…but on his camel he was a better policeman than they. He could ride anywhere silently, see everything, and fire his gun.
-African Calliope: A Journey to the Sudan, Edward Hoagland
Hoagland never met Diyaab, policeman of Hamid Village, the last checkpoint west of the Nile before reaching the border. I’m copying from Day 29 of my 1984 trail diary…Ahmad Diyaab, a donkey for his squad car, a chronic aragi-holic (date wine drunk) according to KhairAllah, who says the shakedown cost him thirty Sudanese pounds last time. Diyaab asks the drovers for their papers which few carry. He sits Muhammad the Miskeen, the Unfortunate, down before his desk with the miniature national flag and asks, Where do you live exactly? Kordofan, he answers, Sodiri District, Umm Badr. North or South? Diyaab asks. North. Ahh, says Diyaab, What’s your pay? Three hundred guineas, says Muhammad. Ahh, again says Diyaab. KhairAllah takes me outside and turns his back to Diyaab and hands me his roll of cash and pantomimes that I put it in my pocket. Later he takes it back, after we’ve left Hamid Village behind, the tafteesh kamil, the complete inspection, over, a few piasters paid out to spring Muhammad from Diyaab’s grip, the wad safe now.