When embarking on a trip to Sudan it is worth knowing that the currency is hard to find. At the time of travel it was not possible to buy the Sudanese pound in Europe and international credit/debit cards (Visa, MasterCard, American Express) were not accepted in Sudan. We had no choice but to travel with dollars and find somewhere to exchange them on the way.
The political situation was volatile and meant that the rate of exchange changed on a daily basis. The black-market better reflected the plummeting value of the Sudanese pound whereas the official rate belied the increasing problems in the country. The difference was ten-fold and it was hard to believe anybody was using the official rate.
In search of this elusive currency we thought the ferry ticket office might be our best chance of accessing the black-market. After going through the motions of hand-written bureaucracy to receive our paper tickets we gingerly enquired about exchanging our dollars. Our broken/non-existent Arabic meant it was hard to gauge how much the officials ‘no’ meant no. As is often the case the number of times you are willing to ask a question demonstrates your seriousness and can be the key to unlocking what you want. In this case it took five attempts before the official said ‘yes’.
When travelling you often have to decide whether to put your trust in a stranger, as we were led through the back streets we hoped our gut was right. Inside an unassuming shop stuffed to the rafters with white-goods we found the black-market. Welcomed with warm hand-shakes and a round of tea we took a seat amongst stacked boxes, fridges and kettles to explain again what we were looking for. Satisfied the fixer (smiling shop owner) went to get the boss.
A giant of a man squeezed his way into the cramped shop to a take an immediately vacated seat. The intimidating circumstance and his gruff demeanour melted away as we exchanged greetings and pleasantries and got down to business, beginning the proceedings of an everyday haggle.
A calculator and good humour were the medium through which we agreed a deal. Unhurriedly both parties took it in turns to punch in an exchange rate, slide the calculator to the opposition, laugh at the outrageous suggestion, delete theatrically and come back with a counter offer. When this display had run its course and both sides were neither joyous nor woeful we shook hands, agreeing the deal.
In return for our eight $50 notes we were presented with wodges of Sudanese pounds, thwarting our plans of hiding the money on our person. Like all serious business exchanges the money then needs to be counted. Our inefficient turning of the notes was a joke to the practised fingers of the money exchangers, who deal in currencies where such quantity of notes is the norm. We discovered that counting cash is a practised technique not dissimilar to the art of shuffling cards. Our gut had been right; we had found the black-market we sought and walked away with a new skill we had not expected to find.
Having easily concealed our dollars on our journey through Egypt we wondered how we were going to keep such a quantity of cash safe. Unbeknown to us we had nothing to worry about as we were about to travel to one of the most honest and friendly places on earth.
