It is a singular country, this Nubia. Varying in breadth from a few miles to as many yards, it extends in a thin, green, palm-fringed strip upon either side of the broad coffee-coloured river. Beyond it there stretches on the Libyan bank a savage and illimitable desert, extending to the whole breadth of Africa…Nubia writhes like a green sand worm…You ask yourself in amazement why any race would build in so uncouth a solitude…
-The Tragedy of the Korosko, Arthur Conan Doyle
There are many ways to describe the Nubian Reach of the Nile. Conan Doyle called it a writhing green worm in a coffee-coloured river. I called it a thin green sleeve over a long, mud-brown arm. The ancient Egyptians called it the Belly of Stones. But it is the opposite of an uncouth solitude.
The Shaheen family lives there, deep in the Dal Cataract’s very belly, and were very hospitable to me, Ned, and Steve when we needed to get across the Nile and grab a truck fast for the Wadi Halfa ferry. They gave us a lovely meal and soft beds and sent us on our way the next morning with a big send-off. I’ve always wanted to go back, to see how they were doing and bring them a house gift from New York or someplace equally noisy, dirty, and uncouth.