So I’m going on a different tangent with this blog, it’s the ‘how to’ approach from Wadi Halifa in Sudan to Aswan in Egypt, hopefully someone follows in my footsteps and finds this useful!
How to S&*t in a Sudanese Toilet
Yeah, we all think we know exactly how to s#%t in a toilet, but we all have to admit that we could improve our toileting routine, especially whilst in Sudan. Here are the steps I found most effective for disaster prevention in this area-
- Before leaving your hotel room, tent or entering the toilet roll the legs of your pants up and gather toilet paper, ensure that you have eaten before this stage as the following steps will kill any appetite that you may develop in the next five to eight years
- Start a seek and find mission for the water tank or water tub (sometimes in the form of a 44 gallon drum), and full your ‘poo pourer’, which is basically a little watering can which most likely has poo on the handle, take this poo pourer into the ‘toilet’ with you
- Upon entering the ‘toilet’ you will see my use of the ‘, calling some of these concrete enclosures a ‘toilet’ is abuse of the word ‘toilet’, in my book a ‘toilet’ has certain qualities, like ventilation
- Don’t ever, ever, ever close the door fully, you put yourself at risk of two things; 1. Suffocation from the fumes laying in that concrete enclosure. 2. Being forever entombed in the concrete enclosure as it’s a rare door latch that works in this part of the world! Basically, the best thing that can happen is that someone sees your ass mid squat! Worst, death by poo fume suffocation....leave the door open!
- Enter carefully, checking the walls for smears, the floor for coils of poo and puddles of urine waiting to cling onto your clothes that will possibly not be washed for weeks and possibly trip you over in the worst place to fall, the poo pile!
- The next step is the solving of a dilemma; to face forwards or backwards. Many people feel better about being sighted whilst over the hole facing away from their sighter, where no eye contact is made, whilst others prefer to face the door, and their possible sighter! With the door open, I believe that facing the said door offers more air flow than facing the back will, which is usually covered in shit splatters anyhow
- Spread your feet wide, and then wider still, something about Sudanese ‘toilets’ (or just a hole in the floor) causes way too much splashback for feet to be too close to the hole
- I am not going to go into exactly how to shit, if you can read this, hopefully you have worked it out by now, what I will say is that scientific research has found that squat toilets are much better on the human insides than the pedestal (otherwise known as European toilets). And that you need to make sure you ass hole is over the hole, and this is vital for everyone else who uses the hole after you!
- After you finish your ‘business’ ensure you drop your paper in the right place, this could be one of two options. If the toilet smells really, really bad, then the plumbing is shit (pardon the pun) and toilet paper is not to go down the hole, there will be a basket for the used toilet paper, it will look like a brown and white smashed up cat in a poo covered basket!, if the plumbing is OK, drop the paper right near the hole, this will minimise the amount of water needed to flush away your ‘job’ and reduce the time spent in the concrete enclosure and so reduce the amount of poo particles that you inhale into your lungs
- After leaving, roll your pants legs down and check your feet for telling ‘splatters’ and find some form of water to wash your hands as well as possible, but always follow up with an antibacterial hand wash or savlon type rinse; honestly our bodies were just not designed to take in the germs that you will find in some of these s^*t houses
- Return to travelling companions and talk about the details of your poo house visit, compare with their recent poo house visits and look forward to the next instalment of the poo house story.
How to ‘shower’
Regardless of how many showers you may have undergone in developed countries and underdeveloped countries, you will find that you need to adopt a different method of showering in Sudan. A lack of water and shonky pipes means that you will find yourself in a concrete enclosure with a decrepit shower head that hasn’t worked for the best part of a century and a few buckets, what to do-
- Prepare yourself as much as possible before leaving your room, if the distance to the shower is not great and if there are few people around you may wish to ‘towel it’ to the shower, this will depend on the size of your ass and the size of your towel, me, being a prude, does not ‘towel it’ to the shower. Watches, hair bands, hair coverings all need to be left in the room, along with moisturisers, deodorants etc; there is time for these later!
- Choose your concrete enclosure carefully, if they are in a line with the toilets, choose the one furthest from the toilet to hopefully minimise the poo fumes coming up from the drain, in choosing your enclosure, you want to make sure that there is a door lock of some description, a clean floor and adequate drainage.
- Hunt down the water tank, use a smaller jug to bucket water to fill the buckets up, carry into your enclosure. Ensure you have a smaller jug to use to rinse yourself.
- Take off your clothes and hang them strategically ie; in order of what you will put back on first, make sure your towel is easy to access.
- Think very, very carefully about your order of events from here. What is not acceptable is to wash the poo from the toilet from your feet into the water that you are about to wash your hair, you need to be smart about this. I usually wash my hands first, ensuring that I do not spill any water back in with the clean water, then I wash my face, then dunking my head into the bucket, shampoo and condition my hair, then lather the grime of the rest of the body, rinse off with small jug, then wash the feet last.
