133.
While I wait in the shade, the chief of the village walks by accompanied by a few dignified men dressed in long white robes. Their party is going to a small river nearby to bathe. When they find I plan to walk after dark the chief strongly advises me not to do it since wild animals and bandits make the road far too dangerous. As we discuss this, two merry men approach walking in the direction of the border.
The chief discusses my problem with them and they agree to allow me to accompany them since they are walking to the border too. The chief says he vouches for the honesty of the two and since there is nothing else offered I go with them.
I have called these men “merry” and they do seem to really enjoy themselves and having me along as a kind of “mascot”. Like me, they know a few words of French, and they cheerfully encourage me to keep up but they do set a blazing pace.
I start carrying my backpack on my head the way they carry their rolled-up parcels and it seems to make walking somehow easier, maybe because the spine is not constantly bent under the weight. I soon almost master the knack of balancing the load.
Nightfall—no rest. My companions insist that I use their flashlight though I don’t really need it since there is plenty of starlight. About ten pm we stop at a village where my guides are known. I can buy gas for my stove here and I boil up some sweet tea for all of us.
A few stranded truckers sit around campfires talking quietly and listening to their favorite African music on portable radios.
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