A Childhood Dream Comes True

For as long as I have been old enough to sit up and watch TV, I have watched nature specials. In a time before the Discovery channel, Cailen and I used to sit for hours and watch "The Nature of Things" with David Suzuki and "Lorne Green’s New Wilderness". I was always particularly mesmerized by the wildlife of the African savanna. Some of the earliest television memories I have are of wildebeests plunging down a steep bank of a surging muddy river by their thousands, with giant crocodiles waiting for easy prey. I have images of masses of bloated wildebeest corpses floating downstream. I have since learned that this dramatic footage was shot when the annual wildebeest migration reaches the River Mara, in Kenya’s Masai Mara National Park (which borders Tanzania’s famed Serengeti National Park). Since I was a small child, I have dreamed of seeing the wildebeest migration and the lions and cheetahs that follow. That is why I could barely contain my excitement when we finally left Nairobi to go on safari in Masai Mara National Park, where as luck would have it, the wildebeests had reached the River Mara.

The ride south to Masai Mara was spectacular in itself. Shortly after fighting our way out of Nairobi traffic, the highway emerged high onto the Rift Valley Escarpment. Looking out over the vast valley that sliced dramatically through the East African highlands, I couldn’t help but think that I had somehow returned home. For it was here that my ancestors crawled down from the trees, started walking upright, and evolved into present day humans.

By the time we reached the turnoff for the national park, dusk was upon us. We would have to go the last 100 km or so in the dark. A good portion of it turned out to be a dirt road. The night ride into the savanna was one of the most exhilarating of the trip. The road was narrow and rocky, with bumps and holes exaggerated by the glow of our headlights. I saw jackals and antelope running across the road. More often, I would just see glowing eyes of unknown animals along the side of the road. In the distance, lightning from a distant thunderstorm occasionally lit up the horizon. In between, there was nothing but dark empty space. This was the Africa of my childhood imagination.

Navigating by GPS, we left the dirt road near the border of the park in search of some coordinates that we had been given by Andrew and Debbie for a Safari camp where they had stayed. Unfortunately, after following a dirt track through the bush (did lions know where the park boundary was?), there was nothing but darkness when we arrived at where the camp should have been. Eventually we found another camp where we could pitch our tents behind a chain linked fence with a barbed-wire collar. Unlike a zoo, in this place we were the ones in the enclosure. Apparently riding our motorcycles through the bush at night was a more than a little dangerous, as bull elephants take particular offence at motorcycles. We had seen large piles of elephant dung on the track, but luckily we didn’t come across any elephants that we could provoke into charging us.

We arranged to tour the park by Land Cruiser. Our guide, Simon, and our driver picked us up at 6:30 AM the following morning. Motorcycles, apparently, were not allowed in the park. Pity. Nonetheless, my heart was pounding with anticipation as we entered the park. I was living my dream. Almost immediately our guide was pointing out species of antelope, gazelles, zebras, giraffes, birds, and jackals. We saw a warthog in the bushes. Apparently, if you anger them and they charge you, they run for miles and then forget why they were running in the first place.

Soon we saw our first glimpse of the wildebeests, stretched out in a line that reached the horizon, sweeping across the plains in a great tide. Despite having seen the migration on TV, I was still astonished. I had not been expecting the sheer numbers. They filled the plains as far as I could see until they became tiny brown dots in the distance. Slowly, inexorably, they moved in a bulging mass stretching its finger-like projections across the grasslands, consuming everything it its path. Once the wildebeest pass, there is barely a blade of grass left standing

Suddenly, our guide pointed to the side of the road. A Cheetah emerged from the tall golden grass and slowly crossed the road right in front of us. It was without a doubt the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. It made its way to a rock on top of a hill, where it perched to watch the wildebeests passing en masse on the plains below.

The animal sightings became more and more frequent the further into the park we drove. We saw lots and lots of elephants. And of course the king of the jungle – lions. We watched them for probably an hour. I could have watched them all day.  But there was still lots to see and we moved on towards the River Mara.

In the end we did not get to see the wildebeests cross the Mara when we finally reached it sometime in the early afternoon. They massed on the bank, but they weren’t in the right "mood" according or our guide. However, we did see hippos and crocodiles in the river. After taking a nap for a couple of hours in the shade of an acacia tree on a hill overlooking the crossing (while our guides watched in the hope that their mood would change), we eventually gave up and made our way back.

