Leaving Sudan
Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
After spending just the one night in Gedaref, it was time to head to the border town of Gallabat so that I could cross into Ethiopia. Zain was planning on going to Gallabat as well, but an early morning visit to the bank showed that money that he was waiting for had not yet arrived, so no Gallabat for Zain. I didn't really understand that he was expecting money to be transferred or anything like that so it was a little sad to see his reaction when he realized he couldn't make the journey to Gallabat.
However, I still had to get going so Zain took me to a gas station on the out skirts of town where you can arrange transportation to Gallabat. And in this case, transportation means a huge flatbed truck. No seats, no protection from the dust and no cover from the sun. There were about 20 of us in the back, with about another half dozen or so sitting on the roof of the cab, with a few people thrown into the cab for good measure. It wasn't particularly crowded but it was clear that this was going to be a long journey to Ethiopia.
I had managed to prop up my bag so that I could use it as a seat, but as we left Gedaref, the road quickly deteriorated and it was clear that standing was really the only option. (The available floor space was already taken up by women and children, though personally I prefered standing to sitting.)
The road from Gedaref to Gallabat passes through dozens of little villages and towns. None very large, maybe a few hundred people at the most, but it never ceased to amaze me every time we passed a village in the middle of nowhere. In some cases, you'd just see people walking along paths that led over hills on the horizon. I could only imagine that a village must exist on the other side because otherwise this person is a long way from home. Which seemed to be the order of the day. People just living and walking in places that didn't seem connected in any way to the rest of the world except by this one road.
As for the road itself, well it went from incredibly rough to butter smooth to incredibly rough. They are currently building a road to connect Gedaref with Gallabat and certain random sections of it are paved, which provides some reprive from the dirt roads but for the most part you just drive beside the new road, bumping and rolling along as the eroded road tosses the truck in every direction.
After about 6 hours of driving, including a lunch break and a few stops to load and unload other passengers, you finally arrive in the border town of Gallabat.
There's not much to Gallabat though, it did seem a bit larger then the book described it. It basically just sprawls out along the border, though there's no main street or anything like that. The truck stops about one hundred meters short of the border crossing and everyone gets out.
Like just about everywhere in the Middle East, as soon as you arrive somewhere people (mostly kids) are all too eager to "help you" and Gallabat was no exception. The funny thing is how much they basically lie to you. It's a harmless lie, but it always starts something like "Welcome, let me help you with security..." "Uh, ok, do you work here?" "Yeah, sure, no problem, passport control over there..." And so forth. Eventually you realize they don't work here and are just looking for "guide" money. In any event, the exit procedures for Sudan are super simple and involve a passport check in one hut, a visa check in another building and a customs check in a third building. It's all very ad-hoc and since there is technically no border guard or gate, I honestly wonder what would have happened if I had just walked over to Ethiopia, which is only about 20-30 meters away across a dried up river bed. The locals seemed to walk back forth freely and I suspect you could probably just stroll across, though maybe someone would say something since you'd stick out like a sore thumb.
After the Sudanese formalities, I tried to loose a few of the "guides" by taking tea and lunch breaks before crossing into Ethiopia which worked somewhat, but just as soon as I would loose one of them, another would pick me up.
As I crossed over the dry river bed into Ethiopia, someone in plain clothes called out to me from the side of the road. You learn to ignore most of this, so that's what I did, but he kept calling out to me and then someone else motioned that I needed to go see him, so I did. Turns out he's in charge of looking at your passport and after a quick check, he just points to a hut a few meters away and ushers you in that direction.
It's not much, but the hut is the official immigration office for Ethiopia. The officer was nice enough, though I did find it interesting that he spent around 5 minutes or so looking through ledgers, presumably looking for my name because he was reading lists of names then comparing the list to my passport. I felt like telling him that he wouldn't find my name, but then I figured I'd just let him do his job because hey, what if he did find my name on that list...
Obviously, he didn't find my name so he had to write a new entry, stamp the passport, greet me to Ethiopia then, get this, have me fill out a "Customer Satisfaction" form! It had all the usual questions on it like "Was the officer pleasant?", "Were your questions answered fully?" "Rate your overall experience." The only comment I left was that the officer didn't know the exchange rate for Sudanese Dinars to Ethiopian BIR, which would prove to be a story unto itself. Behind the desk is a little locked box that you stuff the survey form into. It was pretty full, so either lots of people cross from Sudan into Ethiopia, or the box doesn't get emptied and read all that often. I'm guessing the box doesn't get emptied, but hey, at least someone thought of the idea to ask travelers what they thought...
There was one last random, plain clothed guy to get past who was just sitting on the side of the road. Apparently, he was the Ethiopian customs agent because all he wanted to do was to go through my bag. It's kind of funny to be getting your bag looked through while locals from both Ethiopia and Sudan freely cross the border behind you. Whatever, as every traveler says, African teaches you patience, and it wasn't long until I could finally say that I had arrived in Ethiopia.
