What Travel Teaches When It Takes Things Away
A journey through Abyei, where comfort fades and perspective grows.
Travel has a way of reminding you what really matters…often by taking away what doesn’t.
I just came back from Abyei, a small region jointly administered by Sudan and South Sudan. It’s not an easy place to reach; you need to charter a plane from Juba, South Sudan to a small dirt airstrip in Agok, South Sudan, and then drive three plus hours over some seriously rough roads. But it’s one of those places that quietly rewires how you see the world.
🚙 “Rough roads, real rewards.”
The ride in was a slow, jarring crawl over potholes and dirt tracks. Every bump made conversation nearly impossible given my mild hearing damage, but it also made observation unavoidable.
When you’re forced to move slowly, you notice more; the movements of cattle herders on the move, the dry wind shifting across the endless dirt plains, children waving from the roadside. There’s a kind of quiet honesty to it all. Motion without rush. Life at its most unfiltered.
🌍 Stripped down to what matters
We stayed in a simple three-room cinderblock house with beds lined up along the walls, mosquito nets draped loosely overhead. The temperature stayed above 28°C inside even at night, and there wasn’t much to shield from the dust.
But when you travel stripped of modern comforts, something shifts. You stop expecting convenience to define your experience. You start finding value in things that are usually invisible: a shared laugh over a cold beer, a cool breeze that sneaks through the open door, the silence that follows when the generator finally shuts off in the middle of the night.
Even the hardest moments: the fatigue, the heat, the occasional frictions of too many people in too small a space, teach you something. Patience. Perspective. The reminder that challenge is rarely the enemy; comfort is.
👣 Curiosity needs no translation.
We didn’t share a language with most of the people we met, but curiosity filled the gaps. Everywhere we went, there were waves, smiles, and a chorus of “How are you?” —often followed by, “Where are you from?” and “Why are you here?”
English was limited, but interest was endless. A few people noticed tattoos on our arms and pointed, laughing softly, mimicking the ink with their fingers. Insisting on selfies, and posing us to make sure they captured the tattoos to show their friends. Moments like that don’t need words; just a sense of shared wonder that says, “We’re different, but we’re also just people.”
💧 Stillness speaks its own truth.
The Kiir River runs quietly near the middle of Abyei: narrow, calm, and overlooked even by most avid geographers. Goats drink from its edge, children play (often without clothes) in the mud, and the air smells of dust and smoke.
You realize that the world doesn’t have to shout to have meaning. Some of the most beautiful places don’t make the news, and maybe that’s the point. They just are.
🌅 Finding value in everything.
At sunset, the sky turned the color of dust and flame. The village slowed to stillness. A woman walked past, her dress catching the last light of day, and to me everything felt suspended: simple, timeless, complete.
No luxury. No Wi-Fi. No rush. Just presence.
Abyei won’t make anyone’s bucket list, but that’s what makes it special. It forces you to look harder; to find worth not in the easy or the glamorous, but in the real. Because if you can find beauty here, you can find it anywhere.
✨ Your turn:
What’s the most uncomfortable trip you’ve taken, and what unexpected value did you find in it? Share below 👇
Every Tuesday, I share stories from the world’s edges: places that challenge comfort but expand perspective. 🌍✈️❤️ To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.