Cotton Clouds















Shortly after leaving Yamoussoukro, the green tones of the southern vegetation give way to the aridity of the north. I am experiencing the reverse transition process that I experienced almost 3 months ago when I was pedaling south from the Burkinabe Sahel to the fertile south of Ghana. Back on the dirt roads, my clothes and skin turn orange. The sun burns high, contracting my pupils. Dust particles floating in the air leave the sky agonising in a pale blue and mute the hues of trees and shrubs. Once again, under this opaque palette where the world loses its three-dimensionality, the reminiscences with the previous transition do not end.
With the capital now behind me, I have ahead of me the entire Ivorian rural world all for myself. Now I can pedal in peace on the back roads, although not for long. Shortly after leaving the town of Kongaso, an idle gendarme, sheltered under the shade of a tree by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, orders me to stop. I don't know which is bigger if the surprise at my arrival or the confusion of not knowing what to do with me there. What is clear to me is that I have come to take away the boredom that had him sunk up to his neck in a plastic chair semi-melted by the very hot air. Without a doubt, I am the most exciting thing that has happened to him since he joined the forces of the gendarmerie.
Trying to hide his perplexity, he asks me what I am doing there and where I am going, but he tells me that he cannot let me pass until he consults with his superiors. I'm in high spirits and don't feel like arguing, so I park my bike while he takes his phone to start making calls. By now, there are few things that irritate me. Patience is one of the greatest gifts that so many moments of African bureaucracy have given me. Not only do I not get irritated, but I use even the smallest details to amuse myself such as seeing that his cracked monochrome screen and fractured casing Nokia saw more action since it left the factory in China than he did in his career as a gendarme in this forgotten corner of Ivory Coast. Meanwhile, while on the other side of the phone they keep transferring him from one person to another to get rid of him, I take a selfie with him on the phone and another curious gendarme who has just arrived on a motorcycle. It takes him half an hour to obtain a satisfactory answer in order to allow me to continue, but right before leaving, he and his colleague warn me that I am about to enter a bandit-infested area.
Damn it! I go from a relaxed smile to tense every muscle of my face. As I had experienced in southern Burkina Faso and northern Ghana, I am pedaling again in fear. Now, loneliness no longer gives me peace but anxiety. Silence and the absence of people do not help. The feeling of riding the bike fearing that at any moment I could be ambushed is simply horrible. Part of me tries to focus on the footfalls on the pedals, the sound of gravel crunching under the wheels, or the hot air brushing against my sticky skin, but there is another subconscious part that is in a permanent state of alert. It is as if I was trying to listen to the sounds beyond the bushes, fantasising that someone may be hiding behind them, watching, lurking, ready to strike. In moments like these, the minutes turn into hours, it is the thoughts more than any actual fact that assail me. All I want is for more people to be around because when there are people, most of them are good, and the bad seeds are neutralised among them.
Things don't get better when I reach the next big town. The faces of the people I see as I pass change. There is something about them that does not inspire me any confidence. On top of this, in the middle of the town, I find a UN fortress, the perimeter of which is guarded by watchtowers where blue helmet soldiers stand on guard holding machine guns. There, I realise that this is a region that until not many years ago was one of the hotbeds of conflict in the Ivorian civil war. To this day, the UN is based here and there's nothing truly appealing about this place for me to stay. Quite the contrary, I'd rather take a little more risk and move on to get out of this area as soon as possible. Fortunately, things would not take long to improve.








































