"Apologies for my failure to think of a suitably cheesy yet inspirational opening quote. Can you help?"
- Alastair Humphreys

It is hot; my head pounds and my thermometer has a fit, races off the top of the scale (50°C) and refuses to come back down. As I cycle my face is fixed in a grimace (a combination of pain, heat, misery and genetic ugliness). Exposed to the air my teeth become painfully hot. The ground is too hot to sit on, my handlebars almost too hot to hold, the water in my drinking bottle better suited for brewing tea than quenching thirst. But I must go on: I have a rendezvous with a friend in some dilapidated Ethiopian town. It is a race against time. I pause for food at sunset at a truckers' stop. Perhaps it was the heat but the conversation seemed rather surreal: "What tribe are you from?" "Ermm... Yorkshire, I guess," then a complicated discussion about why farmers in England do not use camels.

Oh dear, the tears are back. I am pushing hard to meet Rob on time; on the road an hour before first light, riding right through the midday inferno (mad dogs, etc?) and on well into the night. There are too many hours available for wandering thoughts... The road is so hard, so long, so quiet and the sky is too big and empty for just one person.

But this latest episode of histrionics and soul searching runs deeper than last time [see Syria: "My Life really is a Roller coaster"]. I really am in trouble this time. I began this whole ridiculous affair because I wanted a challenge that I would fail unless I really, really worked hard at it. But now I know that I can cycle over huge mountains or across deserts. I know that I can cope alone in strange countries and situations. I know that I can do it. The problem now is that I no longer know whether I want to keep doing it. I am bored. I find myself thinking "Not another massive mountain to sweat and curse my way over. Not another 1000 km of road before my next ice-cream."

So I weep my way through a few hundred kilometres of emptiness. At least it passes the time. And keeps my eyeballs cool. It is the nearest I have yet come to quitting. Being alone exaggerates all emotions and I feel desperate to share my pain with somebody, anybody. But there is nobody: I feel very alone. Being alone is infinitely harder than riding with a companion. Thankfully a tiny shard of stubbornness keeps me riding and after a few days my elaborate plans of 1) swerving in front of a truck or 2) heading for the nearest England-bound aeroplane (slightly preferable to option number 1) fade.

Tough guys tattoo LOVE and HATE across their knuckles. It is too hot for such deep emotions now so I emblazon my cycling mitts with a dangling carrot to keep me pushing towards Ethiopia: COLD BEER.

I drag my heels in Gallabat: the far side of the village is Ethiopia and I am reluctant to leave Sudan. My passport is stamped in a thatched mud hut, I don't have to clear customs (the man is asleep and it would be a shame to wake him) and the border policeman takes me for a final breakfast. Sudan has amazed me. Arriving awestruck and nervous my head had been laden with preconceptions. Now I have crossed Africa's largest nation and have learned so much.

Sudan has huge problems, amongst them an absurdly bad government, a horrific civil war, hunger, drought and terrible poverty. However, Sudan has still been my favourite country on this journey. Despite being poor the Sudanese people that I met were genuinely happy. They are happy with what they have and they have dignity and self-respect. They are the kindest, most cheerful, most hospitable and welcoming people that I have ever met. The Sudan needs the West to open its eyes to the horrors of the conflict, to rid itself of unhelpful preconceptions caused by ignorance. It needs our awareness.

Perhaps you may like to read a book called The Weekenders; a collection of short stories published by the Daily Telegraph to raise funds and awareness for the Sudan. Perhaps you could read of the valuable work that Hope and Homes for Children are doing in the Sudan. Please don't be as uninformed as me; Sudan is a wonderful, wonderful country and it deserves our support.

The work of Hope and Homes for Children in Sudan

The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind some people
dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn't half so bad
if it isn't you.
               -Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Giggling and shielding faces behind freshly scrubbed hands, six small boys stand in a group and sing a song. The boys are a family, hence the embarrassment of performance, the clean faces, enforced best behaviour and uncomfortable Sunday clothes. But these irritations are trivial in their lives because they have a family now. Their singing is to welcome me on a visit to their home.

A year ago each of these children was alone. Their lives up until then had been horrifying. They were either surviving as best as they could on the cruel streets or else they had been rounded up and dumped in government camps. The camps are for children orphaned by the endless war in the south of Sudan, their parents just another two of the two million people who have disappeared or been killed in the brutal conflict. Alone in the World the children have received scant education, inadequate food and shelter and little love or personal attention for most of their short lives.

Hope and Homes for Children works in Sudan to take some children from the government camps and to place them in homes within the ordinary Khartoum community. They can then live in a simple but comfortable home, attend a local school (plus receiving extra assistance to help them catch up with other children of their age) and visit youth groups where they learn useful trades (building, car mechanics, etc.) in order that they will be more employable when they are older. The home I visited had six orphans, now happily living together as brothers in the care of a permanent mother and father. Everything possible is done to try and provide the children with as normal an upbringing as possible. It is nothing fancy or extravagant, it is just a childhood.

An important aspect is that the children are relying on each other and on their new parents. They are not just feeling dependent on cash from rich, white England. They are helping themselves. That is an extremely important point.

Children do not need much from life: education, food, shelter, love and laughter. It does not even cost very much, which means that we all have the potential to make a difference if we only choose to do so.

The singing brothers shook my hand as I left and as I looked into the eyes of each of them I felt an amazing gratitude to them. The gaze of those small boys showed me so much about courage, hardship, guts, overcoming adversity and deep appreciation for renewed hope and laughter. May the wind be always at your back, boys. You deserve it.

HOW YOU CAN HELP:
In the children's homes are plaques acting as tokens of thanks to people around the globe who have made a genuine difference to the lives of the orphans. If you have enjoyed following the progress of my journey please consider showing your support by helping these children. Perhaps you could fundraise in your school or office and raise enough money to have a plaque presented. It is not hard to do, but having shaken hands with those boys I believe that it is hard not to want to help more kids like them, children herded into indecent camps with only fleeting memories of their dead parents to sustain them. You really can change the life of a child.

Please visit the web site for details of how you can help. Thank you.

Questions?
If you want more information about this area you can email the author or check out our Africa Insiders page.