We finally board a flight destined to Malakal however once on board and the plane is heading to the taxi way, the attendant states we are going to first fly to Rumbeck in order to re-fuel and then continue on to Malakal.  Sure enough, after a slight detour and tank full of fuel, we are finally on our way to Malakal. 

A long green snake slivers through the grass that is being blown by the airplane engines as the plane approaches the airport.  Stepping off the plane, I am welcomed by a warm gush of humid air.  The small airport is located in the middle of Sudan, near the great Sudd or swamp.  This is a location where the River Nile enters a great swamp area before continuing north to Khartoum.  A confluence of north and southern culture and influence; a sprawling town full of tukels and ancient administration buildings.

While walking through the airport, we are stopped by the immigration officer who takes our passports without instruction on what is going on. After 15 minutes we walk around to find the guy and end up at the immigration office.  He claims we need to pay 20 Sudanese Pounds (SDG) in order to clear immigration.  Having never had to pay while on domestic flights I argue with the guy.  He asks for various IDs and I show him what I have and say I’m legit and don’t have to pay.  After a long standoff he essentially says, “good luck leaving Malakal”. 

A typical market and restaurant scene, laid out between areas of mud and garbage, a make shift building becomes a restaurant.  The cooks are busy peeling various vegetable, there is dirty water sitting in a barrel, a cow is walking on the only dry piece of land and leaves behind a trail of green crap.  Someone is boiling hot water on a charcoal fire to make coffee for a customer.  Garbage pieces are discarded into a bucket where the cow sticks its head to eat. On second thought, I’ll skip the coffee in this town.  

Water is taken from the Nile and it goes through the treatment plant without any treatment.  The final product is not much different in color or quality than that which enters the system.  And this is what is consumed.  The roads are in terrible shape and when it rains they turn to impassable mud traps.

On the way out of Malakal we meet face to face with the immigration officer again.  My colleague pays the guy 20 SDG, however I start up my case again and tell him we don’t have to pay.  I know the guy is skimming money and should be reported.  I’ve had too much experience with the Congolese officials, I can win a standoff with anyone now.  Sure enough, the guy doesn’t put up much of a flight and just hands me my passport.  I go back to my colleague, who is from Kenya, and tell him to go get a receipt…I thought this should be good.  He comes back about 5 minutes later with 20 SDG in hand.  Apparently the guy just gave him his money back when asked for a receipt, confirming his illegal actions.   

One never knows the rules since few are written and they keep changing, but if in doubt, refuse to pay.  If you come across as well traveled and familiar with the system, they will cave instantly…if you show fear and uncertainty, they will pounce.  Like a dog, immigration officers smell fear, the strong the odor, the higher the fee.