It was a bit disappointing, but it did not dampen the excitement of the day. On the way back to camp we were treated to a spectacular savanna sunset. As luck would have it we also came across two more groups of lions. The first was a mother with two cubs and the second was a male and female lion who had been on a "honeymoon" for two weeks. They weren’t afraid of showing their affection for each other in front of tourists either.

Seeing the wildlife spectacle first hand on the African savanna was a trip highlight, not to mention a childhood dream come true. Could it get any better than that? Stay tuned for my next entry about Uganda, and our visit to Mgahinga National Park, where we spent a day tracking mountain Gorillas, to find out.


The sun goes down over the African savanna - surely one of the most beautiful places on earth

In Gonder, we had met up once again with fellow Canadians and KLRers Sam and Peter (who we had first met on the ferry to Wadi Halfa).  We all had bike issues of varying degrees of seriousness, which meant staying in Gonder for a couple of days while "Six" (the town's master mechanic) went to work.  Our misadventures at Six's garage is a whole saga in itself, but I will talk about that later.  After the completion of the bike maintenance, our plan was to ride as a group of 5 from Gonder to Addis. 

On Wednesday, July 23rd we set out to do just that.  It was a great feeling to ride in a convoy of 5 KLRs as we headed out of Gonder.  We were all happy to be on the road again after being delayed in Gonder for longer than any of us had anticipated.  Sadly our ride would end after only a few kilometres in tragic fashion.  I was in the lead, followed by Jeremy and then Peter.  Sam was next, followed by Tom in last position.  Sam and Tom were a little ways behind the rest of us because a couple of donkeys had run out in front of them forcing them to brake hard.

We were all riding down the centre of the road because there was a lot of animal and pedestrian traffic along the sides of the road.  We were going about 50 km/h.  Because I was ahead I didn't see what happened next.  However Tom saw everything in horrifying detail.

A young boy (who looked like he was maybe 8 years old but who we later learned was actually 12) suddenly sprinted across the road right at Sam's motorcycle.  The child was looking away and did not see Sam's motorcycle until he ran into it.  It happened so fast that Sam barely had time to hit the brakes.  He tried to swerve, but to no avail.  The child was flung into the air like a rag doll when he hit the bike, breaking the signal light and the right front fairing right off.  He bounced off to the left and Sam went to the right.  Sam somehow stayed on his bike.

It was immediately obvious that the impact had resulted in a compound fracture in the child's leg below the knee - the child's tibia was protruding through the skin.  Also of major concern was the fact that the child was barely conscious and had suffered a head injury of unknown severity.  There was blood oozing from two abrasions on the right side of his head.

Had Jerry and I been on the scene, we would have done our best to prevent anyone from moving the boy until we were sure he was breathing and had been assessed for a possible spinal injury.  We would also have immobilized the child's leg for transportation to the hospital.  It would have been difficult because the accident instantly drew a large crowd of people.  As it was, someone immediately and protectively scooped up the child and carried him to a taxi van to be taken to the hospital.  By the time I got to the scene a few minutes later, the child was gone.

It wasn't until Jerry, Peter and I got to a gas station a few kilometres up the road that we realized that Sam and Tom were no longer behind us.  We decided that I would go back to look for them, and Jerry and Peter would follow me if I did not return in 10 minutes.  On my way back to where we had last been a group of 5, I saw Tom riding alone.  He informed me that Sam had hit a Kid, and was pretty shaken.  Tom continued on to the gas station to inform Peter and Jerry, and I continued towards Sam.  I found him standing ashen beside his bike surrounded by a big crowd of people.

It's hard to imagine how awful it must feel to hit a kid.  I really felt bad for Sam.  It could easily have happened to any one of us - he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Such a horrible accident couldn't have happened to friendlier or more kind-hearted person.  Sam and Peter have used their trip from Cairo to Cape Town to raise over $16,000 for "Spread the Net" which provides mosquito netting to children throughout Africa to help prevent Malaria.

There have been reports of crowds turning hostile when a foreigner is involved in an accident in some areas of Africa.  Luckily that wasn't the case here.  There were doubtless many witnesses who saw the kid run right into Sam's bike and the word had spread that Sam couldn't have done anything to avoid the accident.  When Sam took out a pack of cigarettes and started fumbling for a light, someone thoughtfully offered him a pack of matches.  It took him a few tries to get his smoke lit.  His nerves were understandably shot.

