Nubian Kings Who Were Ancient Egypt's Black Pharaohs Mystery Of The African Pharaohs Odyssey

Up the River Nile, to a realm that's existed since the dawn of time. A place ruled by pharaohs. Black pharaohs. But they weren't Egyptian. This is a forgotten African civilization which, like the Egyptians to the north, built temples and pyramids that would last 5,000 years. So my journey takes me 1,000 miles up the Nile, deep into a desert where temperatures soar to 120 degrees. And here I come face to face with the black pharaohs of Africa. I'm David Adams and this is the Sudan. I'm about two and a half days sailing south of the Egyptian border into what they called the Hidden Quarter. It's the least-travelled part of the Great River Nile. From here to Khartoum, Sudan's desert capital, there's 1,000 miles of temples, tombs and fortresses of a culture that once ruled all Egypt herself. As the crow flies, my journey's only 330 miles. But by river, round the Great S Bend of the Nile, it's triple that distance. Nearer 1,600 kilometres. But first, a little history. Nearly 3,000 years ago, in the 8th century BC, Chebaka, king of Nubia, conquered Egypt. His dynasty was to rule the Egyptian empire for over a century. The 25th Nubian dynasty. And Chebaka was black. He and his descendants built temples and pyramids and an empire that stretched from Khartoum to Alexandria. It was a civilisation that was to span 5,000 years. So to go back to the roots of this ancient African empire, I'm sailing up the Nile in the most traditional of ways. My crew is Nubian, direct descendants of those who fought for the black pharaohs. And I'm sailing on a faluka, a boat little changed in 3,000 years. Ideally suited to what's a very user-friendly river. And what makes the Nile really navigable is that the flow goes one way towards Egypt and Alexandria, and the north wind goes the other towards Khartoum. So boats like this can navigate up and down the Nile at will. The Nile is Sudan's lifeline. 60% of its waters rise in the Ethiopian highlands and flood down the Blue Nile to bring nourishment to its fertile banks. But it's a very thin lifeline. A green strip extending only as far as the Nile waters can reach. Barely a mile from its banks are the scorching sands of the Nubian desert. The Nubians of Sudan live in mud villages much as they've done for centuries. And I never knew mud could be made so colourful. These walls have become a canvas on which to vivid geometric patterns. Again, I'm going back in time. These villagers' ancestors would have once lived under the rule of the black pharaohs. Provided they paid their tribute and worshipped the ancient god Amun-Ra, the pharaohs would have been benevolent. If they defaulted, they would have incurred the pharaoh's wrath. Today, the villagers are Islamic, and in true Islamic style, they extend a welcome to all strangers. Really are incredible, these buildings. You'd think you were in Mexico with all the painted adobe houses there, instead of right in the middle of the Sudan. School starts early in the Sudan, at 7am. And as Westerners seldom pass this way, the school teacher grabs his opportunity. He wants me to tell his students about my home country, Australia. Sydney. That's where I come from, Sydney. Do they know this one? This is the, okay, it's got big ears, okay, like that, and a very big tail. They know this one? What's this one? You know this one? I wonder what would happen if I asked Western children to name an animal in the Sudan. I'd be even more amazed if they knew where it was. Thank you very much. It was very good. But I must be on my way. Goodbye, thank you. It all seems so calm and peaceful here. But just across the river is an old fort. It stands as a stark reminder of rival imperial ambitions that have so often disrupted the peace of this great river. And here's another monument, a temple built by an Egyptian warrior, Amenhotep III, great-great-grandfather of Tutankhamen. It was built 4,000 years ago, and it predates King Solomon, Babylon and the temples of classical Greece. It was from temples like these that the black pharaohs drew their inspiration and founded their ancient African civilization. Walking amongst these columns and fallen masonry, you can't help but admire the workmanship. They're thousands of years old, yet it seems they were carved yesterday. And where are the tourists? If this were a temple in Egypt, it would be crawling with them. But I seem to have it all to myself. In Amenhotep's day, this was an imperial outpost, marking what was to him the ends of the earth. Behind was Egypt, the known world. Beyond was black Africa and the Nubian province of Cush. And I've also reached a natural barrier, the third cataract. One of a series of impassable rapids that hinder all Nile travellers. My felucca can go no further. And as if to rub in the point, on the cliff high above the cataract, there is an old inscription, warning of danger ahead. This was the original border between ancient Egypt and the Nubian province of Cush. Tomorrow, I join