Heron on the Nile
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  Kadugli and Dilling "Teacher Captured"  

I was locked in and left. The cell measured 4m x 3m. It had a high ceiling. There were ventilation slots near the top of the back-wall and an iron railing gate at the front. All that was missing was the word "JAIL". Inside there were 11 others; strewn across the floor. I sat in the doorway hogging the benefit of the breeze; it helped to sweeten the stench of urine.

The night sky was beautifully clear. There were lights on in the yard and there was the sound of a diesel-lorry generator. The patrolling guard seized the chance to practice his English. Strangely I mustered the patience to answer the same familiar questions all over again. He asked if there was anything I wanted. Keeping it realistic, I asked for a drink of water. He took the trouble to find a metal beaker, filled it with cool clean water and handed it to me through the bars. I drank only a little. Shortly after, one man came to the gate to pee and I realised that not only was I in the way but others might appreciate the breeze too.

The concrete floor was dusty, most likely dirty. I was careful not to take anyone's space, these guys might be angry, or intoxicated; they could be violent. Most were lying on cardboard or rice sacks, but there were none left for the latecomer. One corner was unoccupied; I didn't want to know why. I sat back against a wall. Through the doorway I could still see the star speckled sky; familiar patterns. Feeling isolated, I recognised "old friends". The two men opposite me moved apart a little making room for my legs. In turn, many of the prisoners got up, stepped over me, and spat into the corner; I wondered if this was some sort of welcoming ritual?

Around midnight the yard lights went out. There was still moonlight. Nothing much would change now. I would see the constellations move through my slice of sky. The next indication of time will be the pre-dawn azan, if I hear it over the generator, and then the receding of the blackness, dawn and sunrise. I had agreed to meet Eleanor for our bus at 7:15am. Maybe I'll be there? Slim chance. She will hear. She will understand. I wish her a safe and speedy exit.

I took a plastic bag from my pocket containing a flattened toilet-roll. By unfolding the bag in the dirt and positioning the tissue within I had a "pillow", or at least somewhere I was prepared to lay my head. I wondered what else was in the room; maybe fleas, cockroaches, rats and sewage? Reluctantly, I lay down and hoped for the best.

Sun 21 Nov

At first light, as the day-shift began to arrive, there was astonishment on most faces. What? A khawaja in the jail! Whatever could he have done that was so awful? I had been asking the same questions but was yet to get an answer.

Confusingly, there seemed to be convicts walking around the yard outside. These were mostly "day boys", political prisoners; respectable and senior. One said "that which has been done to you is a great shame for Sudan." I was inclined to agree. They apologised on behalf of the region. It was sweet of them. Another told me not to worry, he would have a word with the Director General of the Police personally, and this matter would be resolved in minutes. I could not tell if this was a wind-up or for-real and strained to recall the film where the lunatics believe they are running the asylum. A third convict said he had heard from JMC (an international peace force, monitoring the Nuba Mountains Ceasefire Agreement) that "an expatriate teacher had been captured at the university guesthouse". If necessary they would intervene on my behalf. "Thanks guys, but please don't bring your hardware."

Around 20 minutes after sunrise a guard came and collected me. I was led across the now busy yard, much to the fascination of many. Someone shouted "Tony Blair", I smiled; every one seemed to be happy for me. I realised Skye and Angus (volunteer teachers based in Dilling) were waiting on the veranda of the offices. I was very pleased to see them and touched that they had come. They were carrying my luggage; it was emotional. Our greetings were very restrained; it would have been premature to celebrate.

Skye and Angus were such great hosts and sympathetic co-workers. When they collected me I was very touched and very sorry that they had got dragged into my difficulties. I hoped it would not damage their relationships with the authorities. Skye was especially sweet giving up an outing to visit village schools to keep me company whilst waiting for the bus, and I suspect, to make sure I went.

I caught up with Eleanor at El Obied airport and we got our flight, certainly preferable to the coach, and were home in time for tea.

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