khartoum

The flight from Amsterdam to Khartoum was uneventful, which in terms of being in the air flying, is a good thing. It was a day flight and I attempted to stay awake for the duration in order to adjust to the local time, but jet lag conquered the will to stay awake. Final approach to Khartoum; a sprawling city of sand colored square buildings, interspersed with modern ten story glass window skyscrapers. The usually rush of adrenaline filled my veins at this point as I was about to embark on a new city, and really the first true “Arab” city. This rush has become less and less powerful over the years; it is now more of a slight tingle and then subsides quickly as the reality of the hassle to navigate the political and bureaucratic strewn landscape becomes apparent. Regardless, that is all part of the game, a game that has becoming more interesting and fun to figure out – of which the current city will be the ultimate so far. Security – is there an issue? I was told “they” will know what I am doing all the time, so don’t worry about anything – shoot straight. The suspicion will be there.

As the plane came to a halt and the fasten seatbelt sign went off with a ding – I grabbed my carry-on and walked to the door. The hot Sudan heat was blowing in, accompanied by the all too familiar smell of Africa – at least the dry hot Africa – right as you are about to walk down the ladder from the plane – not sure how to explain it, but if you have been there you will know. It’s a mixture of pollution, the dry heat, of course a whiff of jet fuel. The all too familiar instant where one stands at the door, looking off into the horizon that is dotted with palm trees and the landscape of a distant strange city; having the warm air blowing in your face; smelling the outdoor air for the first time in hours; hearing the subsiding hum of the engine; the distant terminal with meandering workers; the airport with a sign in a foreign language – in this case scribbled Arabic. It all happens so fast; one instant - and then you are walking down the steps to the tarmac, trying not to fall down as your legs are remembering how to walk.

I was one of the first off the plane and walked over to the large bus that would ferry us to the arrival terminal. As I was standing on the bus and the bus had filled up, I heard someone yelling my name. At first I thought I miss understood, but then it was clear and I moved back towards the door. Sure enough, it was my name. At first I thought I must have forgot something on the plane. As I was about to step off the bus and back onto the tarmac, three men where standing in front of me and one confirmed that I was who I was. I stepped off the bus, with the people in the bus watching wondering what is going on and was guided away by these three Sudanese men. One extended his hand and told me #### had sent them to pick me up and expedite me through immigration, so I followed them into a private bus with a/c and curtains on the windows. The doors shut and we sped away. In the bus I was introduced to another man, a higher up in the airport ranks – I say hello, nice to meet you, not sure what the protocol is when you meet someone who is helping you get into a country the easy way. The bus stops and one of the men takes my passport and there is some Arabic exchanged with other people – it always sounds like they are arguing to me. I really hate giving up my passport, at any point in a journey. But I was far too reliant on #### and these men at this point. I am showed to the business lounge and told to wait as my passport disappears.

The lounge has free wireless, so I am able to entertain myself as I wait and do my duty of updating my facebook – now I’m not a facebook junkie, infatuated with updates, but how many times will I be able to have such an update? An hour later, everything is apparently squared away and we walk out of the airport without any effort. I find my bag in a car and we are ready to go. We drive by the regular airport arrival area and throngs of people are packed at the entrances and for the first time in my life, I am not sad to have missed the circus of entering a country in Africa - that I missed struggling through the ‘real’ experience. In my younger days, if asked prior to arriving if I wanted help, I would always decline. I would tell people I didn’t need help getting through and would meet them on the outside, however it was good I didn’t this time – as I’m told by ####, who is driving, that an American trying to get into Khartoum is a big hassle and will take a long time. It brought back memories of when I went back to Kinshasa and had to navigate through all the bribes and “gifts” to get through immigration. Now I watch from an air conditioned Prado as the multitudes of people push past each other to clear immigration and enter the city.

The city reminded me of a much grander Bamako, complete with donkey pulled carts and road side vendors selling tissues at red lights. The city is obviously much larger and much more money pouring into it (for the few rich), but the dry hot dusty Africa feel matched that of Bamako, complete with the building architecture and road design. Both being in the Sahel; makes sense. Anyway, now begins the journey to obtain a permit to travel to the west. Will it be done in a week? How long will it take? I’m fortunate to have met #### who seems to know the ins and outs of the system. And his realistic prediction is not what I wanted to hear. Stay tuned….