Chapter 6

July 2009, Sudan

It was a few hours before dawn when I locked the motorcycle up, next to a shed and hid it behind some rusty sheets of corrugated iron. Then I struggled my way to the back of my home, and opened the lock in the rusty gate. Even if the gate was rusty the hinges were well greased and it opened without a sound. I locked the gate after me and soon was inside the house.

For the first time, I really felt the exhaustion of recent events. I forced a smile when my wife and daughter came to help me to get out of the clothes I had been wearing. It seemed that they hadn't been sleeping, but only resting in the living area.

Just a moment later I had removed the beard I had been wearing and the brown contacts were soon stored in their disinfecting solution. Then I used a good amount of precious water in getting rid of the black coloring in my hair. Throughout the process we were as silent as possible so that we would not wake our little Naiya.

I set my mobile phone to wake me up in a few hours, and took a look at my sleeping Naiya. Even though my stress level was still sky high, I had no problems in falling asleep. At some point I could feel someone snuggle up to me, but all too soon my phone woke me up.

I managed to get up without waking anybody else. Once I had checked myself in the mirror I just groaned. Then I noticed a filthy envelope with my name on it. I guess it must have been delivered yesterday. I took it with me, and was soon out of the house and by my car. Once in the car, I opened the envelope.

My official boss had sent it. She informed me that there would be a journalist coming, and I should do my best to make sure that she wrote a nice, positive story about us. I knew that my boss didn't really like me - she tolerated me because I had a good reputation, and I agreed to work in places some others wouldn't even come close to. She hated me because I got along with the locals – all of them. She also knew that I hated publicity and that was why she hadn't called or emailed me beforehand.

I sat still for a moment. In a way this didn't change anything, but on the other hand it changed everything. Normally I would have just ignored the request and plainly refused to meet the journalist and just make sure that he or she had no access to my site. But this situation was far from normal, and the journalist was Karen. I shut down the alarm, and opened the gate, and drove out. Then I closed the gate and reset the alarm. After a quick breakfast in the hotel, and two strong coffees; I felt human enough to contact the reception. It turned out that I had no need to do that, since Karen chose that moment to walk down to the lobby.

She looked better than she had looked in the evening. I guess a night's sleep even in a not-so-fancy hotel did wonders when compared to traveling. She looked around the lobby but she didn't notice me. I wasn't really surprised, since during the years I had learned to blend in to the background. I took a step forward.

"Good morning, Karen. I suggest that you get some breakfast here, before you pick up your stuff and we go to the site."

She recognized me, and wasn't at all as shaken as I thought she would be. It could only mean that she had expected to meet me here. That fact together with the letter from my boss, started to piss me off. However, I decided not to let her see my aggravation. Instead, I decided to keep her off-balance, if I could. For a second I wondered, was I on the receiving end of a revenge for something that happened five years ago, or was it just the recent happenings I was venting about? I just needed to cool down a bit.

"By the way, Karen, you still look very good. The breakfast here is quite nice. I've sometimes eaten here myself, even though I prefer eating at home."

I was sure that my smile looked very genuine. It should. I had practiced it often enough in front of a mirror. From the look on her face, I could see that my plan worked, at least somewhat.

"Thank you, Greg. Maybe I'll follow your suggestion. I just couldn't be sure how you would react..."

I kept on smiling when I interrupted her.

"I have to admit that I was a bit irritated by my boss, when she arranged something like this without negotiating with me about it. After all, this place isn't at all like home."

At that point, I changed my look from smiling to slightly worried.

"But how come you are here alone? This isn't really an area where a western woman - even a professional journalist - should move about, alone."

Now the irritation on her face was clear to see. I watched her while she sipped her coffee and tasted the bread that was supplied. She looked a bit older, but the main difference were her eyes, which looked colder and harder than I remembered. That seems to happen to the best of us.

"They gave me a partner but I haven't heard from him since yesterday evening. To tell the truth I'd be quite happy to never to hear from him again."

"Well, if he doesn't appear soon, you'll need to go without him. That is, if you want to come to the site. I can wait a few moments but not too much longer."

After that, I allowed her to finish her breakfast while I took a look at the local paper. It didn't give me any new information, but from the corner of my eye I could see that it intrigued her that I was looking at a paper written in Arabic. I wasn't going to tell her that I could only read the headlines, and not the details in the articles.

Sometime later she managed to get the person at the reception desk to call her partner's room. I wasn't surprised that nobody answered, but she was clearly pissed.

"Karen, we should get going. I can take some pictures for you, and carry the bag, if needed."

She grudgingly accepted that. When she visited her room upstairs, she opened the door for me but I declined.

"I shouldn't be coming in. They don't check the hotels very often, but the laws here are quite strict about a woman and man being together in the same room, if they aren't married - married to each other, of course."

She blushed, but nodded. I have to give it to her that she still could pick up on things, quickly.

Once we got to my car, I opened the back door for her and put her cameras into the back. I knew her well enough that I was able to see that she was about to open a discussion with me, but instead I kept on talking about the project and the organization I officially worked for. By the time we got close to the bridge, she was fuming. I didn't laugh ... at least, I didn't show it.

From the rear mirror I could see that she was about to start challenging me when I stopped the car. I could see her mouth open and close and then open again. In a way I could understand her, because the area and the structures still had some effect on me, too, and I had been here for more than eight months. The ravine was not that deep or wide, but it was long and steep. The structure we were building certainly was something different. Even though strong earthquakes were not that common here, they were always a possibility. Another problem was the materials we could use. Tiles would have been easily available but they would not work.

The result was a combination of expensive steel in places where it was absolutely necessary, and replaceable wooden structures elsewhere. The almost finished structure was something you could imagine you'd get from a group of drunken or drugged spiders! On the top it would be wide enough for small vehicles and bikes to drive over, which was intentional. I did not want any easy access for trucks or any other heavy stuff.

When we stepped out of the car, I was immediately greeted by my fellow workers. I quickly gave some instructions to my trusted assistant and he took a quick look at Karen, smiled at me, and nodded. I looked at Karen, who was standing there looking at the structure and the surroundings and shaking her head. I had to admit that I felt a bit proud of myself when I looked at the area. I waved my hand to the guys on the other side. It seemed that the pipe installation was going fine.

"Just what the hell is that structure?"

Karen was looking at me, and I could not help a little smile forming in the corners of my mouth.

"Oh, I'm hurt. Or the professional in me is deeply hurt. You came all the way to the other side of the world to see me, and you have not bothered to read my publications."