5 days of strong emotions in the capital have gone by, between infamous bureaucracies, diabolic exorcisms, bicycle mechanics, body healing, aesthetic transformations and little rest. I keep going with a great deal of effort, with infected legs and half of my skull numb without apparent wishes to wake up in the near future.
The exit from Batouri is special. I do not feel my right foot, I do not feel the right half of my skull, my ankles begin to lose their shape as the wounds become more infected, I have lost at least 9kg in the last three months and I feel like I'm falling apart little by little.
The days of mud and dirt do not end when passing Yokadouma, and I have once again reached one of those unusual moments in which I miss the asphalt, even if it's only for a few days. This does not happen to me very often and when it happens it is because I really need it.
Every day it's harder for me to wake up in the morning, even after having slept a dozen hours. I feel like an old battery that lost the ability to fully charge and discharges quickly. I shake my leg and I still can not feel my foot.
With what strength will I leave this jungle if the road is bad? - I wonder sceptically the day I leave Libongo. I have eaten a lot in the last 4 days and good quality food. I have slept in a comfortable bed many hours every day and rested all my muscles, but still, I feel weak.
Pasé los últimos meses cruzando la selva sorteando un obstáculo tras otro y sometiéndome a una tras otra paliza, hasta llegar al corazón de la misma. En todo el trayecto había arriesgado mi vida más veces de las que prefiero recordar y hasta fui golpeado por un corrupto oficial de inmigración congoleño.