the trail of another warrior, whose imperial ambition ran headlong into that of another would-be African pharaoh. I'm about to enter the land of Cush. The following day, sunrise is obliterated by a desert storm. Minute grains of sand and dust get in your eyes and up your nostrils. Sandstorms like this are commonplace in the Sudan and most of North Africa. And they don't make a photographer's life any easier. I'm on the Nile on my way to Dongola, where I hope to catch an old steam ferry. In it, I hope to travel to Karima, round the great S-bend of the Nile. I'm on another felucca, dwarfed by this mighty river. And it was past this very spot, nearly 3,000 years ago, that the black pharaohs launched their invasion north. Now, wind the clock forward to just over a century ago, and we find that history repeats itself. In 1896, a conquering army also sailed past this very spot. But this one was heading south. In the 1800s, a man was born near here who believed he was sent by God. He was a sort of Islamic messiah, known as the Mahdi. He too had visions of a black African empire, this time an Islamic one. Today, his followers still whip themselves into a frenzy in his memory. They're called dervishes. 120 years ago, a dervish army launched a holy war to end British colonial rule. They killed the British commander, General Gordon, at Khartoum. It was 10 years before his death would be avenged. And when vengeance came, it came in the form of this man, Lord Kitchener, later to become one of Britain's most outstanding generals. Kitchener was determined to destroy the dervish army. And to get at them, he used the River Nile. The next morning, we arrive in Dongola. And it was near Dongola, in 1896, that Kitchener's army first came under fire from the dervish forces. He quickly defeated them with superior firepower. Are these the ferry boats? Do they stay for Karima? It's finished? Well, there's my Nile ferry. Thanks to irrigation and droughts upstream, the river level is low. The result is that these once magnificent old boats have been left to rust in the mud. So my plan to travel under steam, like Lord Kitchener, won't work. It's a riverboat graveyard. This is all that's left of a riverboat culture that grew up along the Nile. It was based on British imperial power. But it was romantic just the same. Imagine what it would have been like living on these riverboats for days on end. Really like Agatha Christie in Death on the Nile. First-class passengers would have been reclining in these lovely little cabins, drinking their gin and tonics, while the Sudanese all rowed down below. Still about 500 miles down to Khartoum, but it would have been quite a long trip. And a boat like this, in those days, would have been wonderfully luxurious. The Battle of Dongola was Kitchener's first success. Dongola is famous for its markets, stacked with produce from the Nile. Today, as in 1896, there's enough food to feed an army. And it's in these markets that I meet Ramadan. Ramadan is also bound for Karima. He tells me there's only one way to get there quickly. But it means abandoning the river and going by bus. So how long does the bus take to get to Karima? Two days. Yeah? Yeah, we take two days, and desert, and many sand. But Karima is very beautiful, also. Yeah, I'm looking forward to it. Jabal Barkar. Jabal Barkar, and there is a guru, also. And you are stopping in Karima? Yeah, we're stopping in Karima. That's the good news. The bad news is that the bus doesn't leave until the day after tomorrow. So it's two days' waiting, then? Yeah, two days' waiting. There's not many buses in this country. Yeah, we must wait until they will take the tea. Say shukra. The Sudanese are a nation of tea drinkers. So we discuss travel plans over a glass of sweet minted tea. Is there much to see around Dongola? Dongola is also famous for its cooking. Perhaps I can relax and enjoy some Sudanese cuisine. But Ramadan suggests another form of cooking. You may think that being buried 30 kilometres out in the desert is some sort of Sudanese torture. Actually, it's something that a lot of people travel a long way to do because this sand has incredible properties. And anybody with rheumatism who gets buried here for an hour or two walks away with almost no pain. Well, for me, because I don't have rheumatism, this is actually like a hot sauna. Well, probably in an hour or two, I'll just be nicely baked. But it actually is very pleasant, I think. Ramadan, could you grab my hat? I'm going to fry out here. How long do I have to stay out here? What do you want, two hours, three hours? No problem. I think I'll be cooked like a turkey. It reminds me of an ancient funereal custom of the black pharaohs. When a pharaoh died, he expected all his wives, courtiers, guards and palace staff to be buried with him, alive. It's getting hot. Very hot. Soon, I'll be mummified like a pharaoh. They put a cover over me as the sun rises higher and higher in the desert sky. And by now, I seem to have acquired quite an audience. But I can't let them watch me