Andrew Heavens is a reporter and photographer who has worked with Reuters since 2005, first from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and now Khartoum, Sudan. His African career followed 10 years of reporting for newspapers in Britain and the United States. In the following story, he describes a visit to Sudan's huge and historic Omdurman Market.
By Andrew Heavens
KHARTOUM (Reuters) - The shelves of Mahjoub Mahmoud'smarket shop glint with piles of broken watches, coins anddented silver plates.
"See this here. It is very old. It is your king," he says,holding up a tarnished metal disc. It is actually not my king-- it is my grandfather's king -- King George VI, stamped onthe front of a World War Two service medal and mine for anasking price of 100 Sudanese pounds (25 pounds).
It is tempting, but the price is not brilliant and it isnot quite what I am looking for.
What I am looking for is treasure: real historical,high-value treasure, hidden in the twisted alleyways anddarkened corners of Sudan's sprawling Omdurman market.
People say you can find anything in Omdurman, if you havethe time to look and the constitution to put up with hours ofopen-air shopping in temperatures topping 47 degrees centigrade(117 Fahrenheit).
"It is like a spider's web," said one friend who grew up inthe capital Khartoum just half an hour's drive along the Nile."There's a part that I know. But if I wander too far, even Iget lost."
"You can find anything, even from the British time," saysMoumar, an 'Amjad' minibus driver, referring to Britain'son-and-off 66-year control over the country. "You could find apistol here, a sword there. But you have to look."
So I have started at Mahmoud's tiny shop -- one of a huddleof "folklore" junk stores that have built a business out ofselling Sudanese souvenirs, mixed in with the flotsam andjetsam of British rule.
Omdurman -- once the military base of the 'Mahdi', thevisionary Islamic leader who defeated Britain's Major-GeneralCharles Gordon in 1885 -- is the only place to go if you aredigging for muskets and broadswords and other relics.
Its folklore stores are some of Sudan's last repositoriesof empire memorabilia, a hidden treasure trove largely untappedby collectors.
"We sell most of our things to foreigners working here withthe U.N., or business people looking for souvenirs to takehome," says Mahmoud. "There are very few tourists."
An exception is Ed Dalziel, a stamp collector from Scotlandvisiting the market at the end of a camel-trek across theSudanese desert.
In 20 minutes in another store across the passageway, heuncovered four empire-era stamps, overprinted with Arabiccharacters soon after independence, and a rare first-day cover.
"There aren't that many really interesting Sudanese stampsbut these are some of them," he said. "The price I paid wasroughly what they were worth. He knew what he was doing."
Time to venture further afield.
RAILWAY RELICS
Further down the darkened alleyway, Muhammad Husseindisplays silver-plated cutlery, coffee jugs and servingplatters. Most are marked with the intertwined letters SGR, thecollectible logo of Sudan Government Railways, the British-eralines that still cross Africa's largest country.
Exciting stuff for a railway enthusiast, but again notquite my thing.
Two streets away, alone in a row of sandal sellers, anunnamed store is piled from floor to ceiling, with no attemptat selection or display.
Postcards sit on top of faded photographs, vintagevalve-powered radios, Bakelite phones and two round leathercases carrying reels of projector film.
"Have you got anything older?" I ask. "From GeneralGordon's time? From the time of the Mahdi?" Five minutes later,the word has gone round and the doorway is filled with tradersholding tarnished swords.
One weapon has an authentically smashed hilt and a bladestamped with the name of a Birmingham steelmaker. "It is morethan 1,000 years old ... actually 200 years old," says theseller. How much? There is a fateful pause as he looks me upand down. "One thousand, six hundred U.S. dollars."
I finally hit pay dirt in an antique store calledSerendipity, close to a line of souvenir stalls that open outinto an open-air souk filled with Chinese microwaves andplastic shoes. A few minutes' search uncovers a working,wind-up gramophone, a shiny brass British railway clock and ablack helmet covered with gilt flames, plus other promisingbundles.
If only I had just an ounce of historical knowledge to helpme separate the gems from the valueless junk! I scrawl down afew notes and head home to do some research.
But not before making a few consolation purchases. A hugeblue-and-white French bowl will look good on the bookshelf, asilver SGR visiting-card holder that someone is bound to wanton eBay, and a collection of detective stories taken fromKhartoum's British Council library some time in the 1950s.
It includes 'The Horror at Staveley Grange' by crime writerSapper, the pseudonym of H.C. McNeile, and Gilbert Frankau's'Misogyny at Mougins'. They might not be worth anything nearthe 40 Sudanese pounds I paid (half the asking price). But atleast I am guaranteed a good read.
(Editing by Sara Ledwith)
