Dag 58: Koundara na Tambacounda, Senegal

(English Translation Below)

Dag 58: Koundara na Tambacounda, Senegal
 
Ons staan vroeg op. Sluk 'n paar neute en water af vir ontbyt. Pak die fietse. Ry. Gretig om van hierdie grillerige plek waar ons gebly het weg te kom. En nuuskierig om Senegal te sien.
 
Dit word duidelik al later lig soos wat ons verder Noord beweeg. En die plantegroei is nou heeltemal bosveld - voel of ons in die noordelike deel van die Kruger Wildtuin ry.
 
Ons word uit Guinea uitgestempel sonder te veel drama. Dan 'n stuk of twintig kilometer niemandsland tot by die Senegal grenspos. Geteerde reguitpad. Geen vragmotors, stof, motorfietsies of taxis nie. Rondom ons slegs die bosveld. Ons maak die fietse oop tot op 100km/h.
 
Bosbokkie! Skrik reg op my af. Ek's te vinnig om te rem. Gee vet! Hy tref my een kantsak, die fiets se gat gee twee, drie swaaie links en regs en trek dan weer reguit. Skok en adrenalien. De Witt is voor my, en ons interkoms werk nie, so hy is salig onbewus. Ek sien in my truspieel die bokkie wegdartel die veld in. As hy my voorwiel, of selfs net effens voller langs die kant getref het, was ek op die teer.
 
By die Senegal grens gaan dit vlot totdat een diknek doeane-beampte ons probeer wysmaak dat ons ekstra versekering nodig het. Is dit spesiale versekering net vir Senegal, vra ons? Nee vir die hele Wes- en Sentraal Afrika-streek, sê hy. Hoekom het nie een van die ander lande waardeur ons is dit dan vereis nie? Skaakmat. Hy laat ons deurgaan.
 
Die Islam geloof is opmerklik oorheersend hier. Die mense dra lang eenstuk-rokke in helder pienk en oranje en blou en elke ander kleur van die reenboog. Dit vrolik die droë, wit middaghitte op. Hier en daar 'n slagter wat vleis bewerk op 'n tafel net so langs die pad.
 
Ons stop by 'n petrolstasie om koeldrank te koop. Die winkeltjie het voorrade wat ons lanklaas gesien het. Koffie, toiletware, yoghurt. Graankos! Bekende handelsmerke. Die sieletroosting wat dit bring verbaas my. Weereens.
 
Vanaand, vir die eerste keer in baie dae, slaap ons by 'n plek met lopende water, 'n stort en 'n toilet met 'n sitplek op. 'n Swembad! Luukshede wat vir miljoene mense totaal onbeskore is, maar waarsonder ons nie vir 'n week of twee kan gaan sonder om onsself te begin jammerkry nie.
 
Buite, in die parkeerterrein, kom 'n skraal dogtertjie, seker so tien of elf jaar oud, van die straat af ingestap met 'n 20-liter plastiekkan. Maak dit vol water by 'n kraan agter in die hoek van die hotel se stoorruimte. Sukkel skeef-skeef met die vol kan weer uit straat toe. Water vir vanaand.
 
Day 58: Koundara to Tambacounda, Senegal
 
We rise early. Swallow a few nuts and water for breakfast. Pack the bikes. Ride off. Eager to leave this filthy place where we stayed. Curious to see Senegal.
 
The mornings stay darker for longer the further we move north. The vegetation is now entirely bushveld - it feels like we are riding in the northern part of the Kruger National Park.
We are stamped out of Guinea without much drama. Then about twenty kilometers of no-man's-land to the Senegal border post. A straight paved road. No trucks, dust, motorcycles, or taxis. Around us, only the bushveld. We open up the bikes to 100 km/h.
 
Bushbuck! It startles and jumps right at me. I'm going too fast to brake. Open throttle! It hits me on my pannier bag, the bike's rear swings two or three times left and right, then straightens again. Shock and adrenaline. De Witt is in front of me, but our intercom isn't working, so he is blissfully unaware. In my rear-view mirror, I see the bushbuck darting into the field. If it had hit my front wheel, or even just slightly more to the centre of the bike, I would have been on the tarmac.
 
At the Senegal border, everything goes smoothly until a self-important customs officer tries to convince us that we need extra insurance. Is it special insurance just for Senegal, we ask? No, for the entire West and Central Africa region, he says. Why didn't any of the other countries we passed through require it? Checkmate. He lets us pass.
 
The Islamic faith is notably dominant here. People wear long one-piece dresses in bright pink, orange, blue, and every other colour of the rainbow. It brightens the dry, white afternoon heat. Here and there, a butcher working meat on a table right next to the road.
 
We stop at a gas station to buy cooldrink. The little shop has supplies that we haven't seen in a long time. Coffee, toiletries, yogurt. Cereal! The comfort it brings surprises me. Again.
 
Tonight, for the first time in many days, we sleep at a place with running water, a shower, and a toilet with a seat. A swimming pool! Luxuries that are completely inaccessible for millions of people, but without which we cannot go for a week or two without starting to feel sorry for ourselves.
 
Outside, in the parking lot, a skinny girl, probably ten or eleven years old, walks in from the street with a 20-liter plastic can. She fills it with water from a tap behind the hotel's storage room. Struggles with the full can back to the street. Water for tonight.

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