I think I actually have saddle sores.
I got the word last night that two cargo flights I've been trying to get forEVER to transport 300,000 condoms to a place nobody could get to due to a bridge collapsing were going to go today. Which is great news. Except, of course, nothing is ever easy.
Spent all day today driving from the warehouse that had the condoms to the office where the manager had gone for a meeting to the Ministry of Health to get a stamp to the control tower in the airport to get permission to bring a truck onto the tarmac to Konyo Konyo to find a truck and laborers and on and on.
Finally, after I basically go through a tank of petrol on Donk, we have driven the truck out onto the tarmac, to find one guy who sits there all day long and coordinates things. Annnnnnnd, the planes aren't there. So I sit, in my Ralph Lauren skirt, on the spare fuel tank of a fighter jet, feet propped up on my helmet, next to the runway of Juba International airport, reading a Stephen King book of all things (I love the Gunslinger) and throwing rocks at the cows that wandered past. It was oddly peaceful out there, brutally hot, of course, but about the only quiet place in Juba.