Sudan, the biggest country in Africa, is an overnight ferry ride from Egypt.
But life here is very different.
Sudan does not encourage visitors.
Do you know how I get to Wadi Halfa?
- Wadi Halfa. Is there a bus? - Bus?
Bus or... Where's the bus?
Bus?
- I want to know how to get to Wadi Halfa. - Halfa?
- OK. Halfa is near here. - I thought it was here, but it's not.
- How far? - I don't know. You'll have to ask.
- It's too far to walk? - Too far?
- Walk or bus? - Car.
- OK. Where's the car? - Near here.
OK. If you point the way...
It all seems to be going swimmingly when, suddenly, my guide isn't there any more.
I've been in unfamiliar places on this trip,
but never felt quite such an outsider.
What is this country all about? Ally of Saddam Hussein,
supporter of the Russian generals' coup against Gorbachev.
I'd better start finding out.
I need a car to go to Wadi Halfa. OK?
You go to the hotel at Wadi Halfa centre.
The Sudan is clearly a very eccentric country.
To get the most out of life here, I'd better forget I've ever been anywhere else.
This is new Wadi Halfa.
The old town disappeared under Lake Nasser 29 years ago.
Despite its name, the best hotel now only looks out over desert sands.
- Hello. - Hello.
- Have you got a room for the night? - Yeah.
I've got to catch the train. That goes tomorrow?
- Yes, tomorrow. Four o'clock. - Fine.
The station in front of us. The Nile Hotel, and that is the station.
- OK. I'd just like a room, please. - Welcome.
The owner has photos of the old Nile Hotel, with balconies and river views.
Now it's a "no frills" service.
Thank you.
The darkness is comforting.
In the Sudan, a bit of shade is worth the price of admission alone.
Simple.
But...
98.4.
That's what it should be.
The hottest part of the day is from nine in the morning
till nine in the evening.
Abdulah Ahmed Adam is the governor who'd made our ferry trip possible.
What's the travel news?
The train is supposed to take about 48 hours,
but due to some difficulties sometimes it takes more.
What sort of difficulties might we encounter?
Maybe the pulling force for the locomotives.
And any maintenance, maybe.
- Do you travel by train? - Yes, definitely.
My last journey from Khartoum, I came by train, with my whole family.
Were there any problems?
No problems!
By next morning, the Nile Hotel is full to bursting.
Today is the day of the train.
The water jars are all empty but I'm directed to the executive washroom.
Washed and brushed up, I go in search of food for the journey ahead.
The train from Khartoum, which should run twice a week,
has just arrived for the first time in a month.
The resources of Wadi Halfa are at full stretch.
There's no famine here, but no surplus either.
Any fresh food quickly deteriorates in the heat.
Fruit seems to be the most sensible bet.
Can I have some bananas?
Bananas? How much?
I have Egyptian money.
Is that OK? Can I pay with Egyptian money?
- Kilo? - Kilo, yeah.
Can you measure me a kilo?
Sudanese?
I only have Egyptian.
- No? - No Egyptian.
No Egyptian? Where can I change the money?
Where in Wadi Halfa can I change the money?
- Is there a bank? - No.
Hotel maybe?
But you won't sell me anything for Egyptian money?
- No? - No.
Armed with Sudanese pounds, I try again.
Can I buy some tins?
Can I buy some tins of food?
- What have you got? Chicken? - Ten pounds.
- Chicken? No. - What is it? Show me what it is.
- This? - No, tin. That's right.
- He knows. That's right. - Tin?
Yes.
What is this? "Ma Ling. Fried young chicken."
Chinese. Good?
I'll have one of those. Have you anything else?
"Stewed chicken with bone."
OK. How much?
40 and 40.
- Is that enough? - 130.
130? Oh, dear.
(THEY SPEAK IN ARABIC)
Just two chicken.
Thank you.
The hardest thing of all to find is fresh bread.
Can I have a bag?
Put them in there.
Banana sandwich!
Yep. How much?
How much?
That's 75 there.
Any change?
Change?
OK, it's 75!
All right. Thank you very much.
The train at platform one is the Nile Valley Express,
once the pride of the British Empire.
As Sudan's problems increase and the economy crumbles,
it's an erratic and declining service.
But there's an air of festivity here that you'd never find at Waterloo.
