I needed to escape. The memories and the pressure were… too much. I’d come back to Nairobi from a tough assignment, covering civil unrest (PC for hidden-under-the-carpet civil war) in the north of Kenya, spending weeks in the bush. I’d been trying to get an interview with the rebel chief, whom, of course, the Kenyan Government insisted on calling a shifta, a bandit. I had hardly turned in my piece, and the paper wanted to send me south. And of course to finish up two articles due… last month. It was time to take a break, a holiday. The great advantage of that newspaper, and almost the only one, were the vacations, no time limit, not arguable. Later obviously they got your blood back for that.

As I arrived at the office on a Monday, I notified the Editor in chief (not God but close) that I was going on…

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