Apparently someone in the crowd had called the traffic police.  There was nothing to do but wait until they arrived.  Tom, Jerry, and Peter soon arrived.  After making sure Sam was alright, Peter borrowed my phone to call the Canadian Embassy.  Unfortunately, the Ethiopian Sim card that I had bought the night before quickly ran out of credit and he was cut off in mid conversation.  That phone call would have to wait until we got to the police station.

At some point while we were waiting for the police to arrive (which took a surprisingly long time), Peter suggested that we carry on to Addis without him and Sam.  However, there was no way we were going to leave until we were sure the situation would not get out of hand.  How would Ethiopian law treat a foreign driver hitting a local kid?  The accident had clearly not been Sam's fault, but we didn't know if the police would see it that way.  Tom had seen everything and could prove a valuable witness if it came to that.  We told Peter we would stay until the situation was resolved in a sane way.

After we arrived at the police station, Peter went to a hotel to call the Canadian embassy again.  The information he received was cause for concern.  Apparently under Ethiopian law, the driver is always at fault in a collision with a pedestrian.  If the victim dies, there is an automatic 17 year prison sentence.  When Peter informed us of this fact, I suggested that we consider making a run for the border as a last resort.  Sam and Peter had already floated that idea.  We agreed that there was no way that Sam should set foot inside an Ethiopian prison just for being unlucky.

The problem was where to go.  The best choice was Kenya, but that border was 1700 km away.  The closest border was Sudan, but without visas we would have to sneak into the country, which would create its own set of problems.  To complicate matters even further, the police were holding Sam's passport.

We decided to begin by getting legal advice before providing a police report.  While Sam and Peter were searching for a lawyer who spoke English, Jerry and I were given the task of finding the boy and assessing the extent of his injuries.  We wanted to know if he was alive, and if so whether it would be worth paying to get him transferred to a larger centre where he may have a better chance.

On the way into town, Jerry and I had both seen a sign for Gonder University Hospital, which seemed a logical place to begin our search for the child.  When we arrived, the police lowered the chain guarding the main entrance and allowed us to ride our bikes into the compound.  We parked near the entrance.  After some aimless wandering in one building that seemed large enough to be the main hospital with no luck, a policeman approached us and asked us if we wanted to see the "baby" while making a hand gesture that could only be interpreted as a kid getting run over.  We nodded.  He had us follow him down a pedestrian path on our motorcycles, which were apparently not safe where we had left them.  On the ride through the hospital grounds, I came dangerously close to hitting several people as they stepped in front of my bike on the congested footpath.  That would have been just too cruel.

I am not sure what I was expecting of Gonder University Hospital, but I was not prepared for what I saw.  There were crowds of people who were obviously in advanced stages of terminal diseases just sitting listlessly on the ground outside.  They wore dirty rags.  No one was attending to them.  They were waiting to die.

The police officer directed us to a place where we could park the bikes and we continued on foot to a nearby building, which was the Gonder version of an itensive care unit.  The police officer opened the door motioned for us to enter.

Before I was able to take in the room, I was hit with the smell of blood.  Then I saw the child.  I have been haunted by that initial image ever since.  More than 5 hours had passed since the accident - why was he still in his blood stained clothes?  Why had no one dressed his wound, or even cleaned the congealed blood off of his leg?  Why had no one cleaned the dried blood from his head wounds?  It looked like the only treatment he had received was intravenous saline.  That, and a floppy piece of cardboard, now darkly stained with blood, had been placed behind his leg.  There was also a pile of blood soaked heaped on the cardboard beside his leg.

His grandfather was sitting beside him holding his hand.  It looked like he was unconscious.  But he was alive.  We found a doctor who helpfully answered our questions.  Yes the child could be roused and could speak, although he did not know where he was - he believed that he was still at home.  No there were no clinical signs (as of yet) of increased intracranial pressure, such as lateralization.  No there was no CT scanner in Gonder, and therefore intracranial bleeding could not be ruled out.  He would be monitored for clinical signs of brain hemorrhage over the next 24 hours.  His score on the glascow coma scale was 13/15.  No blood had come from the eyes, nose, ears, or mouth.  He had no motor deficits.  His sensations was normal.  His posterior tibial and dosalis pedis pulses were normal.  He had not been given any pain killers.

