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pages with important facts and figures.
    â€œNow we’re rockin’ and rollin’,” I shouted, turning the heads of the other guests in the lobby. This was truly the start of our Sudan adventure.

8
    TO REPAY A DEBT
    While the others went back upstairs, I stepped out of the hotel and saw that the two security guys were still present, along with three government soldiers carrying weapons. They were keeping an eye on our little party. We were going to depart Khartoum in two days, but that wasn’t quick enough for me. In the United States, I was sure the authorities watched you, but they never made it so obvious. Possibly, it was the fear that you were under a microscope that made you toe the line, be well behaved, and refrain from try anything illegal.
    The blistering African sun rained its scorching heat down on the city. I looked up, felt the sweat sticking to my shirt and underarms, and started walking in the direction of the market I’d passed on my way to the hotel. Suddenly, Elsa ran up, waving her arms, shouting that there was a protest scheduled near the eastern part of the city.
    â€œWhere’s Addie?” I asked, wanting her for company.
    Elsa smirked. “She didn’t feel well. Tummy trouble.”
    She gave me a big bag containing her cameras and lens, then shoved me in the car that she’d flagged down. Once we were both in the backseat, I noticed that she’d tucked her hair under a Yankee baseball cap. Her face was covered with nervous sweat from the adrenaline rushing through her sturdy limbs, though she was eager to capture the turmoil of the protest. I looked out the back window and noticed that the two security guys were tailing us in a car but keeping a respectable distance.
    â€œWhere’s your Egyptian friend?” I asked curiously.
    â€œShe went to bed. She’s getting some needed sleep, because we were out late at one of the cafés last night.” Elsa chuckled. “She’s not used to this hectic pace like I am.”
    â€œWho’s protesting?”
    Her eyes, bloodshot from fatigue, narrowed. “These are the same people who protested last fall against the twenty-four-year regime of President Omar al-Bashir. They know he’s a tyrant. They’re also angered by his cuts in fuel and gas subsidies, because nobody can run a home or business with the government mucking in their affairs. I’ve wondered why the Sudanese people have not risen up before now. They have had good examples of popular revolts against dictatorships in the Arab world in the past two years. You know, the Arab Spring?”
    I nodded knowingly. “Sheep will always remain sheep.”
    â€œSpeaking of sheep . . . can I ask you a question?” she said, fumbling with a lens on her Nikon camera, which she’d pulled out of the bag. “Why do you drag yourself around with that country bumpkin? She brings nothing to the party. She has the intellect of a bag of rocks.”
    Her question caught me off guard. “I like her. I’m here because of her. She got me out of the doldrums, got me to get off my butt and get back involved in the world.”
    â€œSo?” Elsa was not having it. Addie was a bore in her mind.
    â€œI owe a lot of positive things in my life to Addie,” I said with sincerity. “She’s from the country, but I find that refreshing. I don’t have to worry about her pulling some devious tricks on me, betraying me. She speaks her mind. She’s almost honest to a fault. I like that.”
    Elsa placed the camera back in the bag as the car weaved in and out of the traffic. “Clint . . . Can I call you Clint?”
    â€œYes. Sure.” Just then I smelled a really rancid odor coming in the windows. It smelled like something had died and had not been buried.
    She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, inhaled, and let the smoke slowly trickle out of her nostrils. “Clint, you’ll get used to the smells.