There is something rather amusing about the human obsession with owning land. We spend centuries fighting wars, drawing boundaries, building walls and arguing over a few kilometers of territory. And just when one thinks the world has run out of places to conquer, someone discovers a little patch of desert between Egypt and Sudan and […]

There is something rather amusing about the human obsession with owning land. We spend centuries fighting wars, drawing boundaries, building walls and arguing over a few kilometers of territory. And just when one thinks the world has run out of places to conquer, someone discovers a little patch of desert between Egypt and Sudan and decides it is time to become a king.

Welcome to Bir Tawil, perhaps the most peculiar piece of real estate on the African continent. It is approximately 2,060 square kilometres of desert sand, rocks and mountains, sitting between Egypt and Sudan. What makes it particularly interesting is that neither country officially claims it. In a world where almost every square inch of land has been accounted for, taxed, surveyed or fought over, Bir Tawil has managed to slip through the cracks of international geography.

But before anyone rushes to book a flight, pack a flag and announce themselves as the next African monarch, there is a little history to understand.

The story goes back to 1899, when Britain and Egypt signed an agreement establishing the boundary between Egypt and Sudan along the 22nd parallel. Three years later, in 1902, another administrative boundary was drawn to accommodate the movements and traditional territories of local communities. Unfortunately, these two lines did not agree with each other.

The result was an extraordinary geographical arrangement. The Hala’ib Triangle, a much larger and more desirable coastal territory along the Red Sea, became disputed by Egypt and Sudan, with both countries claiming it. Egypt administers it today, while Sudan continues to maintain its claim.

Bir Tawil, on the other hand, became the unfortunate geographical orphan. Under the Egyptian interpretation of the 1899 boundary, claiming Bir Tawil would mean accepting Sudan’s claim to Hala’ib. Under Sudan’s interpretation of the 1902 boundary, claiming Bir Tawil would mean undermining its own claim to Hala’ib. Neither country appears particularly interested in making that sacrifice.

And so, while governments continue their diplomatic dance, Bir Tawil has become something of a playground for people with unusually ambitious imaginations.

Enter Jeremiah Heaton, an American farmer from Virginia who decided in 2014 that his daughter deserved something more exciting than an ordinary birthday present. Most fathers might buy a bicycle, a doll or perhaps take their child to Disneyland. Heaton decided to make her a princess.

He travelled to Bir Tawil on June 16, 2014, planted a blue flag bearing a golden crown and four stars in the desert and declared the establishment of the Kingdom of North Sudan. His daughter Emily was to become Princess Emily.

I must admit, there is a certain commitment to parenting here that deserves recognition. While most parents struggle to organise a birthday party, this gentleman organized an entire kingdom. Imagine explaining to your school friends that your father went to Africa and acquired a country for you.

Of course, the United Nations did not suddenly recognize a new African country. Neither did Egypt, Sudan or the African Union. Planting a flag, however dramatic, does not automatically confer sovereignty over territory. International recognition, effective government and the complicated principles of international law are rather more demanding than a successful flag planting expedition.

Heaton was not the only person fascinated by this geographical curiosity. Other individuals and groups have announced their own claims and imagined kingdoms in Bir Tawil, including the Kingdom of the Yellow Mountain, declared in 2019. The desert has attracted a curious assortment of would-be monarchs, self-appointed presidents and online nation builders.

But Bir Tawil is hardly the only place where people have decided to establish countries of their own.

There is Sealand, a self-declared principality established on an abandoned British sea fort in 1967 by Paddy Roy Bates. Its founders have a flag, a constitution, passports and even a royal family. It is not recognized as a sovereign state, but it has certainly mastered the art of publicity.

Then there is the Republic of Molossia in Nevada, United States, established by Kevin Baugh. It has its own president, national anthem, currency and rather elaborate national identity. One can even visit, subject to the rules of this rather unusual republic.

Further east in Europe, Czech politician Vít Jedlička declared Liberland in 2015 on a small disputed area between Croatia and Serbia. His ambition was to create a libertarian microstate. It too remains unrecognized as an independent country.

What fascinates me about all this is how easily the idea of a country can begin in someone’s imagination. A flag, a name, a website, a national anthem and suddenly somebody is addressing the world as President, King or Supreme Leader. Somewhere, there is probably a person designing a national currency before deciding what the national budget should be.

One wonders what happens when these newly appointed heads of state disagree. Do they summon their cabinets? Declare diplomatic sanctions? Expel ambassadors? Or simply block each other on social media?

There is humour in all this, but also something rather revealing about human ambition. We are forever looking for something to call our own, whether it is a house, a piece of land, a business or an entire country. Perhaps the attraction of these micronations lies in the irresistible fantasy of starting afresh, making the rules and being important without having to win an election.

However, Bir Tawil deserves more than being treated as an empty canvas for adventurous foreigners. The surrounding desert has historical connections with communities such as the Ababda, whose traditional use of the region and land rights deserve consideration. A place does not become meaningless simply because two governments have declined to claim it.

As for me, I think I shall resist the temptation to establish a kingdom. The responsibilities of running an ordinary household are quite enough.

But should anyone decide to establish a republic somewhere, I have one small request. Please ensure that the national treasury has money in it before inviting citizens. We have quite enough countries in the world with beautiful flags and empty promises.