Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'I should never have brought you into South Sudan. You know as well as I do what's
waiting up there. It's walking into a warzone. Miller says the rebels are planning another
counter-attack. It's fight and fight back all the way to Sudan. Look, it's one thing taking
risks for myself, but it's another doing it for somebody else. And . . . think of Matt Power.
You have a family, Boston. You should go back to Kampala, be with them.'
'I have been in warzones before, Lev.'
He said it with steeliness, and I could see the desperation in his eyes: he wanted to see
this journey through. I didn't want to tell him the other thoughts that had been circling my
mind - that, even now, Boston had stopped being a guide, that, once we reached Sudan, he
wouldn't even know any of the native languages. The truth was, he had stopped being a
true guide some months ago; first and foremost, he had become a friend. He'd looked after
me when times were tough and, on more than one occasion, forced me to my feet when
walking was the last thing I wanted to do. But, now that he was a friend, the thought of
risking his life outweighed everything else.
'Come to see the Sudd but after that, unless your papers come through and the security
improves, you're going home, Boston,' I said - and, after that, we said nothing, just
tramped back into the bar, where Belcher was waiting with two cold beers.
If I had had my way, I would have headed north without any minders - but the ever-watch-
ful Allam insisted that I take two local gunmen as protection. After some delay, and pro-
tracted negotiations with a local security officer about how far they would come and how
much of a 'tip' I'd give them - despite their being SPLA officers with government salar-
ies - I awaited my new companions with a heavy heart. 'This is Africa,' I had to keep
reminding myself, refuelling on yet another plate of over-smoked tilapia. 'Nothing comes
for free.'
The two men who walked into Bedouin Lodge were both Dinka, NCOs in the SPLA.
Shorter than I'd imagined, they marched up, wearing mixed uniforms and flip-flops on
their feet. Each carried an AK-47, but there was something open and friendly about their
faces that immediately endeared them to me. Nevertheless, if these were to be my compan-
ions on a perilous trek north, I wanted to get off to an appropriate start. The guards Allam
had supplied for us on the road to Juba had all let us down.
'Okay, you two,' I said, thoroughly fed up with mutinous soldiers. 'We are walking to
Bor. Not driving, not hitch-hiking.
Walking
. Understand? By foot.' I pointed at my feet,
but the pair only looked at me, expressionless. 'We will sleep wherever we can, and eat
whatever we can,' I continued. 'I am told you two can be trusted, that you're strong men.'
For the first time, they nodded enthusiastically. 'I am told you will not complain, that
Dinka are the very best soldiers, and that you will not run away or give up.' Solemnly, they
