Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'Get some sleep, Siraje.' He only stared at me, as if nervous to go back to his own room.
'Don't worry, Siraje. If you hear another attack, if you hear anything, just come and knock
on my door.'
He made as if to leave, hesitating only once. 'Are we . . . staying?' he asked.
I could not answer. I told him it would be alright and retreated to the gutted shell that
was my own room.
In the darkness, I reached for my phone again. As the reception flickered in and out, I
saw that I had several missed calls. I was scrolling through them when the phone began to
vibrate again. The name
ANDY BELCHER
was illuminated on the screen.
'Belcher,' I said, picking up the phone.
'Lev?' buzzed a voice in my ear.
'It's me.'
'I'm glad to hear it,' came the sardonic reply. 'Are you okay up there?'
'What's happening here, Belcher? Are the rebels storming Bor?'
Belcher had been keeping close tabs on the progress of events from the relative safety
of Bedouin Lodge back in Juba. 'It's not rebels, Lev. It's Dinka Youth - armed civilians.
They're so pissed off with the UN, they're ready to attack anyone associated with the or-
ganisation.' He paused. 'Do you hear me, Lev?'
'I hear you,' I said, wearily.
'Get out of there,' said Belcher. 'Look, there's a Cessna. I can have it with you in three
hours. Don't take any risks.'
I had opened my mouth to reply when fists hammered at the door. Siraje, I thought,
come to get me. 'Belcher,' I said, 'I've got to go . . .'
When the door was drawn back, it was not Siraje staring at me from the veranda, but the
manager of the hotel instead. 'There you are,' he breathed. 'I thought, for a second . . .'
'We went to the roof,' I said. 'Just in case.'
'They'll kill you if they find you in here. These Dinka Youth, they'll think you're UN
and then . . . you have to go.'
'Go? Now?'
'First thing in the morning, as soon as you can. However you can. Do you hear me?'
There was not only desperation in this man's eyes; he was begging me for my sake, not
for his. 'Thank you,' I said, and watched him hurry back along the veranda.
Sleep wouldn't come to me that night. For long hours, I prowled up and down the cir-
cumference of the tiny room, listening out for voices, half waiting for another knock at the
door. When it did not come, I tried to close my eyes. I wanted to think about the north,
about the four hundred miles of wilderness I had been hoping to traverse - but all I saw, in
vivid splashes across the backs of my eyelids, were memories of the day in Bor: the burial
