Day 31
Tea stop midmornirg. Burning young green thorn branches, sweet smell blows this way, the 2nd pot already on.
Khair and M. still looking for sugar and a sheep, yesterday sat with 3 men outside their field hut, questioned them about the police in these parts, "Zift (garbage) here", stories of Ahmad Diyaab giving 2 lashes for driving camels without a permit.
We would have gone around Hamid altogether like Khamees did but the young cop Ahmad caught us coming off Jebel Dowsha, and confiscated our passes and passports.
Yesterday afternoon short cut across the Abri bend, left Jebel Abri behind, and entered Selima district, population and palms thinning, the Nile's bounty closing in, people here seem more like Wadi al-Milkers, isolated from the main stream despite the Nile, more like oasis dwellers than riparians. The desert separates and encloses, Tayyib Salih's story of the first steamer to visit the village kind of like the first truck to visit Selima c:asis.
Saw the turn off sign for Selima 130 Krns, Khair says he knows the way to Laqiyya, out from Hafeer al-Mushi just north of Dongola.
We sat and talked stgar prices yesterday as the sun set, M.'s thumb-less left hand I've just noticed, must be one hell of a story behind it. He rolled a gumshaw ( aw grass) cigarette, asks the man's name, “Ismak kareem? ( your generous name?)" and then addresses him personally in the middle of his sentence.
We ask about the next hilla (camp) and the price of a kharouf (sheep) we want to slaughter.
With Ahmad Diyaab talked of our long road and adventures on it, about Billa Ali "famous" thief of the Wadi, he holds Khair responsible for our safety.
The Nile widens, flattens at the banks, white caps and black flow in the north wind, furled sails, all boats banked, the houses are poor in Selima, little adornment, plain portals, simple architecture.
Adam played his metal flute last night for the first time, odd 4 note repetition. Khair cooked lunch yesterday, good and plenty, ate like horses, camels have softer stools by the Nile, like date-eating humans. They gorge on green palm fronds and Nile saw grasses, now browsing on sand piled thorn tree stands, we shelter behind one, the wind blows overhead.
Last night troubled sleep, camels closed in, the fire illuminated the scene, Hanaan sang, ate from a dark plate, dinner always the most difficult meal to get up for but always the most hungry, have to catch as catch can blindly. Breakfast is usually cold and little appetite, lunch is a gorge fest, but dinner stills the night.
Many over for tea this noon, M. the Younger, Khair the Younger, Saeed. A rabbit races past and all give chase throwing camel clubs, let's hope
M. finally makes the tess (goat) connection.
The Nile's west Nubian bank, untrafficked, forgotten by the police, plenty of places to put in, long blank banks, the sand meets the water without a break. Could use sane more dates, my bowels finally getting used to the idea of major fruit infusions, a heretofore unknown treat on the darb al-arba'iin.
Drinking my 3rd glass of tea, an unprecedented quantity for a mealess stop. Dave produces a few old dates, the sun warming deep, still quite tired from yesterday's walk, surprised to have gone so far without knowing our distance, we stopped for lunch just after we had mounted. Strong wind all day, made patterns in the sand like the print of sane muted gene under gross magnification, the slanted shadowing
Our Muhammad has many voices for story telling, can twist and stretch a word to express distance, deceit, or a Koranic truth, M. and Khair sat with him this morn as the coals cooled listening to his story. Khair said last night he was possessed by Jinns in his sleep, he moaned and whined, what secrets does the leather pouch around his neck hold dear?
Khair came back with sugar, says 3 days to Abu Sirnbel, through the desert and strong wind. Grazing the camels here before the last big push, or will it be the last?
Muhammad fills his mouth from his Erinmore tobacco tin, Ireland's finest blend, he picked it up all rusted and bent on our way, he wants us to take back fond memories of our trip, to visit him in Um Badr next time and give him money for his service. I'd rather not be left alone with him anymore money seems to come up.