cook forever. We must get back to Dongola. We've got a bus to catch. It's a 200-mile journey, which means a 12-day camel ride with a caravan. I'm very glad we've got a place on this bus. There's no room inside, which means we have to sit up on the roof. Not to worry. Up here, it's a dress circle view. African desert buses are very colourful, and I don't mean just their design. And you've got to love that horn. Get the dust out of my mouth and the sun off my head. Ramadan insists I wear an emma, a form of Sudanese turban. That's great. Hurtled deeper into the desert, my mind goes back to Kitchener's Army just over a century ago. 25,000 men marching through this desert. I'm glad I was born in the age of motorised transport. Two days later, dusty and tired, we arrive in the town of Karima. And before we say our goodbyes, Ramadan helps me to find a hotel. So this is the only guest house in town, eh? Yes, this is the only guest house. Oh, it's fine. Okay, thank you. See you. It was great having such a knowledgeable guide. Thank you. And as I drift off to sleep, my mind goes back to Nubia and that ancient African empire. I'm about to enter a land of pyramids and temples built by the Black Pharaohs thousands of years ago. This was the place from where they set out to dominate much of the known world. It was also the place where the kings became gods. At first sight, Karima is just another North African desert town on the banks of the River Nile. But it was once an imperial city that used to rule the Sudan and Egypt far beyond. Towering over Karima is Jebel Bakal, at its foot, temples and burial grounds dating back to the days of the Black Pharaohs. This was their sacred mountain. It was from here that they drew their royal power. And it was from here, nearly 3,000 years ago, that they launched their conquest of Egypt and beyond. In ancient times, this was the centre of a belief system that linked gods and kings. It was here they believed heaven and earth were joined. Well, this is the seat of the gods. This is where Amun-Ra, the great god of the Kush and the Egyptians, was worshipped. And from this pinnacle, there was a huge pluck of gold that shone out into the desert and declared to everybody that this was the centre of Amun-Ra and the worship of their great god. And why wouldn't they think this place was sacred? It was the highest point in their firmament. From here, they could survey their capital, much of their kingdom, and its life-giving artery, the River Nile. Deep inside the mountain is a secret labyrinth. On the walls are inscriptions that have survived nearly three millennia, their colours perfectly preserved in the dry desert air. Even the most powerful of the black pharaohs feared this place, for here lived the god-kings, where monarchs prayed and hoped to become gods themselves. It was their belief in Amun-Ra that inspired their holy war to conquer Egypt. But now their gods have fallen, their temples are no longer sacred and their kings are long forgotten. There's an event on, a wedding, ultimate in Sudanese hospitality. The whole town celebrates. I'm in town, so automatically I'm expected to attend. It would be rude not to. This is the bridegroom, and if he's looking a little bit apprehensive, there may be a good reason why. Most marriages in the Sudan are arranged, so it's quite possible he's never even set eyes on his future wife, until today. Central to every marriage is the contract, normally drawn up after months and months of wrangling. So today's the day when the contract is supposed to be signed and the dowry paid. Well, the signing's almost finished and after that, all the men are going to move out of here and join the women for what is only referred to as a festival. The problem is, they can't find the groom. The celebrant says a prayer. And suddenly, there's the sound of gunfire. A shot is supposed to signal the end of prayers, and then there's another shot for the signing of the contract. That's if this guy can get his gun to work, and I wish he'd stop pointing the damn thing in my direction. I half wonder if this is the origin of the phrase shotgun wedding, but events have overtaken him. They found the bridegroom, but he's about to leave. It looks like it's all over before it really began. Something about a family tiff, the drummer ran out, the families have divided, the groom's in one vehicle, the bride's in another and they're disappearing. Apparently it happens all the time in Sudanese weddings. And it's time I was leaving too. I still want to visit the pyramids of the ancient kingdom of Kush. To do that, I must go further up the Nile and head into the desert. Fortunately, Lord Kitchener's army left behind a transport system to get there. Karima Station looks as if it were built for an English country town, but there's not much English spoken here. So for me, buying this ticket is a bit of a lottery. I'm not really sure where I've actually bought the ticket to. Could have been Port Sudan. It was very cheap. It was only about $10. So if I get to Khartoum, it'll