Pilgrims Ordeal

Once every year the Fellata quarter of Port Sudan, on the west coast of the Red Sea, fills up with Arab pilgrims. Their objective: to reach the Holy Land before the start of Ramadan (May 15, this year), and to visit Mecca. They come from all parts of Africa, crossing from one country to another without trouble--until they hit Port Sudan.

Less than 200 miles of water separates Port Sudan from the Saudi Arabian port of Jidda, which is a 50-mile walk from Mecca. But before the pilgrim may have his passport stamped to cross the Red Sea, he must get through a slough of red tape: pay the British authorities pilgrim fees (later remitted to Saudi Arabia); submit to medical examination; have his arm stabbed with sharp needles against epidemic diseases; pay for his return passage.

Back in the. Fellata there are men who whisper to him that these regulations are made by infidel foreigners. For payment of -L-5 ($14), these men offer to get the pilgrim across the Red Sea without any trouble. For years sharp Arab operators have lived off this illegal traffic, and how many hundreds of pilgrims have died as a result, no one will ever know.

In 1951 the crew of a sambuk marooned a load of pilgrims on an uninhabited island near the Eritrean coast, telling them they were in the Holy Land. Most of the pilgrims died of thirst, but a few lived to identify the sambuk crew, who were hanged. Last year a Saudi Arabian patrol found another party of pilgrims, 18 of them dead of thirst, who had been dumped on a lonely shore and told to walk in the wrong direction. None of this was known to 32 innocent Nigerians who had spent two years walking from the west coast of Africa, across deserts and through jungles, to get to Port Sudan. There last month they bought passage from a Yemeni ship captain named Hamed Ghalib, and boarded his sambuk.

The Sharks. Ten miles out of Port Sudan, a high wind drove Ghalib's craft with a splintering roar on to a submerged coral reef called Tarfaniya. Twenty-two pilgrims arid two sailors scrambled on to a 14-foot lattice tower made of railroad tracks, erected on the reef as a warning to shipping. Captain Ghalib, two of his sailors and ten of the Nigerians could not make it, and were swept away. The survivors saw the waters around the reef churn and turn red as sharks pulled them down.

Hour after hour, the sharks circled the reef. At night the wind blew steadily out of the north, kicking up a chilling spray; during the day, the sun beat down unmercifully on the surviving pilgrims and the two sailors. They had little bundles of water-soaked food which they ate. There was no fresh water. Some pilgrims drank salt water. Four child pilgrims lost their hold on the tower and slipped into the sea. The sharks glided in to claim them.

The Eighth Day. On the fourth day, a sambuk sighted them but could not come close enough to the reef to take them off. Instead, the two sailors and two of the Nigerians swam out to the sambuk, which sailed away--for help, the pilgrims thought. But no help came. The pilgrims did not know it, but the four rescued men, on reaching Port Sudan, had been hidden in the Fellata and told not to talk under threat of death. Another pilgrim fell into the sea and the sharks took him quickly. All the pilgrims were now drinking sea water, praying, and talking hysterically in the night.

On the eighth day, the pilgrims saw a launch. They shouted and waved, but the launch passed them. In despair an old woman fell off the tower into the sea. Hours later the launch reappeared, going the other way. This time its crew spotted the castaways. As the launch hove to just off the reef, one of its Arab crewmen swam to the tower with a line and, one by one, the 14 Nigerians were pulled in. Among the rescued were four women, a four-year-old boy and a baby in arms, but boy and baby soon died.

Ashore, police combed the Fellata for trace of the rescued crewmen and their unprincipled agents. But the people in the quarter had no information to give. It was the will of Allah, they said.

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