|
Fri 28 Jan The weekend. Salah has offered to take me to Barah, his home town 75km north of El Obied. First though, he wants to attend a neighbour's wedding breakfast. Experience has informed him that the first bus on a Friday doesn't leave until late morning; he persuades me there's time for all. At 10am I buy the tickets, leave my sun hat and day-bag on our seats and trustingly go off to find some breakfast. I know my camera is in the bag but in Sudan everything feels so safe. Even now I can still hear the cinema audience of life's movie screaming "NO". (Actually I'm teasing, nothing happened, but I realised I'd been extremely stupid, even if I did get away with it this time.)
By 11am the bus has its full quota. All the passengers are sitting in their seats except me and Salah. There is still no sign of him. I give him a call, but the line is bad, I cannot work out what he's saying. I hand the phone to the driver thinking Salah will explain to the driver where he is but that doesn't happen. Ironically the Sudanese who have waited patiently for up to an hour are now angry that we are not on our way. I laugh and shrug and play for time. I try calling him again. Five minutes. FIVE MINUTES? There is nearly a riot but somehow I know they'll accept. Of course when he does finally arrive all animosity is forgotten, rather than chastising or bearing a grudge everyone is very friendly - I think half of them are relatives anyway.Out of town the scenery is rather flat: sun baked, orangey sand speckled with succulent weeds at times 2-3m tall. Briefly the road becomes a dual carriage-way as we pass the turn-off for an oil refinery. This is the end of the pipeline from the south. We also pass a large rural livestock market - camels, donkeys, goats and sheep; if we were in a private vehicle I would have stopped for sure.
|
