A Tale of Wau

Almost in the centre of Africa, in the province of Bahr al-Ghazal in the equatorial Sudan, lies the town of Wau. On some maps it is almost the centre of the world. This is the land of the Dinka, those tall, thin and elegant cattle herders whom one can see standing motionless for hours on one leg, supported by a spear. Nearby to the north the Sudd, a vast papyrus swamp, stretches over an area the size of the United Kingdom.

A room at the Government Rest House at Wau was at the disposal of a visiting archaeologist from Khartoum. Stifling, rudimentarily furnished, it was nevertheless a palace in comparison to most of the houses of Wau, a small trading centre, and capital of the province. Gateway to the Central African Empire. Marooned for a week in this little-known spot, our archaeologist strolled daily around the two or three streets, noting among other things a stack of elephant tusks in the shack representing the Air Sudan office. This was in the days when the Imperial Throne of the neighbouring country was occupied by the Emperor Bokassa, the Napoleon of Africa; so perhaps such things were available more easily then. The local Dinka, too, were adorned with massive ivory bracelets, clasped on their slender upper arms. These were made of three separate sections, cleverly shaped, held together by bindings which, shrunk with water, closed them in a perfect fit.

In Wau there are few diversions apart from the desperate daily beseiging of the airline office by those trying to escape. Once there was an airline schedule, but no-one now believes it. The cows might as well stroll on the runway, the plane will come bukhra (tomorrow) - inshallah (if God wills). There is a zoo, but the sight of captured animals in such a setting is not encouraging.

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Thorn tree, small respite from the Sudanese heat.

There were, however, some minor consolations to relieve the tedium of waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. One could drink a cooling beer under a 'thorn tree', one of the immense spreading shady acacias that thrive in the dry grasslands. The tempting smell of a rich meaty sauce wafts from a nearby cauldron. It proves irresistible. The order served, our archaeologist returns with laden plate to his table. Whoosh! From the acacia�s highest branches descends Milvus raptor, a hungry kite. The meat disappears into the skies in an explosion of wings, flexing claws, tin plate and hot sauce. Now he realises why everyone eats furtively, screening the plate with one hand, eyes shifting constantly, scanning the aerial approaches on all sides; it is not just the flies.

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Food Vendor.

Dripping with rich meat sauce, hungrier than ever, but not disposed to brave the feathered dive-bombers again, the hero determined to return to the Rest House to eat. It was a scene of utter tranquillity. No-one was visible in the dining room. He explored the kitchen, a small and almost empty room. No-one was there either. Silence and utter darkness within; a sort of Black Hole.

But, no, not quite silence; a furtive rustling. Peering (as archaeologists do) at the wall, he saw that it was in constant motion. There was no visible wall; only a living sheet of well-fed cockroaches, shiny black in the darkness, involved in a ceaseless round of movement, antennae waving.

Not a pretty sight. But, undaunted, our archaeologist determined on a good deed. He fetched his aerosol fly-spray, that rare luxury from far Khartoum. The impact was instantaneous. Cockroaches sheered off the walls in masses. But such was the power of the spray, unknown in that far country, that they did not flee into crevices, or disappear elsewhere. They simply lay there where they had fallen, millions of legs agitating slowly, piled in huge mounds at the foot of the kitchen walls.

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Sudanese cuisine... but not in Wau.

There comes a point where one has done enough. Awed by the sight of his own destructive power, he closed the door and departed. He never found out the reaction of the returning cooks.

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