We flew to Khartoum following the Nile, as everyone seems to have done: Generals Gordon and Kitchener leading armies, Victorian explorers seeking its source, Bob Geldorf leading Band Aid. Bob even stayed in our hotel, the venerable Acropole. Bombed and battered since 1952, the Acropole is still the place to stay. Over breakfast journalists talk of politics, archaeologists of their exploration plans, aid workers of renewable energy. We sail down the Blue Nile, at a low ebb at this time of year, to the confluence with the White Nile. Waters from the Abyssinian mountains meeting those from Lake Victoria. Both rivers are muddy brown today. The Blue Nile should be the Black Nile, the first explorers misunderstood the local Arabic. Wandering around town we meet a small marching protest, youngsters singing and shouting on their way
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