TUTI ISLAND, SUDAN — The stalwart people of this tiny, crescent-shaped island have fought off invasions from mainland Khartoum for more than 700 years.
Early settlers of Tuti, nestled at the confluence of the White Nile and Blue Nile, relied on the rushing river to fend off hostile tribes. As Khartoum grew into Sudan's bustling capital, residents here clung to their cultural isolation, striving to maintain the feel of a sleepy farming village, even though their island is just a stone's throw from downtown.
Proud and sometimes aloof, Tutians for decades rebuffed attempts by the Sudanese government to modernize the island, which lies within the city limits of Khartoum. There are almost no cars and only one paved road on the 15,000-resident island. People walk, ride donkeys or use golf-cart-like rickshaws. A rusty ferry is the only link to the rest of the big city.
Soon, however, construction will be completed on a 200-yard suspension bridge, and the new roadway is bringing something from the modern world that may finally wear down that renowned Tuti resistance: money.
Real estate values on this impoverished, dust-choked island are soaring, and families whose Tuti roots date back hundreds of years are facing a tough choice between preserving their distinctive lifestyle and reaping a windfall profit.
On the narrow dirt roads and in the tiny markets of Tuti, locals who once gossiped about upcoming marriages on the island or speculated about seasonal floods now swap stories about land values: who is buying, who is selling and how much they got. Families that for generations eked out a modest living as farmers will soon count themselves among the city's richest.
Prices 15 years ago were less than $10 per square meter. Today, land sells for an average of $300, with current asking prices as high as $650. After the bridge is completed this year, investors predict square-meter prices will top $1,000, ranking the island among the costliest neighborhoods in Khartoum.
Abdul Abdelhamid Ahmed, 57, a professor of veterinary science, holds no romantic illusions about life on an island. He complains about the daily hassles of the ferry and walking long distances to reach his job in mainland Khartoum. He's looking forward to the day when the bridge opens so he can drive to his doorstep. But when asked if he'd ever move, Ahmed said, "My family has lived here for 700 years. How could we leave?"
