Four days on a rocky, pock-marked road broke our truck. While
the
desert dried us out, we huddled under bushes for shade and watched our
crew open up the engine.
Ants marched by in a long food gathering procession. The big event came
when we changed clothes
for the first time in five days. Dirt covers our body in a greasy sheen;
we haven't showered since
Dakar.
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Our truck is sick but not our spirits. We're still
having fun. A local herder armed
with a shotgun showed up for awhile and watched us with interest. He
didn't speak English or French, so
we couldn't communicate with him that well. He shook our hands and smiled
and we smiled back. It's always
a good policy to smile at a man with a shotgun. |
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With the truck down we went for a walk. The road is rough on our
feet.
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A common site: women carrying large, heavy objects on their
heads. |
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