Even then, when planes did not fly nearly so high as they do today, there was not very much to be seen from the air except the endless desert and the meandering green and these I remember just as distinctly as one remembers the islands on a long ocean voyage. Before we started, we were held up for three or four days at Khartoum with engineer trouble. It was April, the hottest time of the year – so hot, in fact that it was slightly painful just to touch the porcelain sides of your bathtub when you got up in the morning. A fearsome sandstorm known as a haboob was blowing, and it was only at the very end of the long, torpid day that the town woke up at last. Each evening, about an hour before the light began to fail, I used to walk down to the zoo with a book. The Khartoum Zoo is quite unlike any other zoo in the world. It lies on the left bank of the Blue Nile, just upstream from the point where the White Nile comes I from the southern Sudan, and it covers hardly more than two or three acres.
The animals and the birds do not have that vacant and dispirited air that seems to overtake tropical creatures then they are transported to cold climates in the north. They have all been born here in this hothouse atmosphere, and many of them are not kept in cages; they simple roam about in their natural state, grazing on the grass and the bushes or wading in the pond. At the hour when I used to go to the zoo, there were hardly any visitors, and as I sat there reading, the zebras, the antelopes and many kinds of long-legged bird would gather around in a quiet and hesitating way that was something between curiosity and fear.
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