0n the day of the train, Wadi Halfa station is one big party.
How nice to see you! You've come to make sure we go?
Well, the train's here, we're here, so thank you very much.
I feel as though I've been here for...
- Dates. - For us? Oh, thank you!
Dates! I was trying to buy these this morning, with no success. These look wonderful!
Marvellous. We'll all have one. There you are, Nigel.
They're very nice indeed.
Thank you very much.
There's a heightened sense of drama in the Sudan.
Departure isn't just the start of a journey, it's the start of an adventure.
(WHISTLE BLOWS)
Like all good adventures, none of us knows how it's going to end.
Bye! Thank you!
This long straight line runs 230 miles across the Nubian Desert,
avoiding the rapids of the Nile
and connecting Wadi Halfa with the cities of Atbara and Khartoum.
A single track through the middle of nowhere.
All we can do is pray that the train keeps going.
(TRAIN GRINDS TO A HALT)
This is the third time we've stopped in about...
We've been going about - it's half past twelve - seven hours.
The previous two times have been breakdowns.
One was just a vacuum pipe.
The next was more ominous. A one-hour breakdown of the locomotive.
Once that goes, we could be here for days or even a week.
There's nothing much they can do but wait till it's fixed.
So I just don't know what's going on.
We're moving very, very slowly. Maybe the superintendent can tell us what's happened.
I'll see if I can see him.
I never did find anyone to tell me what's happening.
But next morning, we're still moving.
These desert stations have no names, only numbers.
This man could be the stationmaster of number five, six, seven or eight.
The line was built by General Kitchener to retake Khartoum
and avenge the death of General Gordon.
Working in one of the hottest places on earth, engineers laid a mile of track every two days.
How do they look after it now?
Last night, we seemed to be always surrounded by sand.
There was a wind blowing the sand. Is that a big problem for the engine?
- The sand covers the line sometimes. - Yeah.
So the labourers come and take it away from the track.
- Do you bring labourers with you on the train? - Two or three.
- How often... - By their materials.
They take off the sand.
The good news about the Nice Valley Express - it does have a restaurant car.
The bad news - this is it.
Tea?
Tea? Chai? Thank you.
Cucumber sandwiches, please, and a dessert menu. No, a desert menu!
This isn't the only restaurant.
Roof class have their own catering.
Everyone up here travels free,
and there are plenty of punters willing to risk sun, sand and sliding off into the desert.
Some were surprised we didn't travel like this in England.
I explained to them about bridges.
Sleep well? Sleep well?
It's a great view. It's better than first class.
You've got a better view. It's not so hot.
- It's not hot. - Just very fine.
Better than inside. Better than inside.
Yeah. They're all crammed together down there in first class.
One cup of tea amongst ten of them.
- Where are you going to? - Khartoum.
Do you always travel like this on top of the train?
Yes, sometimes.
Sometimes. But when the day's too hot...
In the middle of the day you have to get inside.
What happens today? It's going to be very hot. It was 110 in the sun yesterday.
What happens today in the heat of the day? Do you find some shade?
- Shade? - Do you get out of the sun on a day like today?
Yes, I get inside.
There are 3,000 to 4,000 passengers on the Nile Valley Express.
It's like a small town on the move.
Progress is governed less by timetables than by the needs of the townsfolk.
(HORN BLASTS)
Goodbye! See you.
It may look chaotic, but it's one of the most user-friendly trains I've ever been on.
But you do have to know how to use it.
In the good old days on the Nile Express you could get food,
a five-course meal, God knows what,
and probably have a liqueur at the end of it.
Now it's self-catering on this line.
This is what I got yesterday. I'll try the stewed chicken with bone.
What will I get first?
A little industrial, but not bad.
Bread which is now about a day old.
A bit of dunking.
It's not the Grand Hotel, but it's quite tasty.
Water, very essential.
It's very, very hot out there.
About 120 degrees.
The water is probably...
...almost boiling.
About as fresh as you can get.
There you are. I recommend Ma Ling's stewed chicken with bone.
Followed by hot Sahara desert water.
Followed by a quick trip to the toilet!
Which also leaves something to be desired.
Ah! With bone.
You may think this is ecologically unsound,
but there are a lot of other bones in the desert, so... that goes out there.
One of the most hazardous and fraught parts of the journey through Africa is safely over.
