Λουσάκα – Λουάντα | Ζάμπια – Αγκόλα | 2369 χιλιόμετρα | 27 μέρες | 700+ χλμ χωματόδρομου | – 8 κιλά
28 Ιουνίου – 153 χλμ
Left Lusaka after 5 weeks. I had very intense, meaningful and loving time with a wonderful family. How many things happened…. I am so grateful.
The day started at 3:54. And the previous finished at 00:30. For reasons that are not for now, I slept at the bus station. I did a 3 day trip till the borders, in order to spend 3 illegal hours in Tanzania. And then I spent less than 3 and a half hours trying to sleep. It was very cold and the station was in the open air. Woke up, packed and left with a nostalgic spirit.. I leave lusaka.From yesterday I have very few
I spent everything on the bus trip plus some mini interest free loans for my friends. In my last transactions the following happened. I said to the toilet guy that I dont have money. He let me in. I bought 2
The lady gave me 3
I got into the bus (yesterday night), a woman followed me and gave me an orange juice. Today in the morning, while i woke up and I was counting for 10 minutes to see how I will manage 3 days with very little dalama, I bought a bottle of
that costs 10 kwacha with the last 100 that I had and the lady gave me change 140 kwacha, something I realised later. I left Lusaka with the sun rising on my back, with Simi in my ears to remind me Grace and with 10 very hot lukumades in my bags and in my mouth. I felt a bliss.
Today I literally cycled for more than 10 hours. I ‘ve gotten more than 6kgs with the family feeding me all day, so the ride was tough. I listened podcasts for 8 hours. Sam Harris for the most part and a bit of Jordan Peterson. Lots of greetings and smiles.
In an uphill a guy told me
Why are you struggling? You are a
Muzungu are not humans?
The smiles on the womens’ faces and on most of the kids and on some men that look so pure and innocent
Make me want to live in africa
There is something unbelievably sweet and charming. Makes you wanna go and hug them and tell them
what do you want?
What do you need?
What do you wish?
What do you desire?
What do you miss?
What do you dream?
I ‘ll bring it to you. No worries..
Osadan taula, tiri pa mozi
Don’t worry, we are all together
29 Ιουνίου – 178 χλμ
Forced by the police to hop on a truck as I stumbled across a national park. Cyclists prohibited. Did 36 km before that. Lucky police didn’t check my expired visa. The stars are super bright. Don’t know what road to take to the borders. I have two options, both have gravel road, but
A. Don’t know what the road condition is on the Angolan side
B. Don’t know how many kms of gravel road there is.
Funny today spending time with the police. Asking me all these typical questions
30 Ιουνίου – 87 χλμ
The tarmac side of my day was tough cause the road was really bad maintained with long stretches of bad dirt road. I did some 3 kms at the end entering a 450 kms stretch of dirt road….. it is definitely navigable and I wish it will stay like this. 450 k are a lot for 4 kms/h, which is The speed necessary if the dirt road is used up by so many trucks that it s not straight anymore. It is like waves. I don’t know why it happens like this. Worth googling.
I had an interesting encounter with an angolese man well into his 70s, cycling with me for half an hour or so. Paulo Malelisa from Luena. I asked him how many kids, he said ONLY 4. Like the thing they do in some African countries and in India if I remember well (Maybe elsewhere too) that you buy something, say a donut, and the receipt independently of if the price is good, says ONLY 20 $. He also told me that God made whites more clever and that he is very happy that a Muzungu (white man) is cycling next to him…
Now, into the forest. Hearing leaves and branches and a bit ago a whole tree falling.. jeez. Terrifying. I didn’t check if there is any weak tree around me. The stars are super bright. Oh! Another thing happen.
