Pyramids by the Nile. Egypt? No, Sudan.
Abdrahman smiled at me. “Come,” he said, and hurried off behind a
mud-and-stick shed. There, regally posed, with a golden coat,
Abdrahman lowered the camel to his knees and pointed to me. “You ride,” he said, waving a wooden switch in my face. With little choice I threw a leg over the great beast — and remembering Lawrence of Arabia — wrapped my left knee around the saddle horn and hooked my instep behind my other knee. Abdrahman snapped his switch, and Abrusa lurched to his feet. Suddenly we were tearing across the desert.