What?  No pain killers?  We were both incredulous.  Jerry offered the doctor some oxycodone (a morphine derivative) that he had back at the hotel (which had been prescribed for his latest ankle operation).  The doctor was reluctant.  We explained that we wanted to make sure that the child was receiving the best possible care and was not in pain.  At this point the doctor assumed that we wanted the child to receive special treatment.  Somewhat indignant, he told us that the child would be treated like any other patient with the resources that were available (which were clearly limited).  We asked whether the child would receive any morphine.  The doctor said that the little morphine that they had was reserved for serious cases.  If this wasn't a serious case, what was?

The doctor informed us that the child was scheduled for closed reduction of his fractures that afternoon.  His leg would then be immobilized with an external posterior plate.  He would be monitored for signs of increased intracranial pressure and/or cerebral hemorrhage.  Apparently they had the capacity to perform a burr-hole operation without the benefit of a CT scan if it became necessary (you drill a hole through the skull to drain the blood).  The nearest CT scanner was in Addis Ababa, more than 700 kilometres and a two day drive away.  The doctor deflected our suggestions of arranging for an air transfer.  The child would be treated in Gonder.

The doctor went to the child to perform a neurological exam.  The child responded to being poked in the chest on both sides by pushing the doctor’s hand away.  He opened his eyes.  He said a few words.  What happened next both Jerry and I believe is unacceptable.  The doctor assessed the child’s lower limbs, causing him to squirm with pain.  His leg was not immobilized, and you could see the broken end of the tibia press against the skin covering the child’s calf from the inside, causing it to bulge grotesquely.  I had to fight down a wave of nausea.

I gave the doctor my phone number and he agreed to phone me if there was any change in the child’s condition.  He asked us why we weren’t talking to the police, suggesting our stay in Gonder would be quicker if we cooperated fully.  How come everyone in town seemed to know every detail?  We explained that we wanted to do everything properly.

Jerry and I returned to the hotel to meet with Tom, Peter, and Sam, who had been gathering information in the meantime.  We reported our findings, which were cautiously optimistic.  We thought that the child had a good prognosis but our major worry was his head injury.  It would take at least 24 hours before a severe brain injury could be ruled out.  We hoped that his confusion was the result of a concussion and not something more life-threatening such as a cerebral hemorrhage

Sam was relieved that child was alive and conscious, and appreciative of our fact finding mission.  While we had been at the hospital, Peter had found an ex-pat who ran an orphanage in Gonder and was married to an Ethiopian.  She had told Peter that he should not file a police report but instead consult a village elder who could help mediate a settlement between Sam and the child's family without involving the police.  Finding a lawyer in Gonder who spoke English was proving much more difficult.  Luckily a lawyer was not actually necessary - all we needed was a reliable translator.

We found the village elder in his pharmacy.  A meeting with the family was arranged for the following morning at the police station.  When Jerry and I visited the hospital again the next morning, we were happy to see that the child’s wounds had been dressed and his leg was immobilized.  We were told that although he was still confused, his level of consciousness was improving.  He was now scoring 14/15 on the GCS.  Our fears of a serious brain injury seemed to be allayed.

We returned to the police station to report our news.  The negotiations soon began.  The family’s opening offer was 100,000 birr (which is about $10,000).And so a child’s suffering was reduced to money.  What a windfall 100,000 birr would be.  Enough of an incentive for desperate people to throw themselves in front of foreigners’vehicles.  Soon it became clear that our presence was not helping Sam in his negotiations.  The family saw 5 foreigners and assumed that they could get more from 5 people than they could from just Sam.  So Tom, Jerry, and I made a big show of leaving.  We finally left Gonder about midday on July 24th.  We hope that Sam and Peter were able to arrive at a reasonable settlement.  Hopefully we’ll see them soon on the road to Kenya.

It took us two days to finally reach Addis Ababa.  The Ethiopian highlands offered up easily the most spectacular scenery of the trip.  Lush green mountains, cascading waterfalls, stunning vistas, and gorgeous sweepers have meant that there has not been a dull moment.  The Blue Nile valley cuts a path through the mountains over 1500 metres deep.  It was so cold and damp that Tom and I both were using our electric heated vests on the high mountain roads.  When we descended to the Blue Nile, the temperature soared as we lost altitude.  We had to remove all our layers on the way down except for a t-shirt and riding jacket, only to put everything back on again as we ascended the other side.  The dramatic change in climate as we changed altitude reminded me a lot of riding in Colombia.  Even the vegetation is similar.  There is one distinctive species of barkless tree that is exactly the same.  It would be hard to tell the two countries apart if you were away from any villages.

