Decide to cycle to the hospital in Abri as I’ve regained some energy. Hitchhiking – with the lack of traffic and transport on these remote roads – takes longer time than to bike, even with a bad stomach. It’s a decent dirt-road all the way, and once in Abri I find the small hospital where I get to stay for two nights; take tests. The doctors and nurses are extremely friendly, and since this is Sudan, everything is of course free of charge.
The quality of the care is another story. I’m first sent to one house (1) to visit the doctor, but he doesn’t speak English. Then another house (2) for someone who speaks English, but he’s just about to pray. Back to the reception. Five minutes later to house (1) and a bed to rest in. I rest for one minute before they come and ask me to go to house (3) for a stool test – but in a hurry since the nurse is about to go praying. I make coffee, but still no stool. He goes praying – 20 minutes, he says. OK. I wait.
I’ve been given a piece of folded paper (same pastel blue as everything else in Sudan) to use as a container and a piece of wood (a tooth stick, maybe) to use to fetch the stool. It’s hot – deadly hot.
Sudan is sleepy like few other places, but people are beautiful and kind. Good intentions; no action. They take snuff, smoke cigarettes, smoke water pipe. Bread with super-sweet jam. Sandy streets; vast distances. Friday, prayer, closed.
One of the male nurses – with a girlishly light voice – complains on how they lack one of the three satellite channels which has channels with ‘more sexy content’.
The roads in Sudan are of the kind at which you choose side not depending on local rules or laws, but given which way the wind blows. If a truck passes by, you want it to pass on the same side of you as to where the wind is blowing, so you don’t get caught in a cloud of dust. It’s desert dirt roads.