Cape to Cardiff

The start of the working day in the Danakil

For so many life in Africa is a test of survival, a test they must take and pass on a daily basis to ensure their continued existence in an often harsh world. A world where the odds are stacked against them, where it seems easier to give up the fight and concede an inevitable defeat. That would be the easy option, but the African spirit dictates the battle must go on, the fight for survival will continue until it is no longer possible and then, only then, will the fight cease.

Preparing the blocks into a uniform shape and size

This battle to survive goes on throughout the African continent, and has done for hundreds of years. There is not a single country where somebody is not striving to live another day, to feel the morning sun on their weathered face once more, to know they have once again overcome the hardships of life. Of course there are differing levels of hardships, but every battle is equally important and in a way unites communities, regions and countries. A shared sense of triumph against life.

Hard at work or hardly working...

From my own experiences in Africa there is no race of people faced with harder conditions for survival than the Afar people, the very people who inhabit the almost uninhabitable Danakil Depression. With an average yearly temperature exceeding 38 degrees, no running water, no electricity, no, well no anything come to think of it, one wonders why they continue to live like this. For one this is their test of survival, this is the battle they must win. And then there’s the salt, the very commodity that enables them to eek out an existence.

Loading the camels ready for the walk

As far as jobs go the extraction, transportation and selling of the salt found in the Danakil Depression has to rate as one of the hardest - especially when you take into account the paltry financial return it gives the Afari people. As the sun pokes its head over the horizon in the Danakil, tingeing the land a glorious golden orange, the silhouettes of men and camels can be seen marching towards the salt pans. Work here starts early, for with temperatures reaching 50 degrees in the mid-day sun there is no other choice; the hard work has to be done before the heat cripples the day.

With crude tools whole armies of men go about hacking blocks of salt from the earth’s surface, each roughly the size of a paving slab, and weighing as much too. For as far as the eye can see the land is flat, there is no rock face to hack the salt from, it must all come from the floor. This is back-breaking work of the highest order, and yet it doesn’t end there, this is just the start of the work. Once out of the ground the blocks of salt must be fashioned into a uniform shape and size ready for transportation.

The journey only gets harder

By now the heat is taking its toll - I am only watching the process and yet my energy is rapidly being sapped by the heat, so I can only imagine how those doing the work must feel. Finally, as the sun reaches its peak in the sky, the salt is ready to be loaded onto the camels and taken to the nearest market - which is only a five day walk away. And so, with the heat at its worst, whole caravans of camels are marched off into the desert, with nothing but sand and mountains in front of them.

Each camel is carrying around twenty blocks of salt, and will march through unbearable heat for a minimum of five days. At the end of the march the hardy camel handlers will sell the salt and then march back to the Danakil Depression to start the process again. To do this, day after day, year after year would make you think the salt is worth a small fortune. Wrong. Each block of salt is worth just short of a dollar. Or, if you like, sixty pence of a British pound. All that effort for next to nothing in return, yet it is enough to enable these unique people to win another battle, to see the light of another day.

This is life, and as long as they have salt the Afar people will continue to defy the odds stacked against them and continue to survive in conditions where most would perish.

written by

MarcusInAfrica on December 22, 2009 from Dalol, Ethiopia

from the travel blog: Cape to Cardiff

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Lalibela, Ethiopia

Saint or sinner....

Described as ‘the jewel in Ethiopia’s crown’ the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela don’t fail to deliver, in fact they left me pretty much speechless. Not being religious I was not sure what to expect, particularly given many of those who visit here each year do so as part of pilgrimage - the Orthodox religions equivalent to a voyage to Mecca if you will.

Morning prayers

Add to the equation that I had just returned from the Danakil Depression and it was going to take something special to finish my time in this wonderful country on a high. Special, mesmerising, astounding, beyond belief, spectacular, awe-inspiring, incredible. Take your pick from these superlatives, all can be applied to Lalibela and its showcase of churches, without doing them any kind of justice. You could say it’s one of those places you have to see to believe.

I wonder where this goes...

What amazed me the most, given the grandeur and sheer beauty of the buildings, was that they were carved out of one piece of rock. Had they been built using hand-carved blocks they would have been mightily impressive, that they were carved as one from the ground was almost unfathomable. Exploring the site, its multiple tunnels linking churches, hidden rooms and unexpected priests quietly praying gives one the sense of being on the set of an Indian Jones film.

