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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.
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.
With the truck down we went for a walk. The road is rough on our feet.
A common site: women carrying large, heavy objects on their heads.