Grub's on the fire, easy morning ride, easy does it here cane the clowns A.dam and Masood, rabbit hunters empty handed, more pitiful than hounds.
Day 32
Moming Last night dinner and Rutaana recording in the home of al-Hajj Hassan Sayyid and his sons, and an English speaking gentleman Farid, who reads everything but pornography.
Midday break. Clirnbin;:i the border mountains, Dal Cataract, island of Dif, the Dal breaks, the bounty of dom trees, ready to eat when they look like deep brown strawberries, the red ones with a bit of juice are bitter, this year's crop without the distinctive aftertaste, like dry sherry, fermented dom, simple graham crumbs, the little boys pole them down for Dave and me before we run to catch the herd.
Last night with the Nubian menfolk, the Hajj's son Ahmad Hassan has a wooden leg from Beirut 1958, 4 dead in a shoot-out at the coffee house, rival Christian groups just before the marines went in, Voice of America addict.
Al Hajj has a grizzled grey beard trimming the perimeter of his face, a skull cap and demeanor of a household servant, seating himself on the ground without pause.
The thin 2nd son, friendly with dates, and Fareed who only later revealed his Englsh, "reads everythirg but pornography", how does he know erglish?, "an Egyptian mother", wants me to practice my Arabic more than he wants to how-dee-do in ingles..
Tales of NYC skyscrapers, ask if in 100 story buildings there are really groceries on the 50th, and must one ask the bawaab for the weather report on the ground floor. Can't believe Phillipe Petit tightrope walked between World Trade towers. Beirut politics blamed on the Syrians.
We wait past the milk tea for the peas and lentils and tomatoes, the kisra brittle like communion wafers, hard to grip peas with, but Dave and I eat more than is decent in any household, coming after a full meal with Hassan Sayyid. can't really taste the relish. Back to camp under the bright stars, dinner by lamplight prepared our eyes for the sky's full splendor up:m entering their open courtyard.
our men asleep and I catch some thoughts before sleeping, my hat empty of dates, Masood took my invitation to have some literally.
The afternoon, at while yet another Nile side grazing stop, Dave and I walk up to the village 6 well spread houses, children and old women meet us with suspicion, no menfolk in sight, we wait on a rock.
Along comes Hassan Sayyid Hassan in a brown gallabiyya. He's somewhat startled when I take his invitation to tea, with milk? Yes please. With kisra? Not ready, just five minutes.
We smoke a hand rolled gumsha cigarette, he is Dahab Fadil's nephew. We have already passed his house by, missed our last chance for aragi. And here canes Khair and M. just as kisra comes on, pancake thick and scorched black, campfire style heavy doughy and lining the bowl with a tomato and onion sauce. As we dig deep the bread dissolves and absorbs, we eat it all, Hassan said he'd been so hungry but sits out the meal so we guests can eat hearty.
And Maima Mountain, red layered plateau on the east bank, guarding the entry to Dal, M. still in search of a lamb, no luck but we hope.
Everyone in Dal speaks Engish, a noble teacher 30ish in an Egyptian style embroidered gallabiyya and head stacked turban, donkey boys producing dates and dom. We camp early, wind has stilled, time to go visiting, Fursa Sayyida Happy Occasion, with al Hajj and Sons.
This morn passes to say goodbye, photos and the name of a Sudanese driver for the Saudi Embassy in D.C. from Dal, Hassan Ali Bukaan? More tales of babuur, mechanical pump, ownership, co-oping, 50/50 ownership of crops with farmers.
Prices of dates quoted by Hassan Sayyid, , jiraab (small bag) LS 3
shawaal (large) LS 45
Run along to North Dal in search of the falls hearing the roars in the distance and directed to a croc skull over a doorway. As the carrels disappear we make one foray to the Nile, see waterwheels and Dif Island, Dal's greenhouse, and wide mastabas wet mud-palmed smooth. The camels swing back to us as we chat with Abdu- my wife is waiting in NY I say in quick parting-, he says 10 more days to Aswan. Ahmad Hassan Sayyid had said 12 days last niqht, Masood this morn said it was not known, Khair says about 10.