Keeping the faith

Despite not being religious, from the moment I entered the first church I couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm and peace overcome me. It may sound strange to some but I felt a connection with my late Gran that I have not felt anywhere else before. In every church there was at least one priest quietly praying, often with several deeply religious locals. One church was also said to contain part of the Ark of the Covenant - but I will leave you to draw your own conclusions on the validity of that claim.

St George's Church from the top

The star attraction is, without doubt, the single church that stands alone away from the rest - St George's church - carved in the shape of a cross. Having left this church until the end there was the danger we, Richard and myself, would be a little ‘churched-out’ and not appreciate its full beauty. Given its impressiveness there was never any danger of that, and even if there had been the mummified bodies at rest in one of the open tombs would have been worth the visit itself. Maybe it was my macabre side, we all have one deep down, but seeing these ancient remains of humans only added to the experience.

St George's Church in all its beauty

With Lalibela done it signalled the end of an amazing five weeks in Ethiopia, a country that should not be missed for anything, and the start of the onward journey to Sudan. By some small grace of God I managed to obtain both my Egyptian and Sudanese visas inside three days - given they can take up to three weeks I was pretty impressed - and it was with many happy memories that I arrived at the border to Sudan.

Let there be light in the world

Khartoum, Sudan

My only picture from Sudan (thanks to Oliver JL Robinson Esq.)

When one thinks of Sudan it is almost inevitable they will conjure negative images of a country that they believe should be avoided at all costs. And, given the negative nature of what little media coverage we receive concerning the country you can’t blame people for these thoughts, or can you? Because I believe you should never judge a country until you have experienced it for yourself.

Yes it holds the unwanted record for the longest civil war in history, twenty-five years, and yes there are still problems in certain areas of the country, but as with anywhere in the world there is two sides to the story. And let me tell you, having seen the other side, Sudan is a country far from the image the media portray, which goes to show you shouldn’t form opinions without knowing the full story.

So allow me, if you will, to tell the other side to the tale, the one you wont find in the newspapers or on television. I will be honest, upon arriving at the border all I knew of Sudan was what I had heard in the news, which wasn’t exactly positive. Still I had an open mind and was ready for all eventualities, that is except no bank accepting Visa, which could have potentially spelt disaster.

Any potential disaster was thankfully avoided, owing largely to the incredible hospitality shown by the people I met - after a week in Sudan I can safely say the Sudanese are the single most welcoming and hospitable race I have encountered on my travels. I have been blessed in many countries with the manner in which I have been welcomed, from invites to people’s homes to no end of people happy to share what little they have with me, but nothing can compare to what I experienced in Sudan.

From the moment I crossed the border I was taken aback by the warmth with which I was welcomed - a large part of this can be attributed to the locals wanting those who are brave enough to venture here to leave with a different view to that which most begin their foray with, the rest is simply down to the good nature of the Sudanese people.

I had banked, excuse the pun, on being able to withdraw money in Khartoum and thus arrived in the capital only with the money I had exchanged on the black market at the border - which didn’t amount to much. A quick calculation of essential costs - transport to Egypt and alien registration fees - later and it suddenly hit me that I would scarcely have enough money for accommodation, let alone food.

What to do. I could either eat and sleep rough, or get a basic room (by basic I mean a sand-floored concrete room with a bed) and go hungry. In a mild state of worry, that was in danger of escalating into all out panic, I thought it best to go and get a cup of chai and a sheesha before making a decision on how best to spend my money. Little was I to know that this decision would, to a certain extent, ease my financial worries and introduce me to the retired General Mohammed - a man of was the very epitome of the Sudanese and their incredible hospitality.

Over chai and sheesha he told me how he had flown for the RAF in the 1960‘s, having trained in Shropshire, before returning to Sudan to pursue his business interests. On telling him my story he insisted that I stay free of charge at his hotel, and further to that he owned the chai and sheesha shop we were sat in and I was not to pay for anything there during my time in Khartoum. It sounds odd but at first I questioned the genuineness of the General‘s offers, as in the past I have met a host of people who have been full of empty words.

However, the Sudanese mean what they say, at least those I encountered did. And as for my predicament the General simply said I was in trouble and therefore it was his duty to help where he could. That left me with enough money to eat, although even that wasn’t entirely necessary as Yousef, the larger than life owner of a local eatery, often gave me my daily bowl of faul (a rather palatable blend of beans) and bread on the house. Again this gesture was not one of pity towards a poor traveller but a token of his goodwill.

