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hanging wires that blocked the stairwell. Running up the concrete stairs, we didn't stop
until reaching the open rooftop. If the hotel was to be stormed again, I judged this would
be the safest place.
From here, we could see the street fight being played out in snatches of light, machine-
gun fire in the thoroughfares, fires erupting in buildings a few streets away. The night was
warm, and the sounds and smells put me in mind of my tour in Afghanistan, which seemed
such a long time ago.
The fire-fight lasted for forty-five minutes, finally slowing down to a succession of
sporadic bursts. As the worst abated, I looked to the north. All that I could see, by the light
of the waning moon reflected in the shimmering waters of the Nile, were the rooftops of
Bor, stretching on into an indistinguishable horizon. But I knew what was waiting for me
up there. Beyond the boundaries of the town, the marshes seemed to go on forever. Miles
away to the north, the key towns of Bentiu, Malakal and Renk were being contested by
rebels. Escaping villagers were following the river south, searching for sanctuary in hastily
erected camps - and, always, there was the spectre of the impenetrable Sudd.
In that moment, it seemed I had a decision to make. Four hundred miles of war-torn
swampland lay ahead of me on my journey, but the question was - was this stretch of the
Nile going to deny me, as it had so many others?