The ride to Addis, although a feast on the eyes, has also been stressful.  Sam’s accident has had us all riding on edge.  Despite our hyper-awareness and extreme caution when passing people or animals, we have all had several near misses.  Once, a couple of horses suddenly ran across my path, forcing me into an emergency stop.  Another time I would have hit a dog if my horn hadn’t convinced it to turn around at the last second.  While riding through a village, I saw a woman carrying a large pot on her head dart out in front of Tom without looking, forcing him to slam on his brakes.  He barely missed her.  Jerry was forced onto the shoulder when an oncoming bus passed an oncoming truck right in front of him.

In other news, we actually made the news.  You can read our story on Yahoo! News.


Kids showing off their aquatic stunts for us on the River Nile in Khartoum, Sudan.  Photo by Khaled Desouki (Agence France Presse).


Jeremy gets a hand from some kids on the sandy shore of the Nile in Khartoum, Sudan.  Photo by Khaled Desouki (Agence France Presse).

In many ways the riding in Sudan reminds me of Bolivia - you pick your own route from a series of tracks leading off into the open desert.  The major difference is Bolivia was shockingly cold whereas Sudan is shockingly hot. 

The challenging riding conditions, while incredibly fun, have also led to some mishaps.  We've all come off our bikes multiple times.  The riding has been particularly challenging for Jerry, as his knee still cannot support the weight of his bike, causing him to drop it more often than he would otherwise.  He also is unable to pick up his bike by himself.  On one occaision, he managed to get his leg pinned underneath a pelican case when his bike went over.  He was unable to free himself.  Fortunately I was close by (having just picked up my own bike) and heard him screaming and ran over to lift the bike.  I am happy to report that Jerry emerged unscathed.  Despite the drops and episodes of getting stuck in the deep sand, Jerry has done remarkably well considering most of the conditions we've run across over the past couple of days he was facing for the first time - and with an injury.  It was a solid performance from a guy who just got his motocycle license last November.

Tom's worst spill happened when he hit a dip full of soft dust that gripped his rear tire, sending him flying.  Other than a nasty looking bruise, and a head to toe coating of dust, he came out no worse than he went in. 

My own scariest moment came in similiar conditions.  I was riding through a layer of dust several inches deep.  It was like riding through talcum powder, and my rear tire was sliding around.  I thought I saw some solid ground way off to the right and decided to make a bee-line for it.  Unfortunately the desert had other ideas.

Between me and the solid ground I sought was an area at the bottom of a small hill filled with what I thought was even deeper powder.  There were ruts a foot deep cutting across my path where it looked like a truck had powered through.  I wanted to avoid the hot unappealing task of digging and pushing my bike out.  Thus, to avoid getting bogged down in the soft stuff, I gunned the throttle and stood up on the pegs.  It would have worked if it had indeed been foot-deep talcum powder.  It was not.  Yes, there was a thin layer of powder a few inches deep on the surface.  However, the ruts were actually formed from dried mud as hard as cement. 

When I hit the first rut at speed, my suspension bottomed out sending me straight up into the air.  My bike achieved lift-off as well, as evidenced by the 4 foot gap in my motorcycle track where my bike launched itself over the lip of the rut.  With me in the air, my riderless bike started leaning to the left.  My bike and I fell together in a heap.  My leg was pinned at an awkward angle underneath the bike.  I felt a sharp pain in my knee followed by numbness.  There was a moment when I thought I had seriously hurt myself.  Luckily, when I pulled my leg free, I had full range of motion and could put all my weight on it.  Other than some joint-line tenderness, I am fine.  Whew.

Two nights ago, as I was riding through the Sudanese desert at sunset, with nothing but sand and rock formations bathed in crimson light as far as the eye could see, I realized there was no other place I'd rather be.  This was even better than I had hoped Sudan would be, even though I had high expectations to begin with.  What a stunningly beautiful country.   

Sudan's beauty is only matched by the friendliness and generosity of its people.  We've had people chase us down the street because we left a tip and they wanted to return it to us.  It seems like every village we pass through is full of people waving us over to join them for food and tea.  We've taken them up on a few of these offers.  For example, while waiting for Tom and Jerry to catch up one morning, I stopped at a school after getting waved over.  I was fed breakfast and tea.  Soon, I found myself surrounded by schoolchildren.  I read some lessons from their English reader, and felt like a movie star being the centre of attention.

