Transcription: Five hours of sleepy bumping in the van brought us to Bukima, a village in the foothills of the Varunkas, which marks the point where the road finally gives up and from which we have to travel on by foot. Set a little way above the village, in front of a large square was an absurdly grand ex-colonial building, empty except for an absurdly small office tucked into the back, where a small man in an army uniform poured over our guerrilla permits with a grim air of bermudium. as if he'd never seen one before, or at least not for well over an hour. He then occupied himself with a shortwave radio fo ...
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