Following my favorite tradition of crossing from one country to another along the most remote and least-traveled borders, I approach The Gambia from its southeastern corner. I move forward
After 4 days in a row of pedaling breathing dust, I arrive at Dabola pushing on the pedals helped by the impulse of each cough. Tired, dirty and sweaty, the illusion of a cold drink fades in the darkness
It takes me several days to arrive and stay in the region of the triple border between Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger living with the Fulanis. At no time do I feel in danger, actually quite the opposite, but it is time for me to return to civilisation.
Despite the great inconvenience, I am surprised at how quickly I am able to resolve the end of the visa process. I find it amazing because that's how things are always like in Africa: totally unpredictable.
My original intention to head directly to the heart of the Sahel once I entered Burkina Faso, was truncated by the unexpected condition imposed on Burkinese visas obtained at the country's borders.
The rest period in Cotonou was a balm for my soul and for my body. The days of good food, beach, photography and especially the invaluable company of a great friend like Germano, were an essential part of my recovery process.
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.
