Apart from a short stretch of road near the airport, which is of a tarmac construction, probably from material left over when the airstrip was built, all roads in Nyala are just sandy, rock strewn tracks. The town itself, about 2 miles from the airstrip, is in a state of decay, both dusty and dirty.
It is laid out in the usual grid pattern and between the buildings the streets are wide, rocky and pot holed with very uneven surfaces. There are a few trees and bushes dotted here and there providing welcome shade but on the whole it is a town covered in rubbish of all kinds. In places an effort has been made to protect the remaining bushes from the herds of goats and cattle that roam freely around, walls or cages being built around the smaller trees. Many donkeys are to be seen, either pulling carts laden with materials of all types or driven around by small boys selling water from tanks mounted on the back. Three wheel motorcycle type taxis, carrying a maximum of two passengers in relative comfort, are everywhere and are used extensively by the local population, when they need to visit friends and relatives where it is to far to walk. There are few other vehicles, apart from those belonging to the UN and other aid agencies. Most of the lorries seen moving around the town are hired by the agencies to deliver food and other supplies to the refugee and displaced persons camps and to drought affected people in the region. I doubt if many of the residents possess personal transport, apart from maybe a bicycle or an old motorbike. There’s no driving Tommy to school round here. They just walk! Everywhere there is evidence of decay and destruction. Whoever invented plastic bags needs to come to Nyala to see the mess they make. Scattered everywhere, mixing with other general rubbish on the streets and mostly non-biodegradable.
There are few shops to be seen. Those that are open sell basic commodities, and Coca Cola! That’s everywhere. Eating out is not a pleasant experience. The tables are set up on the streets in the evening where the food, and the clientele, gets covered by dust created by passing traffic. A typical chicken and kebab meal for four costs the princely sum of about £4. For four people, not each! Of course, the quality and provenance of the food cannot be guaranteed! One thing which is definitely essential here is a cast iron stomach. There are no knives and forks in this society so food is eaten using pieces of bread as a scoop, held only in the right hand. Many of the local population eat outside, due I imagine, to it being too uncomfortable indoors. It is quite usual to walk in the evening, past groups of men dressed in splendid pure white robes and turbans, sitting in a circle on mats in the middle of the road. They are talking and discussing events of the day, whilst eating food, provided on large flat dishes by residents of nearby houses. Our diet is fairly basic as we generally have the same as the local population. Until the monthly supply of bottled water arrives from Khartoum when a few goodies are included. This morning, for instance I discovered a yoghurt carton unopened in the back of the fridge. It looked a bit swollen and was three weeks past the ‘sell by date’ of October 5th. On peeling back the top, it sort of exploded, spraying a small amount of the contents all over the place. However, the taste had been improved as there was a definite tang when I consumed the remainder! Chicken Eggs are quite a delicacy although such is the poor diet of the chickens that they always have thin white shells and it is almost impossible to distinguish the yolks from the whites. Meat, such as we know it, is practically non-existent. Any you do find is sure to be tough and very scraggy, and practically unchewable. All in all, Westerners survive here. Definitely not, a place to be living in for long.
Before leaving Sudan my travel schedule includes a visit to El Fasher in Northern and El Geneina in Western Dafur. However plans are being laid for a side excursion from here to Garsila. This I have been told, requires a two-day overland journey. Should be an interesting and informative trip. Security throughout the surrounding area, is paramount. Reports are sent back regularly by four-wheel drive vehicles, as they move around the various villages and camps. Daily meetings between agencies, and sometimes between agencies and peacekeepers, (where they exist) are considered normal practice whenever the situation warrants it. Nyala base is typical of other larger agencies where humanitarian work is taking place, all messages from Oxfam vehicles and fixed locations for instance, are received and logged by two local full time radio operators. The radio room itself is rarely, if ever left unattended, and even then arrangements are made for others to be in earshot for emergency calls. The safety and security of personnel override all other considerations.
It is now 11.30pm and the temperature outside is still in the high seventies, if not higher. I am in my bedroom, sitting on a cheap plastic chair, one of the stackable types, sold in the UK for use in the garden. It’s the only chair in the room and I dare not sit on the bed, as the mosquito net is busy preventing the flies and bugs from getting into bed with me when I retire! Apart from the bed and chair there are a couple of small tables and a fairly new wardrobe in one corner with a hat stand in the other. A portable floor fan provides local cooling. Lighting is by a fluorescent tube screwed to the wall above the table with a large three bladed fan occupying the centre of the ceiling. The floor is covered in warm quarry tiles, even late at night. Nothing else, no furnishings or other trappings of western life exist. All the wiring and electrical installations, if this was in the UK, would be considered extremely dangerous. In Sudan it is the norm and perfectly OK as long as you don’t touch anything! It will be a long time before 13amp plugs appear in this part of the world.
I have been sitting here for about an hour writing this piece. My backside, and bottom, feels decidedly damp even with the ceiling and floor fans going full blast. Plastic and bottoms, even with a piece of cloth separating them, don’t go well together in this climate. And we haven’t had a power cut this evening. YET! By my side are a the dregs of a large bottle of water and a bottle of coke together with half a packet of very dry Burtons digestive biscuits. The latter being the remains of my emergency food supply and now so dry that they are in danger of collapsing into component parts! The bottles of water and coke, straight from the fridge, having been consumed within the last hour or so, in a futile attempt to keep myself cool. Such is life in Nyala, principal town in South Darfur. Incidentally, in case you didn’t know, the country of Sudan covers an area larger than the whole of Western Europe.
Have a nice day.
J.