While living with the family in Lusaka I noticed people were going to take a bath with the big bucket of water and a small towel. No sponge and most importantly no cup. I take my bath with a small cup that I put it in the big bucket and bring the water in the top of my head. This is how I learned doing it for more than a year now.. From Sudan… But here they do another thing which is extremely economical in terms of water consumption and I copied it today for the first time with huge success. They water the towel, they rub the soap in the towel, they clean their body with the soapy towel, they clean the towel, they rinse their body with the clean towel.. so little water you need in this way. In fact I made it even more economical. I don’t put soap. With just a wet towel I rub my body. 90% of dirt is gone. I ‘ll clean the towel tomorrow when I will be putting water in my bottles. So no need to carry a lot. After this, I pass the sensitive parts of the body (face, armpits, down parts) with skin friendly disinfectant. I feel good and I spent just 2 full mouth worth of water! Every 2-3 days I can put soap too, but for daily after riding cleaning is awesome, especially in a remote part like the one I am now.
1 Ιουλίου – 85 χλμ
Only gravel today. For some strange reason I enjoyed it a lot. Lush nature, houses and faces – all seem prehistoric to me. What we call, maybe, wild beauty.
For one time more, my visa has expired. Probably I will be deported again.
Today I was listening podcasts for the whole time and I was put into a kind of meditative state
battling with this road
optimizing my route without destroying completely an unfit bicycle.
Every single day I feel grateful on a primary level for the miracle of consciousness. The “hard problem” of philosophy, among with death, I suppose. On a secondary level for the… level of my consciousness and of my understanding based always on the vast spectrum of opportunities I had in my life…
2 Ιουλίου – 56 χλμ
56.000 meters today. Only. The road was sandy. I had to push in some parts. The rack broke. I fixed it. At some point, km 53, I had an abrupt and intense pain. The right side of my left knee didn’t feel right. I could hardly walk. I seriously thought I had riksi xiastwn or minisko, or something very bad.I couldn’t move my leg for the first 5 minutes. I was just standing by the bicycle. I was by a village called,
In Nkoya, the local dialect. They clarified, and I calmed down, they are not here at this season. Neither mosquitos, nor rain. This road would be impassable during the rainy season. I started talking with Minyati people. Especially with one of them that had the name of my mother
I asked him if he celebrates every week. He laughed a lot. Everything I say here, people laugh. Sometimes I feel like a clown. I like it. We talked for some time.He told me his father left home and left him here without money for college and now he is suffering. The Africans I have met so far, despite hating the condition, they love the word. Especially if they talk to a
They keep repeating
I am suffering
We are suffering
Even if they are just fine. With a beer at hand and cigarettes. Like the guys in Mutoko, in Zimbabwe. However Friday seemed to suffer indeed. 20 years old, 2 heads taller than me, beautiful. Clean clothes, shoes, also speaking 4 languages/ dialects.. like actually most Africans.
But living in Minyati… 150 kilometers in each direction to find tarmac road. In an old house with roof made out of staxya, without windows, without electricity. Being a farmer. Maize. This year not a lot of rain. People sad. I ask
How many people in Minyati?
Why don’t you drill to get water?
We have to go 80 meters deep, expensive
10 kwacha each if you give, it is possible!
People here don’t like cooperation
Look at Luvuzi, or Sitaika (the villages before and after), look at their big markets. People here are jealous. 300 people, they have Roman Catholic church, apostolic church, Pentecostal church. In luvuzi also had Jehovah’s witnesses and SDA (seventh day Adventists) who dress in blue and white. So many churches and still no cooperation.
