Dag 59: Tambacounda na Koualack

(English Translation Below)

Dag 59: Tambacounda na Koualack
 
Ons vat-vat aan die soom van die Sahara woestyn. Die pad is só reguit en mooi geteer dit voel amper soos kroekpad op 'n reis soos hierdie. Die stereotipe wil mos hê dat alles swaar en moeilik moet wees in Afrika. Die veld lyk soos Noord-Kaap Kalahari-veld. En die donkie-karre, soos ons laas in Namibië gesien het, laat dit nóg meer voel soos 'n wêreld wat ons ken.
 
Teen 12:00 is dit 38 grade Celcius, en toe ons die dorpsverkeer in kruip 'n rukkie later, is die lesing 42 grade. Woestynsand wat die pad wil-wil wegsteek. Ons besef dat 'n nuwe hoofstuk in ons reis aangebreek het, en dat ons onsself sal moet voorberei. Ekstra water moet saamdra en gereeld moet stop om dit te drink ook.
 
Ons stop vir petrol. 'n Seuntjie met slegs die olierige oorblyfsel van 'n oorgroot hempie aan, kom staan bakhand. Prewel iets. Dan nog een. En nog een. Later 'n groepie van ses of sewe. Die oudste een moet so 12 wees, die jongste een 5 of 6. 'n Skraal man met 'n besem kom verjaag hulle, maar sodra hy weg is skuif hulle weer suutjies nader.
 
Die hotel waar ons wou slaap is vol, maar ons kan in hulle susters-hotel in die straat af slaap, en steeds in hulle swembad kom swem. Ons gesels oor die indruk wat hierdie reis op ons maak, en die implikasies vir ons onderskeie paaie vorentoe.
 
Later, net voor aandete, ontmoet ons 'n groepie Amerikaanse soldate wat in dieselfde hotel as ons slaap. Bloedjonk. Hulle is hier om opleiding aan die Senegalese magte te bied. Op die TV in die eetsaal praat nuusmense in Frans oor die situasie in Gaza. Tonele van die wit stof van verwoesting.
 
 
Day 59: Tambacounda to Koualack
 
We are touching at the seam of the Sahara desert. The road is so straight and perfectly tarred it almost feels like cheating on a trip like this. You know, the stereotype wants everything to be hard and difficult in Africa. The vegetation around us looks like the Northern Cape Kalahari. And the donkey carts, which we last saw in Namibia, make it feel even more like a world we know.
 
By 12:00 it is 38 degrees Celcius, and by the time we crawl into mid-town traffic, the reading is 42 degrees. Desert sand that wants to cover the road. We realize that a new chapter in our journey has arrived, and that we will have to prepare ourselves. Carry extra water and stop frequently to drink it too.
 
We stop for petrol. A boy, wearing only the greasy remains of an oversized shirt, appears. Holds out his cupped hands. Mumbles something. Then another one. And one more. Later a group of six or seven. The oldest one must be about 12, the youngest about 5 or 6. A slender man with a broom comes and chases them away, but as soon as he's gone they slowly move closer again.
 
The hotel where we wanted to sleep is fully booked, but we can sleep in their sister hotel down the street, and still come and swim in their pool. We talk about the impression this trip is making on us, and the implications for our respective paths forward.
 
Later, just before dinner, we meet a group of American soldiers sleeping in the same hotel as us. Very young. They are here to provide training to the Senegalese forces. On the TV in the dining room, news people talk in French about the situation in Gaza. Scenes of the white dust of devastation.

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