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,
stood Abrusa.
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.
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