Storm filled skies to greet me back to Juba Town. The roads flooded and empty as they had been closed to traffic for the departure of President Bashir of Sudan. The troops and police allowed us to walk, and so with suitcase in tow, I sweated a couple of kilometers until I could get to a side road which Nelson could access.
The metal roof of the office shakes under another strike. Noise echoing through the roof space. Its mango season. Falling like grenades from the trees. The air, full of the smell of rotting fruit in the pools of water following the latest storms.
Jog time. Calves complaining. Suitcase pulling?? My face, a glazed doughnut, my throat scratchy. Not impressed.
First light at the customs circle intersection, the busses to Kampala stand like lumbering beasts, enveloped by a swarm of people. Passengers trying to cram the last luggage through windows, boxes being strapped to the roof, and food sellers offering roast nuts, mandazi (fried balls of dough), and sweets. Loud, colourful and the subject of my next painting.