We've climbed away from the Nile, the green has died. The lake begins behind Dal, it has dried the land and washed the mud, buried the fields and submerged the centuries. Large boulder fields all sand-piled and blown, winding through ledges, around the summits, feels like we're topping the world. Camel skeletons proliferate all neck twisted, the urine euphoric posture, and vultures come to land, dirty white with yellow beaks, Um RakhmAllah, the Mother of the Vulture of Allah.
Day 33
Midday break. In the sand flats, plateau riding- between the zalats, smelling corpses freshly red tanned hides. An early start with M. leading-, another naga in his herd miscarried last night, quick squat and out popped a mouse grey camel maybe 3 months premature with heaving ribs as we pass and slick wet skin soon to dry in the wind and sun. The skin will soon stretch tight and thin and crisp as on the rimma.
Adam points out cold clouds indicating stiff wind and they are picking up. KhairAllah the SkullFace lives in Wadi al-Jamal (Camel Valley) near Fasher, on his 13th trip. He does a little camel breeding- on the side.
Our Khair patches my camel's front left pad, he's calm but the lame Fatima-handed one Adam has hog tied and he's gurgling- and groaning-. M. chopping on the large limb of silim wood, hard as rock. Plenty of coals for
jibna, bunn, qahwa;- Ya Allah let's drink some Joe.
Last night Saeed came over and recorded some poetry, spontaneous verse about the drive and his khabir, a long- humming pause between verses, the bard's holding pattern awaiting the muse. Each verse same length and meter. He seems proud of his skill. Hanan '84 is awful by group consensus, even Khair and Adam say she's "useless".
Last eve we set in to the Nile at Umka West to fill skins drink tea and gather strength for the desert haul. Didn't expect to see much of the lake until Abu Simbel, Khair says the next three days over the sand.
A young arab leading 3 yoked ga’uuds each haltered and roped to his rear saddle horn, Khair says he's headed up across from Halfa for a sale.
Masood also at work patching, no rest at lunch today for the men, M. has patched our tea pot with aseeda, stuffed it into the cracks from the outside, now dry like cement, but new leaks everyday. Will this dawr be its last? 'Who owns it and who will throw it out?
Day 34
Predawn. M. stirs the sorghum paste, the crescent moon bottoms out and fades as the glow brightens. Masood squats behind a camel 5 meters away, ma feesh sagat, there is no cold wind.
Last niqht we camped in the cold and the camels romped for sex, paired off in pursuit, how to see who to beat in the dark? We were stopping anyway.
At lunch, joked over the teapot, they say, not appropriate for a man of Abu Jaib's status to have such a poor pot, Adam says I should have a word with Mahdi about it when we reach Cairo. I joke, I eat with one finger and they with 3. No they say, I with 2 and they with 4, so I should eat by myself unhurried.
I say no, I eat with Adam. They say, no, he eats too much. Aha, the secret to his solitary dish the last few days.
Camel breeding, 1 jamal to 20 nagas, must be helped with the coital act, put it in Ya Arab. In his budding frustration he positions and becomes brutal and dangerous to the mare.
Adam thinks the army tent under the hill is Abu Simbel. He asks if we want to visit, I say yes to the statues, he asks what statues?, never heard of the monoliths, never seen them, and Khair explains ancient history to the boy.
Last night while driving, Saeed's voice in song is heard Over the cries and yelps of the men, sun up now, fell asleep listening to Arthur Blythe, woke up to the World Saxophone Quartet, Dave said the jazz lullabies had played a long time last night.
Noon stop. The Aswan-Halfa ferry puffing up behind the coastal range, dark smoke headed south, will arrive Sundays in Halfa. Khair said the lights were visible last night, is it Egypt yet?
