The bakery, our midnight meal, bread straight from the ovens, bakers from Kadugli, wide smiles, soft low voices, they brighten when I tell them we’re coming up from Nahud, on the way back to their Nuba Hills…from my Trail Diary, Day 23, 1984.
I remember that Daoud and I returned to the bakery the next day in full sunlight. The night spell had broken. The bread was all made. Now was the tedious job, milling flour on noisy machines. The bakers were tired and wanted only to sleep.
©David Melody