The Sudan - 36

There is always a price to pay. I consider my myself extremely lucky to have seen the things I’ve seen, and done the things I’ve done and met the people I’ve met on this trip. Many people might envy the experience. But there is always a price to pay. I spend my last day in The Sudan shut up on my dark air-conditioned hotel room writing reports. I hate this bit of the job, and collating the workshop outputs is even worse. Anything beyond a dozen pages does my head in, and I’m already up to 50.
Ive paid George in a combination of Sudanese pounds and US dollars - i take my wad of cash out his safe, count it out to the last dollar and give it all back to him to put back in his safe (this time as his) My stay at the Acropole hotel adds up to about £80 per night (and includes breakfast and dinner, laundry, and service with a smile)
My car comes to collect me to take me to the airport. The headlining inside the car has come away from the roof and both the driver and I sit slumped with the dirty material resting on our heads - it would be rather cosy if it wasn’t 43 degrees outside. I go to put my seat belt on but the driver reaches over and grabs the buckle out of my hand and flings it away off my lap exclaiming “no, no” in a tone of voice that sent mixed messages - “C’mon man, lets live dangerously”, “Crikey don’t put that on, its made of uranium”, “don’t you trust my driving mate?” i look at the multiple cracks in his windscreen, and then at him. Oh what the heck - i haven’t met yet a Sudanese who has let me down, why should i doubt this chap now?
There are only a few junctions in Khartoum where drivers take notice of the traffic lights, and we pull up to one; they take an incredibly long time to change. During this wait we are offered for sale a multitude of items from street sellers who dash between the waiting cars; tissues, sun-screens, digital clocks, expandable filing systems, 6’ wide carpets, grip-exercisers, orange-juice presses and even a billiard table. Well OK, it was only a toy one, but never the less something no-one was impulsed to buy while waiting for the lights to change.
And so I’m on my way home. I settle into my airplane seat and order a gin and tonic - my first taste of alcohol for nearly 3 weeks - its nectar, and sets me up just right for a long sleep - until i become a little concerned that the captain is talking about going to somewhere ive never heard of before. Have I got on the wrong plane? I have to admit, the staff at Khartoum airport only kept referring to KLM, never a flight number.. were there more than one KLM out of Khartoum?
Turns out were picking up more passengers from Addis Ababa. I spend my 2 hour visit to Ethiopia wide awake, cramped in my seat, stuck on an airport apron... gee, i want to go home