Fading Desert Footprints (Complete)

'Anything more than the truth would be too much.' Robert Frost

The weather is exactly the same in El-Fasher, sunny, clear, and hot. The airport has a longer paved runway instead of a gravel one. This is the Darfur capital.

Without checked bags, I don't need to loiter in the terminal. I find a taxi outside. I miss the personal touch that Donna had given by picking me up; I feel more isolated and lost here in El-Fasher.

At the El-Fasher airport, I had finally seen an old Russian MIG as we taxied towards the terminal; there were two parked on an isolated ramp. A few years ago, these planes were dropping bombs on suspected rebel groups. Fighter jets are compact and sleek; a rocket engine with wings, and firepower; built to fly fast, shoot, and reload, like a very fancy rifle. The fact that they are MIG's drives home another point; this is not a country with a lot of American influence.

If their fleet is ever updated, it would probably be with Chinese Chengdu J-20's; their interest in the region has increased substantially recently, attracted by the region's oil. China has even been charitable to the country, stepping in to build infrastructure, like roads and railways, with a coincidental benefit to PetroChina refineries.

Their cozy relationship was nudged by the U.S. missile strike of North Khartoum's Al-Shifa pharmaceutical factory in 1997, suspected of making chemical weapons.

Sudan's friendship with China comes with another perk; access to a U.N. veto, if for instance, in 2004 the U.S. should want sanctions on Sudanese oil due to the Darfur conflict.

Witnesses claimed to see bombs loaded on these MIGs in El-Fasher. Their sorties often hit civilians. This accusation was denied; but now, the airport is closed in the early evening; there are fewer witnesses.

After the short taxi ride from the airport, I check into the El Fasher Tower hotel, head upstairs to my room, and drop my bags. I return downstairs to take a tuk-tuk to the helicopter group house.

I find a ride, and hand him the piece of paper much like I did in Khartoum. I make the 'rookie foreigner' mistake of not determining the fare beforehand.  I am not concerned; I am nervous about meeting Kelly's friends, among which is her boyfriend. I am not sure if I will see him here; I don't know who he is, or what happened to him in the fire.

We speed along dirt roads, and then paved ones, turning frquently. In the distance, on a small hill, I see a larger well-kept building. As drive by, the driver turns to me and gives me a wide smile,

"Sultan's house," he says, as we speed on.

We weave in and out of streets, and I think we might be going in circles, but then I see a large camp, with similar large black and white capital letters that the U.N. uses. This one says 'AMIS', which is the African Union Mission in Sudan and comprised of troops from African countries.

AMIS was a peacekeeping force specifically for the Darfur conflict. It was too small to be effective, and merged with the UN to form an international group under the banner 'UNAMID' in late 2007, with a subtle change from peacekeeping, to implementing peace. The intent is to prevent another Rwanda-like genocide by allowing the use of arms to protect civilians.

The camp is full of white tents, but I don't see anyone.

We speed past the compound, and I get lost again with left and right turns; I expect to end up back at the hotel.

We stop at the gate of another compound, and I give the driver three dollars. He snatches it, but gawks at me with wide eyed shock, as if I had slapped him. I give him two more, and he speeds away.

The helicopter group's residence is surrounded by a small brick fence; I approach the metal gate, which is closed. I knock on the steel, which rattles loudly and shakes like an earthquake. The shaking-rattling fades like an echo. The houses remain silent, and no one is in sight. I assume everyone is away at work, or they are inside to escape the heat.