Sudanese sands: a journey across the Bayuda Desert

Flanked by a sweeping bend of the Nile, Sudan’s little-visited Bayuda Desert is a rich geological and historical landscape, with ancient Nubian pyramids, sand dunes, acacia forests and vast savannah plains.

We sped along the highway, weaving in and out of an endless convoy of lorries in an attempt to make it to Sudan’s Meroë pyramids before sunrise. Having just completed a 280 km trek across the Bayuda Desert — a section of the Sahara created by a horseshoe bend in the Nile — I had been looking forward to the prospect of nestling into the cream leather seats of a Land Cruiser for the return journey. But I was soon itching to stretch my legs again.

Several nomads on camels, elegantly dressed in flowing white robes and proudly sitting atop colourful saddles passed by, as we trundled along a dusty track back into the desert we had just traversed. A small sign with faded Arabic lettering was the only clue that we had almost reached the fabled pyramids.

The Meroë pyramids. Photo by Louis Supple

Built in 300 B.C., the pyramids mark the tombs of kings and queens from the ancient Kingdom of Kush, which ruled Nubia for centuries. Sadly, an Italian treasure hunter called Giuseppe Ferlini dynamited the tops off in the 1830s. Despite the damage, the pyramids are still a sight to behold. They are rarely visited — the only other visitors the night we arrived were a pair of inquisitive desert foxes scavenging around our camp for dinner scraps. As we explored the site the following morning, we were joined by a group of school children, who proceeded to run up and down the delicate pyramids. It was hard to believe that a UNESCO Heritage Site of such archaeological significance had no one to look after it.

Sudan’s blasé attitude towards their historical treasures and lack of tourist infrastructure partly explains why the country attracts so few visitors. Its northern neighbour, Egypt, attracts ten times as many tourists each year, despite the countries sharing the same rich ancient history, beautiful desert landscapes and prime access to the clear waters and coral reefs of the Red Sea. Sudan is still perceived to be an unsafe place to visit, associated with its recent bloody civil wars and the coup d’état that ousted long-standing President Omar al-Bashir.

A BBC newsflash the night before I was due to fly out reported a gun battle between the military and supporters of Bashir in the streets of Khartoum, so there was good reason to be cautious. I was expecting a tense atmosphere on arrival, with soldiers on every street corner. 

But this wasn’t the case. The city seemed full of optimism, and most locals that I spoke to were excited to see what the future would hold following the fall of the ‘dictator’ Bashir. Our final preparations for the expedition in Khartoum included a meeting with the Minister of Environment in his opulent government office. With five plasma televisions and luxury interiors, the room was more akin to a suite at a five star hotel than a government office.

After convincing the Minister that a military escort was really not necessary, and successfully acquiring a caravan of hardy camels from the market in Omdurman, we travelled to El Metemma, a small town near the Ethiopian border where we would begin our expedition. For the next ten days we would trek across the little-visited Bayuda Desert.

Pastoralists in the Bayuda Desert. Photos by Louis Supple and Nicholas Holt

Guided by a wily old camel trader called Bela, and his cousin Qatar, we followed an ancient trading route that nomadic pastoralists from the Bisharin tribe have used for centuries to trade goods in Egypt. The route encompassed a range of beautiful desert environments, from acacia forests and savannahs to sand dunes and prehistoric volcanic rock outcrops. 

We also passed graves and forts from the ill-fated Gordon Relief Expedition of 1885. We enjoyed reading about the comical antics of the British Army during their march across the desert. Sir Redvers Buller, Chief of Staff for the expedition, and an alcoholic, hired 46 camels to transport his Veuve Clicquot champagne.

Preparing the camels for a day’s trek. Photo by Nicholas Holt

Qatar leading the caravan. Photo by Louis Supple

To our astonishment, Bela navigated the entire route using his memory and the sun, not once stopping to check the GPS. His weathered face and the jagged scar under his eye were clues of a hard life spent in camel markets and trekking in the desert. Hard to read, Bela had a twinkle in his eye, but he rarely made eye contact, always seeming distracted. I couldn’t help but think that he was a little bit sceptical about our chances of successfully traversing the Bayuda.

Bela possessed the rare qualities that most great leaders have in common; I respected and happily followed him, but I also slightly feared him. Each morning he would stand over us with his hands behind his back like a school master, as we sat on a blanket for breakfast. He would then peer at his watch and menacingly shout ‘Yalla Yalla!’ when it was time to set off. Like an apprentice desperate to please his master, I would feel a pang of pride when Bela rewarded me for a good day’s march with a handful of delicious dates.

Travelling through the Bayuda felt like being transported to another age, when modern transport and the internet were just fanciful ideas. We had no contact with the outside world for the duration of the trek, and embraced a simple life involving little more than walking, sleeping, eating, drinking and talking. Evenings were spent sat around a fire chatting and sipping chai (Sudanese tea sweetened with ginger and sugar). We slept in tents, often without a fly sheet despite the bitter cold, and looked up at the stars glinting in the night sky. I was transfixed, and would pass the time identifying constellations.

We always woke at sunrise. Before leaving the warmth of my sleeping bag, I took a moment to admire the vivid red colours of dawn. The comforting glow and crackle of the fire, and the promise of some coffee and pancakes, would eventually persuade me to slide out of my sleeping bag and start preparing for the day’s 30 km march. Bela and Qatar always rode ahead, leading the camel caravan, which would stop from time to time so the camels could stock up on desert vegetation.

Qatar collecting firewood. Photo by Louis Supple

Our route passed two wells, so the camels could rehydrate. A few sips seemed to last them for days, and I appreciate now why camels are called the ‘ships of the desert’, as they are perfectly adapted to desert conditions. The dulcet tones of Qatar, who had a repertoire of Arabic folk tunes, kept morale high as we battled the all-consuming heat.

As with most worthwhile adventures, reaching the end was bittersweet. Tired, hungry, and covered in sand, I looked forward to seeing my loved ones again, but was also slightly sad to leave nomadic desert life behind. As I climbed into the Land Cruiser for the journey back to Khartoum, the words of the famous British desert explorer, Wilfred Thesiger, echoed in my head:

‘I knew instinctively that it was the very hardness of life in the desert which drew me back there …. In the desert I had found a freedom unattainable in civilisation; a life unhampered by possessions, since everything that was not a necessity was an encumbrance.’