I did get a ferry from Egypt to the Sudan,
the highly unpredictable train did run on time,
and now, 29 hours and three hours' sleep later,
we are safely across one of the most inhospitable bits of desert in the world.
Although most of that desert is up my nose, in my hair and ears,
it's a small price to pay for being here in deepest Sudan
and well on the way to... more problems, really.
So, let's go.
We opt to go on to Khartoum by bus, for extra reliability.
The daily service covers the 200 miles from Atbara to the capital.
The technology is tried and tested.
This bus has already been a Bedford truck - and that was 40 years ago.
We get a bus almost to ourselves.
They're actually licensed to carry 107 people.
At least the roads are empty - if this is a road.
How do you know which route to take? It all looks exactly the same.
You drive this way every day, right?
So I suppose you know.
When it... When the... Is there ever rain? Does it ever rain here?
If it rains, I suppose you're just stuck.
The driver and I chatter on. I think he just wants someone to talk to.
Make your own M1.
When at last we do find the road, things only get worse.
It doesn't seem to have been finished, assuming it was ever started.
2,000 years ago, this was the kingdom of Meroe.
A cluster of pyramids can still be seen,
broken and leaning like a row of bad teeth.
How could a civilisation, rich in iron and agriculture,
pass so completely out of history?
I thought of asking the driver, but there's no guarantee of stopping him once he'd started.
I thought of stopping for a nice cold beer, but alcohol's illegal in the Sudan.
There's not much to do but get hot and dusty
and, like those Victorian generals,
think of all the things I'm going to relieve in Khartoum.
Here in the capital are the first signs of trouble ahead.
For eight years, the mainly Christian south has been at war
with the hardline Muslim government in Khartoum.
Unfortunately for us, the war zone lies straight across our path.
I've just had a meeting in the Ministry of Information
which is responsible for the permits and passes to cross Sudan.
We've not been given permission to travel south through Sudan
which we need to do to stay anywhere near 30 degrees.
They won't guarantee our safety and we just can't go.
We can fly into Juba but we can't get out of it. It's surrounded.
So we're absolutely stuck. We've got to find another way out of Sudan.
It won't be easy, but we'll look.
This is not a country renowned for its sense of urgency.
Things happen slowly, if at all.
To get into the country requires the patience of Job.
God knows what we need to get out.
It's so easy to get discouraged,
to let helplessness descend like the blanket of hot sticky air in the city.
How does a foreigner survive in the Sudan?
To find out, I'm directed to the one place where foreigners regularly meet.
Before Sudan won her independence from Britain in 1956,
the club's membership was over 1,000. Now it's barely 200.
But the menu remains reassuringly Western, as do the diners.
Alan Woodruff is a professor of tropical medicine,
which makes him far from the ideal dining companion.
- It's a very generous plateful. - It's full of salad! You know I never eat salad.
Salad is one of the worst ways of contracting dysentery.
And also, in this part of the world, hydatid disease.
Bring me one without salad.
Well, I'm not keen to get dysentery. If I put mine on the side here...
Is it really that bad?
It's one of the first principles of keeping fit in the tropics.
- You avoid salads like the plague. - I've been eating salad all week.
- Well... - The tomatoes look good.
- Yes. - So far no problem.
The things that look good are those which are most likely to transmit the dysentery.
You've frightened me now. I'll keep it on one side.
I know the books say you should make sure everything's peeled.
They obviously have been peeled. Is it more serious than that?
Well, yes.
- Is it how they're grown? - No, it's difficult to know who's peeled them.
- Because they're not heated up. - Right.
So all this has been done...
In your trip, I think that the best advice you could have about keeping fit
would be to eat only those things which are served hot,
come from the kitchen and are served hot.
Oh, dear. Scotch egg seems a very traditional dish. What else do they have here?
Well... The food is mostly traditional.
Steak and kidney pie.
We had roast beef yesterday, with Yorkshire pudding.
There was no cabbage. Some sort of greens that grow by the river
had to serve for cabbage, but it was very tasty.
- Is the chef English? - No, Sudanese. Very good chap, too.
To make amends for all the salads I've eaten,
I foolhardily accept a sporting challenge.
My opponent, Noshir Antia, was most accommodating
but it's 100 Fahrenheit and, after several seconds, I've passed my peak.
He kindly agrees to an adjournment.