Kenny
After spending just the one night in Gedaref, it was time to head to the border town of Gallabat so that I could cross into Ethiopia. Zain was planning on going to Gallabat as well, but an early morning visit to the bank showed that money that he was waiting for had not yet arrived, so no Gallabat for Zain. I didn't really understand that he was expecting money to be transferred or anything like that so it was a little sad to see his reaction when he realized he couldn't make the journey to Gallabat.
However, I still had to get going so Zain took me to a gas station on the out skirts of town where you can arrange transportation to Gallabat. And in this case, transportation means a huge flatbed truck. No seats, no protection from the dust and no cover from the sun. There were about 20 of us in the back, with about another half dozen or so sitting on the roof of the cab, with a few people thrown into the cab for good measure. It wasn't particularly crowded but it was clear that this was going to be a long journey to Ethiopia.
I had managed to prop up my bag so that I could use it as a seat, but as we left Gedaref, the road quickly deteriorated and it was clear that standing was really the only option. (The available floor space was already taken up by women and children, though personally I prefered standing to sitting.)
The road from Gedaref to Gallabat passes through dozens of little villages and towns. None very large, maybe a few hundred people at the most, but it never ceased to amaze me every time we passed a village in the middle of nowhere. In some cases, you'd just see people walking along paths that led over hills on the horizon. I could only imagine that a village must exist on the other side because otherwise this person is a long way from home. Which seemed to be the order of the day. People just living and walking in places that didn't seem connected in any way to the rest of the world except by this one road.
As for the road itself, well it went from incredibly rough to butter smooth to incredibly rough. They are currently building a road to connect Gedaref with Gallabat and certain random sections of it are paved, which provides some reprive from the dirt roads but for the most part you just drive beside the new road, bumping and rolling along as the eroded road tosses the truck in every direction.
After about 6 hours of driving, including a lunch break and a few stops to load and unload other passengers, you finally arrive in the border town of Gallabat.
There's not much to Gallabat though, it did seem a bit larger then the book described it. It basically just sprawls out along the border, though there's no main street or anything like that. The truck stops about one hundred meters short of the border crossing and everyone gets out.
Like just about everywhere in the Middle East, as soon as you arrive somewhere people (mostly kids) are all too eager to "help you" and Gallabat was no exception. The funny thing is how much they basically lie to you. It's a harmless lie, but it always starts something like "Welcome, let me help you with security..." "Uh, ok, do you work here?" "Yeah, sure, no problem, passport control over there..." And so forth. Eventually you realize they don't work here and are just looking for "guide" money. In any event, the exit procedures for Sudan are super simple and involve a passport check in one hut, a visa check in another building and a customs check in a third building. It's all very ad-hoc and since there is technically no border guard or gate, I honestly wonder what would have happened if I had just walked over to Ethiopia, which is only about 20-30 meters away across a dried up river bed. The locals seemed to walk back forth freely and I suspect you could probably just stroll across, though maybe someone would say something since you'd stick out like a sore thumb.
After the Sudanese formalities, I tried to loose a few of the "guides" by taking tea and lunch breaks before crossing into Ethiopia which worked somewhat, but just as soon as I would loose one of them, another would pick me up.
As I crossed over the dry river bed into Ethiopia, someone in plain clothes called out to me from the side of the road. You learn to ignore most of this, so that's what I did, but he kept calling out to me and then someone else motioned that I needed to go see him, so I did. Turns out he's in charge of looking at your passport and after a quick check, he just points to a hut a few meters away and ushers you in that direction.
It's not much, but the hut is the official immigration office for Ethiopia. The officer was nice enough, though I did find it interesting that he spent around 5 minutes or so looking through ledgers, presumably looking for my name because he was reading lists of names then comparing the list to my passport. I felt like telling him that he wouldn't find my name, but then I figured I'd just let him do his job because hey, what if he did find my name on that list...
Obviously, he didn't find my name so he had to write a new entry, stamp the passport, greet me to Ethiopia then, get this, have me fill out a "Customer Satisfaction" form! It had all the usual questions on it like "Was the officer pleasant?", "Were your questions answered fully?" "Rate your overall experience." The only comment I left was that the officer didn't know the exchange rate for Sudanese Dinars to Ethiopian BIR, which would prove to be a story unto itself. Behind the desk is a little locked box that you stuff the survey form into. It was pretty full, so either lots of people cross from Sudan into Ethiopia, or the box doesn't get emptied and read all that often. I'm guessing the box doesn't get emptied, but hey, at least someone thought of the idea to ask travelers what they thought...
There was one last random, plain clothed guy to get past who was just sitting on the side of the road. Apparently, he was the Ethiopian customs agent because all he wanted to do was to go through my bag. It's kind of funny to be getting your bag looked through while locals from both Ethiopia and Sudan freely cross the border behind you. Whatever, as every traveler says, African teaches you patience, and it wasn't long until I could finally say that I had arrived in Ethiopia.
Kenny
posted by Kenny Carruthers at 2/13/2006 04:40:00 AM
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