There is no electricity. You can't travel by road in many parts of the country. In Congo, again, you have to go in by plane and there is war going on.

[We are] prepared to do what it takes in any country that has not yet realized the value of educating its girls. These girls simply cannot afford to wait any longer,

It doesn't matter how you travel it, it's the same road. It doesn't get any easier when you get bigger, it gets harder. And it will kill you if you let it.

We've had a number of cars that have gone off the road into the ditch. It's made travel very, very hazardous.

Sometimes, you feel yourself weightless, thinned. You draw back the curtains (if there are any) on a rectangle of wasteland at dawn, and realise that you are cast adrift from everything that gave you identity. Thousands of miles from anyone who knows you, you have the illusion that your past is lighter, scarcely yours at all. Even your ties of love have been attenuated (the emergency satellite phone is in my rucksack and nobody calls). Dangerously, you may come to feel invulnerable.

The biggest cost is travel. You put a kid on the road for a day and it gets expensive, especially from Denver, because teams have to fly to competitions in the Midwest. Most of the rest of the teams can take buses.