It's nice out here. You don't have a drug problem,
you don't have mindless violence in this place.
- The family gets together. - Is it a tricky language?
Once you've learned the language, the people are extremely nice.
They may laugh, but they take you to their hearts.
- When did you learn? - When I came out here, I only spoke English.
They only spoke Arabic, so I had to communicate very fast.
I learnt through the school of hard knocks.
- I'm hopeless. I don't know anything. - "Malish" should be your first one.
- "Malish". - What's that?
- "Sorry, never mind"! - That's good!
- I could use that when I play squash! - You could.
I could use that a lot. Malish! Malish!
You probably want another game. Don't let me detain you.
It's only lemonade. Honestly!
- OK. Thank you very much. See you again. - Thank you very much.
Bye. Lovely man. Lovely man.
I let him win, of course. Little shots, but you have to, don't you?
- Bye. - Bye!
This is 0mdurman, across the River Nile from Khartoum.
Ask anyone here the best way to get around their country, and there's only one answer.
This is a "camel-mart". Dealers come here from all over the eastern Sahara.
What does a second-hand ship of the desert, one owner, go for these days?
- These yours? - 25,000.
- How much? - 25,000.
- For one camel? - 25,000.
- That's a lot of money. That's... - 25,000.
- I'll see. - 25,000.
That's about 1,000 quid.
I've got... 20, 40... I've got about maybe 100 here.
- 25,000. - OK. Can I buy a bit of a camel?
- 25,000. - A hump?
Tell you what. A bulk order. We need seven of them. Bulk discount.
- 25,000. - You're a hard man. Thanks.
25,000 for that? I
Ayusha Travel, a transport company run by Eritreans from Ethiopia
could solve our problem of leaving the Sudan.
They have experience of border crossing
gained from their 30-year war with the central government.
The ending of that war four months ago could be the piece of luck we need.
We can't follow the White Nile south.
West leads through Zaire, as difficult as Sudan.
East is Ethiopia, freshly liberated,
and, in theory, open for business.
We want to get down to Addis, really, eventually.
- Which route would you take us? - From Khartoum to Medani, to Gedaref.
That is Medani. Then you have to reach Gedaref.
- This looks all quite good road. - Asphalted road. It's a good road.
- Where do we go then? - From Gedaref to Metema.
Metema. I see. That's on the border.
It's a border town. Then from Metema to Gonder.
Lake Tana. From Gedaref to Metema it's rough roads.
- Rocky road? - Yeah.
Due to rainy season, the soil is washed out so it's somewhat rough.
With a land cruiser it's all right. But with other cars it's impossible.
Do you have land cruisers sufficient to take myself, six others and...
We are in this business of transporting people.
- And... - How long have you been doing this?
Almost two years now.
One of your cars is starting up now. It works!
This may look just like a lot of water,
but it's where the two Niles, the Blue Nile - or brown Nile, as it is here -
and the White Nile - or grey Nile over there - actually meet.
If things had gone right, we'd have followed the White Nile
right down into Central Africa, but we can't do that, as we know.
So we're going to follow the Blue - or brown - Nile
on a zigzag course to its source in Ethiopia. Much more exciting.
Look at the brownness of the Blue Nile and the greyness of the White Nile.
We'll look for the source of the Turquoise Nile.
In 0mdurman every Friday, an hour before dusk,
followers of the 19th-century Sheikh Hamed El Niel
gather to celebrate his teachings and dance themselves closer to Allah.
They're better known as the Whirling Dervishes.
If this is religion, I'd like to join.
If I see Allah, I'll ask him to make this happy night my last memory of Khartoum.
We've been stuck here almost a week, and it's time we can no longer afford.
We're now about to leave Khartoum.
We have transport, courtesy of the Eritreans.
After quite a wait we've finally got our permit to go to Gedaref
from the Sudan police headquarters. Without this we can't move at all.
So we can go to Gedaref and across the border into Ethiopia.
It'll be a rough ride, but a second sandstorm hit Khartoum last night.
I think we should go.
After a day's travelling, we're clear of the desert.
It's marvellous to see greenery,
but it's only there because the rains have ended unusually late.
Most people we pass are on foot. I can soon understand why.
The thick black soil has not yet had time to dry out.
But this is the road to the border and we can only hope it gets better.
