The camp was Oure Cassoni, where millions of bugs surround thousands of Darfuri refugees huddled in their tents just a few miles from the border with Sudan. Men, women and children had been driven from their homes in Western Sudan - Darfur - and lived in hope of returning to their villages one day.

So Melissa was once again standing where George and our cousin David Pressman and I stood with her last April. Our friend, photographer Mike Herron, had already returned to the States after being downed by the heat in South Sudan.

"Melissa, what are you doing there? That's a bad place to be. I read the reports. People are shooting at each other around Bahai."

"No, no, it's very quiet today. We haven't heard any shooting since last week."

No mortal danger since last week. That's what passes for safety among humanitarian workers in Africa - not to mention the tens of thousands of refugees themselves.

Talking to Melissa brought so many images rushing back. I asked about friends we had met. Melissa ticked off the names of those who were still there and those who had left. I could picture the bright-colored clothing, the laughing children, the stoic faces of the adults masking the horrors of their recent past. Melissa brought me back to that moment.

"I just wanted you to know I delivered the blankets. It's so cold here, Nick, you wouldn't believe it. Remember how hot it was when we were here together? Now it's winter and so cold in the desert. The blankets are really welcome."

The blankets. Last summer, when I spoke about Darfur at the Underground Railroad Center, a woman came up to Nina and me with a message. Her friend, Leticia Jennings, hadn't come to the event because of illness. But she sewed light, quilted blankets at home. She wanted to send them to Darfuri families.

Eventually, Leticia prepared more than a dozen of them. I called Melissa to see how we could package them and to whom we should send them. Melissa told Nina, "I'll be going back there soon. Send them to me, I'll take them myself."

That offer was more generous than many would understand. Traveling in that forbidding part of the world is very difficult at best. The one imperative is to travel light, taking as little as possible. Lugging an extra package onto puddle-jumper planes, then into Landrovers over tracks that are roads in name only is beyond the call of duty. Except for Melissa.

"Please tell Leticia how much people here loved her gift. I can't exaggerate what it means to them. I'm going to write about it on the IRC Web site."

She did. I'm going to quote the last few lines of her story:

"As I was planning this trip to Chad, I promised (Nina) that I would deliver Ms. Jennings' blankets to mothers with young children who came to our medical clinic at the Oure Cassoni refugee camp for vaccinations and exams.

"Today, as harsh and bitterly cold winds whipped through the camp, I'm happy to say I was able to do just that.

"As I handed each mother one of Ms. Jennings' beautifully sewn quilts, I explained to them that there is a woman far away who heard about their plight, who is concerned with their safety and the future of their children and that she made the blankets to keep their babies warm at night.

"The Sudanese women looked at me somewhat incredulously, but were appreciative and grateful. They wrapped their children in the blankets right away and I took some pictures. I can't wait to send them to Ms. Jennings."

Perhaps Melissa should include a picture of another gallant lady. Herself. I hope it's quiet in Bahai today.

Nick Clooney writes for The Post every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. E-mails sent to Nick at nickclooney@cincypost.com will be forwarded to him via regular mail. Or write him at The Cincinnati Post, 125 E. Court St., Cincinnati, Ohio 45202.