Juba, South Sudan

After the 43°C heat of the day in Juba, sundown brings a merciful reprieve. My dearest friend Ken pours me a dram of Glen Deveron, without ice or water, and I realise it’s going to be a long evening with the man from Midlothian. In Juba, it turns out, one can find the finest single malt whiskies, thanks to intrepid Eritreans who run the local grog shops. After a couple of glasses, our conversation goes back to the time we were together in the same burning heat some years back, in the border town of Bentiu, planning our logistics for a journey north into the Nuba mountains. I had hired Ken as a fixer on the TV film I was making with a producer named Danny. In Bentiu, Ken explained to us that apart from a single, dangerous track into this rebel-held territory, Nuba was a war zone, entirely cut off from the outside world. We’d be gone for weeks and so Ken said we must be entirely self-sufficient for all the time we were there.

To carry our provisions, we hired two 4×4 pick-ups and I went off to buy a portable generator and a quantity of diesel with which to charge our TV camera batteries, telephones and other kit.........

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