Each of the towns of the Sudan has a British official to rule it; but under each such governor is a sub-governor who must be a native Egyptian. This man is called the _mamour_ and is the real executive as far as carrying out the orders of the government is concerned. He represents the natives, and understands all about them and their ways. The _mamour_ at Omdurman is an ex-cavalry officer of the army of the Khedive who fought with the British in their wars against the Khalifa. He speaks English well, and as he understands both Turkish and Arabic, he was able to tell me all about the city as we went through. [Illustration: Being followers of the Prophet, the Bisharin consider a difference of fifty years in ages no bar to matrimony. This girl wife probably spent a whole day in straightening out her kinky hair with a mixture of grease and clay, and adorning it with beads.] [Illustration: Omdurman, which once had a population of a million, is a strange city of mud. The houses and stores are one-story flat-roofed buildings with drain pipes extending out over the street that drip on the passers-by when it rains.] [Illustration: Within sight of the British and their civilization, the Sudanese blacks live miserably, crowded into their burrow-like mud huts, possessing only a few pots and bowls and the sheets of calico in which many of the women wrap themselves.] I came down the Blue Nile from Khartum in a skiff. The distance is about five miles, but we had to tack back and forth all the way, so that the trip took over two hours. The _mamour_ met me on landing. He had a good donkey for me, and we spent the whole day in going through the city, making notes, and taking the photographs which now lie before me.