- Before dressing, roll up the legs of your pants so as not to drag them in the water, get dressed and complete the finer details of moisturizer and deodorant in your room.
- Enjoy the clean feeling until you have to touch anything, walk anywhere or get covered in dust by a rogue wisp of wind! (this is about 5 minutes at most!)
How to come to attention of the Authorities by photography
Most of you would have read my previous blog posts about photography in Sudan, it’s a touchy subject. To ensure that you draw maximum attention to your photography, try the following-
- Make sure you are carrying your photo permit at all times in Sudan
- Climb up a small knoll (hill) in the middle of a small town on dusk
- Set up a 100-400mm lens on a full frame camera body on a seriously sturdy Manfrotto tripod (not mine, but I sure wish it was!), for the full effect, put a hood on the 100-400mm lens so that it really looks like a bazooka!
- Aim the said lens in the direction of the military base, but don’t take photos, they are prohibited, instead snap a few photos of a kid playing soccer in the street in front of the military base
- Ensure you aim the lens at many local people in the street and take their picture, just so they feel the lens ‘drilling’ through them
- Make sure you stay on the hill for sunset, so that you are silhouetted with the bazooka set-up (it helps if you have another photographer with their own bazooka set-up for the full effect
- After the sun has gone down, turn on your torch and climb down the knoll without an injury
- Look surprised the next day when word filters back to you that your driver was told to pass on the message of ‘no photos in town’ to the people on the hill the night before taking photos of the military base!
Once you have the above ‘mission’ completed successfully you are qualified to travel on the ferry between Sudan and Egypt, instead of a step by step guide to this I will let you benefit from my experiences whilst on the ferry...
The bus came and picked us up from our ‘hotel’, use of the ‘, due to a place of rope beds, stray cats and concrete floors really not being a ‘hotel’. After attempting to fit about 30 people in a mini van, with all our luggage, someone eventually decides (but not before we had all crammed in and were sitting on laps, the floor, bags) that the bus would make two trips to the ferry terminal. Mark had employed a ‘fixer’ a local man that sorts out odds and ends, like buying cheap water, ferry tickets, buses and getting us through customs. We make our way into the ferry terminal; it looks like a bloody huge train station with 90% of the worlds biggest suitcases jammed into it! We fight our way to a seat, arrange our luggage near us to be told to move down the end, we move down the end, arrange our luggage and then ourselves onto the floor, to be told to move away from our luggage “no f&*king way!” I keep my camera bag on me, leave my sleeping gear and sit in a seat reading the Da Vinci code and trying to block out the conversations around me that had to be at yelling volume instead of talking volume and the endless announcements in Arabic. There is not a bin In the place so I am forced to litter intentionally for the first time in my life. Eventually Mark arrives with our passports and tickets and three other sheets of documentation which we filled in that morning. The ‘fixer’ heads over to the customs desks, and sorts our way through easily..or so I thought. Airports are relatively easy to manage if there is no English, let’s face it, a check in counter looks like a check in counter wherever you are in the world; from there you go through the scanner, which always looks the same, etc etc. Now this ferry terminal was something else, a dead end row of desks with officials on one side and people elbowing their way with passports held out waving to get them stamped, after you got through the different desks, there was no order, and no set combination of events and everyone did the process differently...you had to fight your way back through all the happy elbowers.
Egyptian men are very different from the Sudanese in looks and behaviour, they have a much sharper face, but you will only notice that after you have seen their suitcase, because their suitcase will have smashed into a part of your body as they pass. Being an Egyptian male they are much more important than any female, especially a white female, and especially a white female who has any skin showing! After the first elbow struggle, I am permitted some more quite time with Da Vinci and the Arabic announcements distracting me from the storyline! Eventually we have all fought our way up the dead end passage way and back through the throng of elbowing, sharp faced, suitcase wielding arrogant men and are ready to go through to the baggage search. Now the inside of the baggage search area is the closest thing to a human washing machine without water or soap as you can get. You can be polite and let people pass, but you will stand there until after the ferry has left, unfortunately, there is not a civilised bone in some of these bodies, and if you don’t join then they will beat you (well lets face it, you will be beaten, literally in the process, but get a few elbows back at the bastards in the process!) Thank god (or Allah) that I was blessed with sharp ass elbows that are just the right height for an arrogant mans ribs, after collecting the corner of a suitcase in the left ribs and two suitcases in the right shin, I get my elbows out and a man yells something at me in Arabic....too bad, I don’t speak it so it has no effect on the manner in which I am wielding my elbows. The next day Spencer looks at my legs and asks what the bruises were from; having to cover my body so I don’t resemble a female means that I haven’t seen the bruises myself! So we push our way through the bag check, without even getting our bags checked, what chance have the officials got against hundreds of unruly people surging at them?, so they just stick a ‘safety’ sticker on the bag as we pass, without checking the contents and send us on our way....but not Spencer, the official neglected to stick the sticker on his bag, and the next checkpoint made him go back and get the sticker, Spencer walked off swearing his ass off, got the sticker and came back through the gates still without having his bag checked! Thank (allah) that Islamic extremists are not going to blow up one of their own ferries I say! As anyone could have has a tonne of explosives, undetected in their jocks! So we figure that walking down the wharf to the ferry is the better option that waiting for a bus and having a repeat of the earlier performance (or another elbow fracas!), I get to the ferry and realise that my ‘safety’ sticker has fallen off my bag, ho hum...not an issue! The ‘safety’ sticker system seems to be in meltdown, no one at the boat even cares if you have the sticker, as lets face it, it’s a rort anyway, no bags are checked, a fantastic waste of stickers and a cash cow client for the sticker factories!