be a very cost-effective journey. The line goes from Karima up the Nile Valley, then hopefully south to Khartoum. On the way, I'll stop near Merui. But for the moment, I just need to get on this train. The first thing to realise about trains in Sudan is that they're very crowded. I thought I'd got here early, but obviously not quite early enough. The second thing to learn about them is that they leave on time. At least, this one does. As we leave Karima, we travel through the thin green line, the narrow ribbon of fertility that owes its existence to the Nile. Then, as if to rub home the point, quite suddenly, we're in the open desert. Next stop? Well, I'm not too sure about that, but I'm told we're heading in the general direction of Khartoum. Travelling on these trains, I think it's a lot like India. They're absolutely packed, but it works kind of the same way as the villages. Everybody shares their food. And even though it's a really long trip, and I don't speak much Arabic, it's not a bad way to travel, really. That's if you don't mind sitting on the floor, but I'm too tired to worry. Soon, the lurching motion sends me to sleep as we head out across a sandy sea of nothingness. But as I was to find out, getting on the train is the easy bit. As I approach the ancient pyramids of the Black Pharaohs, getting off turns out to be a leap into the unknown. When the British Empire held sway over this part of Africa, one of its lasting legacies was the rail system it left behind. This is the Sudan section of what imperialists like Lord Kitchener hoped would one day become the great Cape Town to Cairo railway. I've now done some 500 miles of my journey as I head towards Khartoum, and I'm hoping to get off this train near the ancient pyramids of Marawi. But I see no station, and this train shows no sign of stopping or even slowing. It really only leaves me one option. I don't think that was the smartest move in the world. Jumping off trains I don't recommend. I don't know if I've actually broken my collarbone, but I've certainly given it a hell of a jar. So we'll just see what happens. But I wouldn't recommend jumping off trains. As the train disappears into a mirage, I head into the shimmering desert with a rather bruised shoulder. On the horizon, my destination. Pyramids of Marawi. Nothing better illustrates the power of the River Nile than this wilderness. I'm well beyond its irrigating reach in a wasteland ruled only by sun and wind. But even out here, you're never entirely alone. Though I wasn't expecting this. Hey, how are you doing? Good, man. I never expected to see anybody out here. Well, it's your first travel that I've seen north of Khartoum. Oh, really? Where are you headed? Well, I'm heading north to Wadi Halfa, try to get a ferry there across Lake Nasser, go into Egypt. Why not? We would just come from that way. I've just actually come down on the Nile. So where have you been? I mean, you look like you've been around the world. Yeah, it's actually around the world trip. We started in 1995 from Germany. And that's where I'm heading now. I'm on my way home. So how long till you get home? I don't know. It will probably be another six months. So he heads north and I continue south. They call these the forgotten pyramids. Because of a Western obsession with Egypt, the Sudan is not on the tourist trail. So these pyramids are rarely seen by Westerners. And yet there are more pyramids here in the Sudan than there are in Egypt. And out here in the middle of nowhere, I guess this is the closest I'll get to hiring a taxi. Want to get a camel? In ancient Egyptian terms, these pyramids are relatively new, a mere 2,400 years old. But in terms of Western discovery, they're even newer. They weren't seen at all by outsiders until the middle of the 19th century. They've never been properly excavated, but they were built by the Black Pharaohs. They're smaller and steeper than the better-known Egyptian pyramids. And like them, they've been vandalised by tomb raiders. They tell me that 19 kings are buried here, along with 53 queens, countless slaves, attendants, dogs, horses and other animals. And buried with them was gold and precious stones. I guess you'd have to say that this would rate as one of the wonders of the world, and it would be more wonderful if all the tops of these pyramids were intact. But what happened in 1836 or so is an Italian treasure hunter came down here and blew the tops off them all, trying to find some gold. And he found gold in one, but by the time he'd pulled it out, all the local people were so angry that he had to flee for his life. Pity they didn't get him. To just stand in a place like this is truly awesome. These monuments stand as testimony to a black African civilisation that predated Julius Caesar, Christianity and Alexander the Great. But its inspiration came from much earlier, 4000 BC, from the very dawn of civilisation itself. Its culture became its own, its carving, its hieroglyphics, its architectural style. And after the 25th dynasty, it was to