Vehicles much heavier than ours have passed this way
and ground deep ruts into the soft earth.
For the first time, my faith in the Eritrean drivers is shaken.
0nce stuck, they seem to lose heart easily.
0n the move, riding the ridges with skill, they're in their element.
They even act as a bus service.
What is your name?
(GIVES LONG ARABIC NAME)
Mine is Michael. Not quite as grand as that.
- Where are you going to? - Doka.
- Doka? Is that a village? - No.
I have a field on that side.
What do you grow in your field?
(IN ARABIC)
Sim-sim? Sesame?
How long does it take you to get to Gedaref?
Two days.
How do you travel? Do you travel on a bus?
- Lorry. - Lorry.
How many people are there on the lorry?
Many people?
More than 20.
Tough ride. You all bump around.
Some lorries don't make it.
We pick our way around them knowing it could so easily be us.
(ENGINE STALLS)
And very soon it is.
I lend a hand, wherever possible.
At this rate, I can see real trouble ahead.
We've reached Doka, the half-way point between here and the border at Gallabat.
We've asked for vehicles at Gallabat to take us into Ethiopia tonight.
We started at 6.30. It's now just after 12.
It's very unlikely we'll get there on time.
Whether they'll wait for us, we don't know.
With the roads the way they are, it'll be very tight to rendezvous with them.
After Doka, our drivers lose the road completely.
We plunge on through the fields with increasing desperation.
(THEY SPEAK IN ARABIC)
There's not much left to do but pray.
Another truck stuck, another tow. Still, no sense in rushing.
They've got the right idea.
OK. I've got a feeling we're not gonna win our race against time
to get to Gallabat by dusk.
This is the road. It's virtually impassable.
It's so deeply grooved we keep having to stop to pull vehicles out.
Nobody is quite sure where the border is.
These two things mean in the last half-hour we've covered five kilometres.
We've been going nine hours or so. It's quarter to four.
We have about another hour and a half of daylight.
Unless things get very much better, I think we'll be picnicking in the bush.
Well, the adventure continues. We never did reach Gallabat last night.
After one of many halts, and 13 hours of driving,
we stopped dead in a small village called Kanina.
We asked the police whether we could get to Gallabat. They said stay here.
So we spent the night in the police station.
This is the compound of the station.
Didn't sleep well, but I never do in police stations.
But we're here, and we're trying to find the border.
Answers on a postcard to "Pole To Pole" lost on the Sudan / Ethiopia border, Monday.
Being by nature an optimist, I don't think things can get any worse.
Wrong again. Before you can say Nigel Mansell, we're in the pits.
(ENGINE REVS)
No grip on here at all.
Strange people appear to see what we're doing.
I haven't the heart to tell them we're going to the South Pole.
Things are now so bad, even the director has to push.
It really does seem like the end of the road.
The vehicles ahead of us are also stuck.
But just as I'm thinking of taking Sudanese nationality,
hope backs towards us.
It's a last-minute reprieve.
We pull ourselves out of the rough to find we are closer to the road than we thought.
Mind you, some people are even closer.
Someone's trying to tell us something about this journey.
We've been going about seven hours since we left the police station.
We've covered about 20 kilometres. Gallabat is just over there, I'm told.
Just as we arrive, we find this lorry has overturned
and has blocked the road, so we're held up again.
This is not a good place to stop
because in these hills on the border there are ex-Ethiopian troops
who are living almost as mercenaries.
We have to have an armed guard. They're fanning out to protect us.
Way back when we tried to film, we were told not to.
I shouldn't film now if I were you.
The trouble with real roads is that people use them.
Having seen nothing for 24 hours, we run into a convoy of trucks coming from Ethiopia.
0nce they're past, we speed on... for at least 100 yards.
This is like one of those never-ending board games
where you have to throw the exact number to finish.
Stop here under the tree? Yeah, we're waiting for him.
- Hmm. - Gallabat.
- What? - Gallabat.
Gallabat? Here?
It must have a sign.
No.
Why do they have no road signs in the Sudan? Round here? Why not?
Just when I'd ceased to believe in the existence of Gallabat, there it is.
We've taken well over 24 hours
to cover the distance between London and 0xford.
Gallabat may seem like the Promised Land,
but we know to our cost it's one of the least accessible places in Africa.
We've made it. The question now is, "Will anyone be there to meet us?"