre, Griselda turns to face me in the backseat: “So Katie, what do you think?” she asks gruffly … “You’re not in Paris, you know.”

One evening in Khartoum

Tea with Nada, Mona and Rheem

If arriving in Khartoum had a surreal feeling, leaving again was bittersweet. 

It’s been almost a month since I first landed in this bustling, sprawling, incoherent maze of a city just before dawn. 

During that time I have lucky enough to meet a lovely group of local people who have sat with me over endless cups of tea, sharing wonderful insights that have helped me navigate life in Sudan so far.

On our last night in Khartoum (for awhile), fellow volunteer Robert - was also leaving the following day for his placement in Delgo - and I joined a mutual group of friends at a popular boulevard (although that might be overstating it somewhat) lined with tea ladies and plastic chairs along the banks of the Nile.

Moeze ever the poetic philosopher turned to us on the way and said somberly: “Khartoum will be darker tomorrow...” For a moment we thought he was talking about power cuts until he continued ... “two of its lights are leaving” and we realised rather belatedly he was actually talking about us.

The ladies that joined us spoke limited English, so what followed was a raucous if somewhat bewildering conversation interspersed with rather inexplicable bursts of laughter. 

Moeze our go-between did his best, but most of the humour seemed to be lost in translation. 

Regardless, I was soon laughing a long wholeheartedly with everyone else whether I understood the punchline or not. 

It was the most I’ve laughed in a long, long time and it really was a lovely evening spent with good company. 

Sudanese have a wonderful capacity to make you feel welcomed. 

As we were waiting to take an amjad back downtown, Mona - one of the young ladies - suddenly took my hand (here it’s quite common for lady friends to walk hand and hand) as we strolled down the road. “Beautiful”, she said touching my hair, “beautiful” she said pointing to my blue earrings.

Although I am enjoying getting to know life here, there are moments when I really miss the 

closeness and familiarity of my female friends. 

And even though we had only just met and did not share a common language, I felt so grateful and touched for Mona’s spontaneous gesture.

Desert camping in an ancient kingdom

Daybreak at the pyramids

Every now and then you have an unforgettable experience that helps remind you why you made the decisions you did.

I had one of those moments recently while camping in the desert just next door to Sudan’s ancient pyramids.

Six of us set off walking about 11pm from Bagrawiyah village where we stayed with Rami’s family during the Muslim holiday Eid.

At the time, it seemed both reckless and exciting to be walking through the quiet village streets into the darkness beyond.

Guiding our way is intrepid fellow volunteer Robert, who is an experienced traveller and has already camped at the Meroë pyramids on previous trips to Sudan.

We navigate by the moonlight and the shadowy outline of the pyramids in front, walking parallel to the road so as not to be seen by passing cars.

Behind us the green minaret of the Bagrawiyah mosque becomes smaller and smaller. 

The Meroë pyramids were constructed about 800 years after their Egyptian counterparts. 

Good morning!!

The area is the final resting place of more than 40 kings and queens from the Merotic Kingdom, also known as the Kingdom of Kush. 

There were once more than 200 pyramids scattered across the desert sands at Meroë, but today that number stands at about 20.

While some remain well-preserved, others are crumbling or slowly being reclaimed by the desert sands. 

One of the first stories locals will tell you is that of Italian explorer Giuseppe Ferlini, who infamously smashed the tops off 40 pyramids in 1834 in search of treasure.

While Ferlini hit the jackpot inside the first pyramid he plundered, the 39 he subsequently destroyed yielded nothing.

Desert campsite

Once back in Europe, he struggled to find a buyer for his treasure trove, as no-one believed that such exquisite jewels could come from black Africa, with collectors assuming Ferlini was an imposter trying to pass off fakes. 

Since then, the pyramids have been virtually plundered of all their wealth and many historical treasures and artifacts relating to the period are now housed in British and German museums.

Still, there is something sacred about Meroë, and not simply for the fact it is an ancient burial ground, but also because it remains virtually undiscovered by modern tourism. 

Technically tourists are not allowed to camp at the pyramids; however guards tend to tolerate the practice if done discreetly.

After an hour-and-a-half walking we arrive at the edge of the dunes and climb to the top to scope out a good spot to pitch our tents.

Our desert sunrise

The wind has picked up and setting up our tents in near darkness proves challenging, particularly when we discover mid-way through that the pegs are missing.

An ancient kingdom

Imagine how ridiculous we felt in the  morning when we discover the bag of pegs in the sand nearby.

In the end we anchor them down with our backpacks and set off for a moonlight stroll amongst the pyramids.

The silence of the desert and the ghostly shadows   of the ancient pyramids and the surrounding dunes  makes for an eerie experience.

We talk in hushed tones and keep in the shadows, which to me is more out of reverence for the ancient crumbling kingdom we are walking amongst, than staying out of the way of any patrolling guards that may be in the area.

It's just after six when we wake in the morning. As we step out of our tents the sun is just rising and a pale pink sky highlights the desert horizon. 

I have to say, it's a pretty special moment...

We climb to a nearby vantage point and watch as the light changes, illuminating the sands in various golden shades.

Young souvenir sellers

As we return to our camp to pack our tents away, a solitary man on a donkey waves at us across the desert and promptly sets up a small makeshift stall with small trinkets and pyramid replicas carved from the region’s distinctive sandstone.

This sets off a retail chain reaction and we are soon totally surrounded by a group of small children waving various replica pyramids at more and more reduced prices.

Something in their eyes and the desperation in their pleas makes me wish that I could do more for them than simply buy a dusty souvenir.

We set off on a hike later and quite by accident stumble across a series of mountains, housing a network of small caves. The rolling orange dunes give way to a rocky barren moonscape and the view from the top provides an impressive scale for the endless expanse of desert stretching out across the horizon.

It’s true that the Meroë pyramids may lack the grandness and scale of their Egyptian counterparts, but here you can have them almost to yourself – and that’s pretty hard to beat.

The intrepids :)