Later, we decided to rest in a village during the intense heat of midday.  After a pleasant conversation with some of the locals over cold drinks, we decided to leave our bikes and hike down to the Nile to have a nap under the palms.  We left our helmets, gloves - just about everything we owned - with our bikes, which were about 500 metres away in the centre of the village.  We were completely confident that everything would still be there when we returned.  I cannot say that about too many places I have visited.  We could have taped money to our windscreens and nobody would have taken it.  The Sudan that I have seen is probably one of the safest places on the planet.

That's why the suffering in the Darfur is so heartbreaking.  It is almost impossible to believe that such horror could exist in the same country as I have just experienced.

Sudan is not an easy country to visit, which makes being here even more satisfying.  The visa application/approval process is complex and time consuming (although it can be done quickly in Cairo).  The only "overland" route into the country from Egypt involves a 17 hour ride on a hot overcrowded ferry bookended by seemingly endless red tape.  The process was lengthened even more because we had to wait an extra day in Wadi Halfa for the barge carrying our motorcycles to arrive, and the whole red tape process was replayed again before we finally rode our bikes into Sudan.

Because the ferry only sails once a week, it acts as a bottleneck to bring together everyone traveling overland from north to south together.  We met up with two fellow Canadians, Sam and Peter, who were both riding KLRs.  I had exchanged emails with Sam before leaving Canada after he stumbled across my blog and saw that we would be heading in the same direction at about the same time.  They hope to make it all the way to Cape Town by August 19th, putting them on an even tighter schedule than us.  I enjoyed meeting Sam and Peter in the flesh in Egypt.  It was great hanging out with them on the ferry and later in Wadi Halfa while we waited for the bikes.  The last time I saw them was in Dongola the day before yesterday.  Peter had gone over the handlebars and badly bruised his ribs.  His mule may have taken the worst of it though with a possible bent frame.  I wish him well and hope to see him and Sam again on our way south.  You can follow their adventures on their blog.

We also met up with Steffen, a German riding a classic Tenere.  He had stumbled across this blog, so we were in email contact even before he arrived in Aswan and saw our KLRs parked on the sidewalk in front of the Nile hotel.  The Nile hotel was also the temporary home of a group of 4 Italians.  2 of them were on motorcycles (including a beautiful KTM Adventure 990) and 2 of them rode in a support truck.  I have spent many miles wondering what goodies they have in the back of that truck.  Is there a fully functional kitchen?  Do they make waffles and omelets every morning?  Do they have a cooler full of ice cold drinks?  There must be some spare parts in there too somewhere.  It makes me wonder how we can possibly do this trip without a support vehicle.  The Italians are seasoned adventurerers, having gone on several round-the-world trips in the past, including a rare trip from Europe all the way to Beijing. 

Last but not least, we also met up with a couple, Andrew and Debbie, traveling by Land Rover from London to South Africa (http://www.wheahwe.blogspot.com/).  They are actually moving back to South Africa after living in the UK for 9 years.  They are allowing themselves over 6 months for their "move", including a month at Debbie's family's farm in Zambia.  What a perfect way to move.

For the past 2 nights we have been staying in the luxurious Bougainvilla Guesthouse in Khartoum.  It is a hang-out for ex-pats and people working for NGOs, etc.  This morning while having a coffee on the villa's pleasant rooftop patio, I had a conversation with Shereen Zorba, the deputy spokersperson for the AU-UN mission in Darfur.  She was excited by our trip and within minutes was phoning her reporter contacts.  I did a phone interview with a Khartoum newspaper reporter.  Our story is supposed to appear in tomorrow's edition.  I won't know what it will actually say because it is in Arabic.  If it says that I am the team leader, that is clearly a translation issue.  At one point I was asked if I thought that the ICC's indictment of President Bashir for alleged war crimes in Darfur (big news in Sudan) would affect the distribution of ressources for HIV treatment.  I was certainly in no position to give an informed opinion, and I said as much.

Shereen also put me in touch with Jennie Matthews, who works for AFP (Agence France Press).  Jennie and two cameramen came to the Bougainvilla this afternoon.  They took us out for a ride along the Nile.  It looked like they were getting some great action shots of us riding our bikes through dunes.  They'll also have some money shots of a group of kids pushing Jerry's bike out of the sand.  Jennie interviewed us about our trip when we got back.  Any press coverage we get would go a long ways towards raising awareness of Dignitas and Riders for Health.

Tomorrow, after a delicious Bougainvilla breakfast, we intend to cover as much of the 572 km to the Ethiopian border as we can.  After the stiffling heat of the Sahara, we are looking forward to the green cool mountains that await.