Friday, 4.00 pm The news of my father’s demise came to me on a dusty Friday afternoon in Aweil a small village north of South Sudan as I was winding up a long day of interviews and was looking for some rest. More than the tragedy of the news, the question how the hell I’m going to get back to Chennai hit me hard. For here I am, 600 km. from Juba the capital city from where I could take a flight out. Because of the conflict and insecurity there are no inter-city commercial flights in operation. Aid workers rely on UN Chartered flights that operates on fixed days. They do not fly on weekends. It was already Friday afternoon when I heard the news from my sobbing daughter, that meant that the last UN Flight out of Aweil had already taken off 5 hours ago. The prospect of holed out in Aweil till Monday to catch the flight to Juba psyched me out. Desperately, I called up my boss, David Ayaga who had left early to his village as it was a Friday. His phone was switched offe...