last another thousand years, only to be eclipsed by the arrival of Islam in 650 AD. But as I gaze at these ruined walls, I see graffiti of a more recent age, the scratchings of adventurers and Europeans. Once more, I'm on the trail of Kitchener's army as he marched relentlessly on Khartoum. Almost a century ago, he built a military railway to supply his troops. This is part of that line. There's an old Sudanese saying, if you see a train, catch it. They also say that if you hail a passing train, it will stop for you. And while this isn't exactly a train, it'll do. But it's going a lot faster than it looks. I think they're trying to tell me that they can't stop. If I want a lift, I'll have to jump. A great way to cruise into El Kaddab. Here I'm told there's a real Nile steamer that can take me up to Khartoum. It's taken me nearly three weeks to get this far. It took Lord Kitchener two years, and it was from here that he prepared for the final showdown. At last, I get my chance to ride an old Sudanese Nile ferry. And what a wonderful way to travel down Africa's longest river. In 1898, it's how Lord Kitchener would have entered the city. And it's how I entered the city a century later. Back in 1898, a boat like this would have been bristling with guns. Kitchener used a flotilla of them to bombard Khartoum. And these guys' forebears would have been on the receiving end. Pawns in a great political game beyond their control. I've now completed nearly 1,000 miles of my Nile travels in the wake of Kitchener's army. And now I'm near journey's end. I want to make a small detour to witness a very special event. But first, my taxi driver has to fight his way through Khartoum's chaotic traffic. Grand final day for a wrestling contest. And as with all grand finals, the rival teams need their cheer squads. These are the legendary Nuba wrestlers. Not to be confused with Nubians, these proud fighters come from the Nuba mountains south of Khartoum. And this is their traditional sport. The wrestlers cover themselves with ochre and it's on. Rules are simple. Make your challenge, then try to throw your opponent on the ground. It's an endless cycle of challenge, wrestle, throw. While the cheer squads show no sign of losing voice. While the Sudan's strict Islamic code officially disapproves of wrestling, it was this fighting spirit which the Mahdi drew on when he tried to forge his North African Islamic empire. And it was this fighting spirit that took the British by surprise over a century ago. The final showdown came at the Battle of Omdurman. This is where the Dervish army dug in. And here they waited for the British and Egyptian troops to arrive. And when they did, it was a massacre. A medieval Dervish army against Kitchener's modern war machine. Can you imagine what it would have been like manning these defences for months and months on end while this enormous army advanced from the north? And then when it did arrive and Kitchener sailed his boat up the Nile and fired the first shot on the Mahdi's tomb, it was hardly Britain's finest hour. For 48 British dead, 25,000 Mahdis lay dead or dying on this battlefield. The Battle of Omdurman was a slaughter. Spears and daggers were no match for the British artillery. It was at Omdurman that a new weapon would come into its own. The machine gun. So today, perhaps it's not surprising that the Sudanese, like the Black Pharaohs before them, would wish to control their own destiny, just as the Islamic messiah, the Mahdi, had tried to do over a century ago. Every Friday at sundown, the descendants of the Dervish army come together. This was how they prepared for battle. Today, it's how they make contact with God. And as the word Dervish means poor man, that's how they turn out, some even wearing clothes made from rags. For them, this is a transport of the soul, taking them beyond their ordinary lives and giving them a glimpse of the life in the hereafter. And as they fall into a trance from the ecstasy of the dance, I wonder if they're drawing on an earlier tradition. One day, they believe another messiah, another Mahdi, will be sent by God. So why such an obsession with their self-determination? Maybe they look back to a time long ago when under the mysterious Black Pharaohs, the Sudan briefly ruled an empire which became the envy of the known world. Or maybe after thousands of years of turmoil, they're sick of being pushed around. As I head back down the river of life, I realise there's one reason for all of this, one cause of all their sorrows and joys, and I'm sailing on it. It's the River Nile. So I'll leave you with the words of a young British army officer who fought at the Battle of Omdurman. His name was Winston Churchill, and he wrote of the Nile. It is the life of this land through which it flows. Without the river, none would have started. Without it, none would have continued. Without it, none would have ever returned. They say that if you drink from the Nile, you'll return. One day, I shall return on another of my journeys to the ends of the earth.