Given the people I had met I left Khartoum with a certain degree of reluctance to sally forth to the desert town of Wadi Halfa - the location of the ferry that would take me to Egypt. It was here that I had the good fortune of falling in with three fellow gentleman explorers - I use the term gentleman explorers as, like myself, Giles, Oli and Davey would have been better suited to travelling in a style akin to Phillies Fogg. It was with the company of this fine trio that the voyage to Egypt, and ultimately Cairo began. To read more of their quest visit: http://africa-attraction.blogspot.com/

In conclusion I can say this; Sudan is a far cry from the troublesome country that many believe it to be, so much so that I would encourage anyone with the time or opportunity to visit and experience for themselves what I had the pleasure to encounter on my time here. Don't let the media dictate your opinions, rather go and form them yourselves.

written by

MarcusInAfrica on December 24, 2009 from Khartoum, Sudan

from the travel blog: Cape to Cardiff

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Cairo, Egypt

Lao Tzu once said that ‘a good traveller has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving’. And yet two hundred and eighty-seven days since setting forth from Cape Town I found myself, rather reluctantly I hasten to add, arriving in Cairo. And whilst I must admit I had a general intent on doing so at some stage, I was not quite prepared for how that arrival would affect me.

Upon arriving at the pyramids, with my fellow gentleman explorers, there was an initial sense of euphoria at having completed what is, by anyone’s reckoning, quite a considerable milestone. However, as I bid my trio of travelling companions a safe onward journey (they were heading straight for Libya) and climbed into a taxi the euphoria slowly began to fade as the reality of my achievement hit me.

All but a handful of those seemingly endless days in what I construe as ‘real Africa’ had, I was to rapidly discover, changed me as a person. Looking out of the window as we negotiated the craziness that is Cairo’s traffic - driving here is for only the brave, suicidal and stupid - I could not have been more shocked. It was as if, in comparison to the last nine months, I had arrived in a major European city and I didn't like it one bit.

I found myself longing for the quiet of the Ethiopian countryside, the calmness of Lake Malawi and the friendliness of Khartoum. Instead, as I left my taxi in a traffic-jam to continue on foot, all I got was a cacophony of noise and bright lights that hit me harder than a Mike Tyson punch. I stopped and looked around to see high-rise buildings towering above me, cars in gridlock all around, shops selling brand clothes that would not have looked out of place on Oxford Street and vast crowds of locals going about their lives.

There was only one thought in my mind; this is not Africa. In fact this couldn't be any further from the Africa I have come to know and love if it tried. After nine months of roughing it you might think I would have welcomed the modern, and very materialistic, city life - not so. I craved to be back in a remote village where the dirt roads are littered with people selling goods ranging from roasted maize and an assortment of vegetables to various animal parts (for cooking), dried fish and various altogether useless cheap gadgets imported from China.

Even the noise, and I am not a fan of noise per-se, of real Africa grew upon me, and now I longed for it - the shouting of hawkers, bleating animals roaming free on the streets, the odd car horn mixed in with the laughter of children playing in the late afternoon sun. All this was gone and would not be coming back anytime soon, and this thought filled me with a sadness I could not shift. I flooded my mind with many happy thoughts from the journey, but that only served to remind me of what had been and gone.

And so, on the eve of completing a travelling milestone I found myself sat with a bottle of red wine (maybe the only silver lining to the cloud) pining to be anywhere but Cairo. The magnitude of what I had achieved was not lost on me, but without the quite of the African night to reflect on it I was lost in a world I don't belong to. For mine is the Africa where life is a simple one, where at night the stars and moon are the only light as village elders hand down stories around the fire. Mine is the real Africa, the Africa that has molded me into who I am, the Africa that will live forever and a day in my heart.

The journey will go on, as it must, but it will take time for me to adjust to what is to come. But it will not be a permanent adjustment as one thing I am certain of is that my life is for living in Africa, and live it I will.

The Gentleman Explorers

a travel blog by MarcusInAfrica

The Fight for Survival

Dalol, Ethiopia

The Final Chapter in Ethiopia

Lalibela, Ethiopia

Surviving in Sudan

Khartoum, Sudan

An Explorer Reflects in Cairo

Cairo, Egypt