Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
We hadn't even set foot on the bridge when Allam's voice faltered and, out of the gath-
ering darkness, appeared two unmarked Land Cruisers, gleaming in black. With a screech
of tyres, they drew alongside us, the first banking slightly as if to bar the way ahead.
Allam's voice returned. 'Stand still,' he whispered - and, for the first time, I heard real
nerves behind his words.
The doors of the first car opened, and a shady-looking man stepped out. At first, I didn't
know why I found this man any more unnerving than the soldiers who had so regularly
been stopping us. Perhaps it was because he wasn't wearing any uniform. As he studied us,
the doors of the second car opened and two other figures emerged, the first a particularly
vicious-looking Dinka - with scars across his forehead. In dark sunglasses and a scuffed
leather jacket, he didn't look the sort of privileged officer who ought to have been step-
ping out of a gleaming new Land Cruiser, but it took me a moment to properly understand:
these men were not soldiers at all; they were members of some other, shadowy security
force. South Sudan's secret police.
The man in the leather jacket strode towards Allam, who held up his hands. In seconds,
they were barking at each other in a language neither Boston nor I understood. I was be-
ginning to curse myself for bringing Boston here - not only for putting him in danger, but
for fooling myself that I could do this without a committed, local guide. As Allam and the
man engaged in heated debate, I flashed a look around. Apart from us, the bridge was si-
lent. Beneath us, the waters of the Nile rushed by. There was nowhere else to turn.
In an instant, the security agent rounded on me. For the first time, he spoke in English -
broken and slow. 'How long you have in South Sudan?'
I fumbled for my passport and the visa stamp within. 'Two or three months,' I began,
handing it over.
'It says here you entered on 26 March.'
'That's right.'
He snapped my passport shut in a flourish that seemed to betray some hint of triumph.
'That wasn't three months ago. That was only two weeks.'
I could see Allam's face turning to stone, but I persisted: 'I meant I
will
spend two or
three months here . . .'
'Your story doesn't calculate. You told me you had been here two or three months.'
'No, I said—'
He cut me off with a victorious snarl. 'You're lying. I can see this. Your story does not
calculate.'
Allam responded to him in the Juba Arabic. By the tone of his voice, I knew that he was
flustered - and, all the while, the agent's eyes remained on me.
'Are you saying my English is bad?'