Saw Khamees' 4 groups like ants on the horizon, hours ahead, then Adam races off to the left. A red Lump, fresh slaughter, probably from Khamees' herd this morn, all the men follow, cries of excitement and joy. Khair and M. sit quietly, his ruby red ring flashing, waiting for the word “meat”. It's a fat naqa, we pack what's left behind, a large leg bone with bits hanging..
Looks like Nasir and Khair the Elder from M.'s group carrying stomach and entrails, hanging in folds fran their hands, Khamees took the best cuts naturally. Anticipation of our luncheon feast ripens, talk and laughter. Still don't understand why we left old whitey without even a bite. Tired weak bad meat, ta'baan da'eef wihish.
We stop for Nasir to perform a small surgical procedure on one of the sexually active males, pierce his nostril and upper lip and strin:;J it with a rope tied to an 8" piece of fire wood, making him think twice when trotting after a naqa with the wood flopping around pulling at his nose, cooling down his powers of pursuit.
Make our midday camp just over the rise from Khamees, surprised we didn't go up to greet and get better handouts, knowing well that desert hospitality requires the choicest cut for the guest.
Update post-slaughter. Not Khamees after all, 6 drives with 700 camels and 40 men from Fasher, now 30 days on the trail. Slaughter another slow-walking naga, Nasir and Adam assist. Sadiq in brown gallabiyya and 2 others, all young black thin with cheek scars. We arrive after the neck is cut, head to red sand, could be asleep, tossing and turning as in a bad dream.
Peeled skin in a flash, laid it down each side like table cloth, peel off hump fat, cut meat off legs ribs spine, and dismember. Nasir an expert with the knife, often regrindirg it on whet stone. Adam mounts the carcass barefoot with eyes twinkling, let's get comfortable while we butcher he seems to say.
Nasir and Adam take the right side working together, Nasir makes the cuts. Three boys take the left, they aren't greedy, the morning slaughters are plenty even for 40 men. Close now to Aswan, no more aseeda from here on out?
Run for an axe to crack open the rib cage, out it all spills, careful with the knife! Huge deep red liver, 2 small kidneys wound in white fat, heart, valves open, leaving the stomach lung and tongue. Front leg shoulders have a cushion of heavy white fat, within the zurr (chest callous) good for cooking, take the ribs dala'.
The zurr for eating grissly, but thrown into the fire, fat fried and crunchy. Return with a full sack, the morn's haul pitiful in comparison but it's already cooking, lovely peppered hunks in brown gravy. We eat and celebrate, looking over our shoulders at the fresh full sack, tonight to be celebrated again. How many camel recipes do we know between the 6 of us? I'll borrow a few from DG’s Bar-B-Q.
In 20 minutes the camel was mostly gone, much more left on the skeletons we pass, gone are the meat and ribs, skin flayed, guts there but sweetmeats gone. Legs akimbo, crows awaiting.
Unusually little interest paid to the slaughter by those not at the scene. Khair and Masood patching as always, Muhammad at the fire, M. at his fire absorbed in thought.
I help right the carcass as Nasir slices, good grip on the spine. What's the story behind the butchery? Bone broken from a brutal act or simply badly lame from the drive? The boys say the former, the same male did the same to this morn's other slaughtered naga. Adam says no, just tired.
There is a peek of the lake, a blue strip under the brown mountain, between the yellow dunes, the afternoon wanes, another pot on to boil, spirits up. Give me another 40 days of this.
Day 35
Camel back midmorn. Late ride in the wind and cold last night, we leading.
M. the K. finally rode up to say stop here.
Now lunch break. Add a new color saphire blue to the camel driver's palette. Passed beside the first large western bay of the lake, grasses shrubs and junipers growing where the water has risen and fallen. The Fashireen's camels are grazing now, 2 herds stopped just ahead, last night late saw their fires to our left as we dismounted. A distant glow in the east, Simbel or Halfa or errant car lights