Searching Karima's lost treasures

Its ancient treasures may now lie in scattered ruins, but Karima still evokes a palpable sense of history; a time when pharaohs ruled and a powerful kingdom took shape. 

The desert is reclaiming the pyramids

 It takes about 3.5 hours to reach Karima from Ed Damer. Squeezed into a crowded minibus and sandwiched between two turbaned men as it were, I spent half the trip trying to circulate some blood supply into my leg which was wedged between two sacks of grain. 

Being the only khawadja and woman on the bus, I spent the other half of the journey trying to look inconspicuous as a means of deflecting the intensity of the men’s stares. 

Modern day Karima was once known as Napata. It was the early capital of the Nubian Kingdom of Kush which flourished during the seventh and eighth centuries BC.

View of Karima town and the Nile

 This powerful African dynasty oversaw a period of empire expansion, which included conquering Egypt in the process.

Later the ancient capital south to Meroë, persisting until the fourth century AD, when the empire eventually declined. 

Today a crumbling, but impressive field of pyramids remains, the final resting place of more than 40 kings and queen.

Karima's archaeological remains are centred around the impressive Jebel Barkal, which means Holy Mountain in Arabic.

The rock resembles a rearing cobra

Standing sentry on the outskirts of town and rising out of the desert sands, the cobra-headed mountain was revered in ancient times as the home of the god Amun. 

One of the most important deities in Egyptian mythology, rituals and coronations were also carried out at Barkal so that new kings could be anointed in the presence of Amun.

Carved into the mountain itself is the sanctuary of the Temple of Mut, dedicated to Amun's wife, the Egyptian sky goddess. Its darkened interior reveals a striking series of hieroglyphics and relief carvings. 

View of the pyramids from mountain top

 Today, the temple is locked behind a modern metal door to protect it from vandalism, but the keys are available from the nearby museum.

The Temple of Amun - once a massive complex - now lies in scattered ruins at the base of the sacred mountain.

Nearby lies a modest field of small pyramids, slowly being reclaimed by the desert sands.

View of Karima from the mountain top

 The flattened peak of Barkal resembles a moonscape, with its jagged black boulders and rocky surface.

The vantage point provides a beautiful panorama of the entire region, spanning the empty desert interior, the urban sprawl of Karima and the green palm groves and villages that stretch along either side of the Nile. 

We leave the desert behind and walk back to town the long way through the silent palm groves.

Jebel Barkal: View from the palm groves

 Black and white cows gaze at us disinterestedly and through the trees we catch glimpses of village farmers working in their white jellabiyahs. 

As we walk the barren rock face of the mountain slowly disappears behind a curtain of date palms.

Date palms

Karima is a laid back market town, and much like its ancient wonders, parts of its more recent history have also passed their glory days. 

The town's railway industry is now defunct, although the station house looks well maintained - if a little forlorn.

The empty seats along the platform seem to be waiting almost optimistically, as though the next train had simply been delayed and was on its way. 

Karima's riverboat graveyard

 Karima is also the eerie resting place of several British steamers, which plied the Nile during colonial times as passenger boats, mobile traders and post offices.

Overgrown steamboat

When they were no longer economically viable they were unceremoniously hauled up on the banks of the Nile where they remain stranded to this day in a tangle of undergrowth and weeds. 

Forgotten souvenirs

 It is possible to climb aboard and explore the interiors, and despite their poor state there is something endearing about these grand old riverboats.

Life jacket stamped "London 1962"

 Tap fittings, claw-footed baths, instructions to passengers and London-stamped life jackets remain onboard, coated in a heavy layer of dust, like nostalgic reminders of a bygone era. 

In this picturesque setting, it is not hard to re-imagine these old steamboats in their former glory, sailing serenely along the blue waters.

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A birthday surprise made in Sudan ...

As an aside, I also celebrated my birthday while in Karima. Sudanese don't do birthdays and the 'event' largely promised to pass by without much fanfare (much like Christmas and New Year).

After such muted celebrations for these occasions, the thought I must admit was a little depressing. 

I received an unexpected lift however, when another SVP volunteer surprised me with a birthday cake.

The cake was designed by my friend, who supervised its creation by a Sudanese housewife in the northern village of Delgo. 

Remarkably the woman had managed to acquire coconut, sprinkles, chocolate and icing sugar in the Delgo souk (not exactly known for its wide variety of shopping choice).

More accustomed to baking bread, the lady modelled my cake on one she had once seen in an upmarket bakery in Khartoum. It was very tasty indeed, I must say! 

She had also written my name in icing across the top, despite the fact she doesn't speak English or know the Latin alphabet.

When other villagers came to view the finished product I'm told they scratched their head quizzically and asked ... “What is Kate?” 

This thoughtful gesture is one of the nicest things someone has done for me in a very long time.

Blowing out the solitary green candle and cutting pieces with a Swiss army knife after arriving in Karima is not something I will forget easily. 

Sometimes the simple act of kindness is the best gift of all.

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.