We finally board the ferry, two and a half hours after arriving at the terminal and about two and a half hours before the ferry left. We got there early as it is usually standing room only, African Style, so we laid our thermarests out on the deck to reserve our place. We had the heads up as to which side to stake out, it was in the sun waiting for the ferry to leave, but once we departed and turned around we were in the shade. We had soon gathered a curious crowd near us. At one stage I was sitting next to Kerry and this man came over and asked to take our photo, hmm, Ok we guessed, next minute he was in between us with his arms around us as his friend was taking the photo, then they swap spots and ‘creepy red shirt man’ is between us and his friend is taking the photo, he decides that I am no good in the photo (well no s*@t Sherlock, that why I usually take the photos!) and waves his finger at me to get out of the photo and gets me to take the photo of just him and Kerry, Kerry is a New Zealander who just the previous day I had told that I thought she attracted strange men! Now ‘red shirt creepy man’ starts a love affair with Kerry from 10meters that lasted the whole night and even to the train station platform in Aswan. By 6pm we was professing his love fore Kerry to another of our travelling companions, this is despite the fact that Kerry and Matt told this man they were married! By 8pm Kerry and Matt had gone for tea and had left their gear with us, the top deck of the boat had not a single scrap of light on it at this stage, Spencer notices that ‘strange creepy red shirt man’ has sat really close to Matts bag and says to me to keep an eye on it. I sit up and aim my head torch right at the ‘freaky creepy red shirted pervert’ to see him sitting with his arm innocently on the railing behind the bag, I keep a close eye on him until he moves off 20 seconds later. When Kerry and Matt return I tell them to check the contents of their bags to make sure everything is still in there, well yes it is, and more....the ‘red shirt pervert’ has left his phone number in the bag!
We are all summoned down to ‘immigration’, females in the dining area and males outside the window of the dining hall, to have our passports stamped. Mark had purchased out Egyptian visas for us, at the grand price of $15 USD, much cheaper than we anticipated, we just had to take the sticker and the forms over to the man to stick them in our passports and stamp it. He opened my passport, flicked past 23 empty pages, to land the sticker, slap bang, in the middle of page 34! Whallah!
A little while on we are all laying in our sleeping bags, the wind on the lake is pretty cool, and I become aware of 8 or so men standing looking in our direction, starting to get a bit pis&%d off, I start telling Spencer about there freaky people around, he points out that just out of my line of vision some of our fellow travellers are watching their photos on the computer, these men were joining in! After ‘safety Sam’ has tied my camera bag to the railing three times and tied Spencers bag to my bag, and my other bag to both of these bags and tied this all to my sleeping bag AND after hiding my passport in my sleeping bag pocket (I am exhausted!) I settle down on solid steel on my thermarest between Spencer and Ish for a good nights sleep, my only real complaint was fly away hair being ruffled by the wind and tickling my face so much that I wore my head torch as a head band. Spencer wakes up the following morning, looks at me and says “you wore your headtorch to bed last night, you looser!” Loving husband that he is!
Actually, that was not my only complaint; call to prayer belts out of every speaker in the boat at 4.40am! “allah, allah, allah....” crickey, then we have a prayer session of white robed men facing mecca happening on the deck around us!
Opening my eyes that morning was an image I doubt I’ll ever forget, many, many robed man staring at us, all sleeping in a line on the deck. Granted they have possibly not seen sleeping bags before, or white people sleep, or women with their heads uncovered sleeping. I then looked around to see the ‘red shirted freaky man’ standing a couple of meters away from Kerry, who was still asleep watching her and then checking his phone and shaking his head (obviously waiting for her to call him!), I just roll over put my sunglasses on and try to get a little more shut eye!
