Though cheerless, there is an enchanting beauty in decay. Weathered temples for which time has had no mercy, but which still refuse to erode into nothingness. Crumbling pyramids that persist to remind me of some of the greatest civilisations in history. The shell of what used to be one of the main ports in Africa worn away by neglect, yet alluring in its own way. This melancholic feeling stays with me the whole trip. Everywhere I go, everything I see seems to be only an echo of something that’s long gone now. Built only some decades ago, the desolate hotels that have fallen into oblivion seem eager to tell me about a country that I am late to visit.
The country's deterioration keeps calling me to travel back in time. Yet, its people appear to want me to stick to the present. Everybody wants to talk to me, to learn about me. They insist on sharing their space and time with me. I am no longer sure whether it is the warmth in the colours of its ruins or in the country’s people that I find most captivating. Perhaps it is rather the solemn sound of the prayers that radiate from the mosque and that break the imposing silence in a bewitching way. The Sudanese may have forsaken their material past but they are certainly embracing the present in a more lively, yet deeply spiritual manner than any other people I have ever met.