Kaye tells me the next morning about her experience whilst she was in a cabin, (you could pay a little extra for a cabin with two bunk beds in it, only Jules and Jen, Kaye and Mark chose to do this). None of the cabin doors had locks on them, so you could not lock your gear in, or lock others out. Kaye is a 50 year old Aussie who has done the entire west coast and is going to Istanbul on the truck, was in the cabin by herself that morning, lying on the bottom bunk, when this 30 year old Egyptian man rolls into the cabin without knocking, kisses her on her recently shaved head (she has shaved her head for Movember and in memory of her late mother who passed away from cancer) and then proceeded to attempt a kiss her on the lips! She said that he respected her decline of the offer and sent him on his way!
Now I know that Mohammed is the most common name in the world, but there was either a Mohammed on the boat that didn’t farking listen or a whole bunch of Mohammad’s who didn’t listen as there were announcements every five minutes, always preceded by a blowing sound in the microphone!
Once we arrive we sit on the boat for about two hours and witness African organisation at it’s finest! I was certain that I could have organised the same amount of teenagers to clean their cabins, do a cabin inspection, get them off the boat and assembled in lines AND call the roll in half the time as it took to even get the gear off the boat! The porters were pushing and shoving to get on the boat before anyone could get off, and barging into cabins to acquire portering jobs! We eventually think that the throng of people must have subsided enough to risk the corridor, wrong! After several more run in’s with suitcases and some fat, pushy bastard plows past me and up the stairs, inadvertently catching my tripod holder on my camera bag on his bag and attempting to pull me up the stairs! I elbow my way off! Relief!, but not for long, we arrive at the ‘arrival hole’, no s&*t, that’s what two signs called it the ‘arrival hole’ (the translator for that deserves a kick up the butt) but they weren’t wrong, it is a hole, more elbowing and pushing and after accumulating way too much Egyptian man sweat on my elbows and forearms we get through into the hall, get our bags x-rayed and are waved straight through the baggage search! I was so glad to see that the pushy little s&*t who had released half a gallon of his sweat onto my arms was thoroughly searched whilst we went straight through!
From there we are loaded into dodgy old Peugeot station wagons for our trip to the Hathor Hotel...I know, I know, Hat Hore? What the? The station wagons are not in great shape, at one stage we think that we have conked out, no, the driver was just stopping to close the back door, it had flipped open, and lucky we didn’t drop any gear out on the road! The hotel seems more wondrous than the Hilton or Empire, we have been so long in the dust and crap that a clean floor and our own toilet and working shower are almost too much to bear, along with WiFi internet, a window and McDonalds three minutes down the road, we are in heaven! Putting off a shower for a few hours we wander down to McDonalds, on the way finding an ATM machine that does money conversions, yep, chuck your $20USD note in and it will spit back the equivalent in Egyptian Pounds less a service fee! Brilliant! Only it was out on money! He he
So we arrive at the Golden Arches, wow, not usually a huge McDonalds fan, it has been a long time between drinks and I want some of it! I get in the door and order a cheeseburger without the meat (don’t knock it until you try it!), large fries with sweet and sour sauce, large coke, apple pie and caramel sundae. The big killer on this feed was the sizing’s, they are American sizes here, so my coke was 779ml, my fries were 262g!, the burger had a diameter much larger than a normal one! After a discussion of the additives and preservatives I decide that McDonalds could be like a medicine, if you had eaten dodgy food, you could smash a feed of McDonalds into your gut and the preservatives would kill off any dodgy’s that me be lurking in your digestive system!
From there Spencer followed the boys on a ‘beer mission’ (Everything is called a ‘mission’, even a ‘toilet mission’) And I walk back, stopping at a convenience store to announce “Oh look they have ice cream freezers, with ice cream!” before realising what a looser I sounded like! I had a similar moment in McDonalds when I asked what the toilets were like and rushed to use them after being told that they had soap AND toilet paper AND were free!
Have done a stock take on my camera gear, it’s all terribly dirty, but no amount of cleaning will get rid of the dust, not sure if it’s static electricity but it seems to be attracting dirt like a magnet attracts metal! My 24-105mm lens is suffering the worst, it’s been the workhorse and is making all sorts of gritty, scratching sounds when it’s zoomed or manually focused, The lens on the little camera is making sounds similar to nails on a blackboard when it is turned on or off. The 100-400mm is starting to show that the push- pull zoom does bring in dust, but honestly, no more than the standard one. The LCD screen on the other camera has almost given up the ghost and the 5D one seems a little funky too. Just hoping that it holds out another 2 months (yep, that’s all that’s left!) and once I get home it can all head off to Canon for some TLC!
And I am missing school, I am constantly looking for a bloody pen!
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