Today as I was pushing the bicycle out of the sand I couldn’t help but think think think. So much free sand, with it they can make bricks and have proper houses. Why they still live in these prehistoric -literally prehistoric- houses. At some point I looked left. I saw a woman with a huge stick moving it fiercely up and down into a huge bowl. Breaking seeds or pulverizing maize or something of this kind. 3 meters away 2 toddlers naked and full of white sand. In front of the windowless old mud house.. I saw this..it was like a glimpse. I was moving. And I was moved indeed. Instantly I was lost in thought. Trying to verbalize my mixed feelings. Trying to understand. I was happy.. I knew.. In 3,5, maximum 10 years, this place will have electricity and this black and white imagery will belong in the past. And yet, there lies my… sadness, or maybe better, my nostalgia or amazement. A thread that will be cut after so many years.. This very scene, a woman breaking the seeds, naked African dusty toddlers, mud house… if anatomically modern humans are around for approximately 200.000 years, then exactly this could be happening say 100.000 years ago. Or if you are more conservative, then 50.000 years ago, which is the estimate of our ancestors looking exactly like us… I mean what an insane continuity.. We talk 2000 years from Jesus.. I feel we disregard that prehistory is actually the underlying basis of our behavior. Our biology. The formulation of our brain as it is today. These numbers are mind boggling.
Friday, a lovely woman I was also talking to, and more than 15 children watching us all asked me to spend the night with them. I refused because I wanted desperately to go to the toilet. I had consumed at least 20 little, local, pure, super tasty tomatoes with 8
and I couldn’t stay as the welcoming protocol would be long and full of greetings and all the rest, while at the moment I just needed the
But I will stay for sure. One of the following days. I want to eat and drink and sleep and feel and live their prehistoric wisdom.
Χωριό Λουβουζι. Δίνω τα παγούρια μου να βάλει νερό
40 χρόνων (πάνω κάτω)
20 δόντια πάνω κάτω.
Του θυμώνω, ευγενικά. Και δίνω 2 κουατσα στην κόρη με το που γυρνάει από το πηγάδι. και κάνει τις παλάμες χιαστή για να τα λάβει.τη μια πάνω από την άλλη, σα να παίρνει αντίδωρο. Ένιωσα σεβασμό και χάρηκα.
Θυμήθηκα τον Τάψι, στο σπίτι, Ζάνι Μουόνε, να γονατίζει για να χαιρετήσει τον παππού, που μπήκε στο δωμάτιο.
Εγώ εδώ χαιρετάω τους πάντες σε ότι γλώσσα ξέρω και μου απαντούν, εκτός των άλλων, στη γλώσσα του σώματος, που είναι η πιο γλυκειά, διότι είναι παγκόσμια. Εδώ χτυπάνε παλαμάκια 2, 3, 4, υψώνοντας τα χέρια και χαμογελώντας.
Θυμήθηκα τον Τάψι, στην κηδεία, Μαντέβου, να γονατίζει το σώμα και να υψώνει τα χέρια – αργά παλαμάκια, 4, 5 να χαιρετήσει τη θλιμμένη ομήγυρη. Πέθανε ο ανιψιός του, 5 μηνών. Μια εβδομάδα πριν τον είχα στην αγκαλιά μου.
3 Ιουλίου – 63 χλμ
My knee was better. But it is very tiring to cycle in this gravel sandy road. Physically and mentally. It takes huge concentration to navigate in 5 cm wide lane that’s the only possible way through the sand. Other times I have to push or go up and down like crazy because of the rocks. That’s the reason why my coccyx is in pain. My coccyx, which was already injured in Lusaka, when an incompetent driver knocked me out of the bicycle and I landed on my coccyx.
Today I passed by hundreds of old mud houses. There is an order and ac pattern emerges. The kitchen, which is outside is round. The store room, also outside, elevated. The toilet, also outside, far and with canes around it. Lots of colorful buckets. Huge logs here and there slowly burning – turning into charcoal? The mud houses come in compounds, kind of. There are 4-5 together. Maybe relative families share what’s outside the main house – bedroom. My mind still can’t get it that their houses have no windows, but if you think about it, there is actually no reason. They have them only to sleep inside. They chill outside, usually under the trees. Or they are working, again outside. Or cooking, outside. The idea of having a desk is redundant here. Lots of schools scattered around. Families here have at least five children. The schools are decent, with cement walls.. big schools even if the village looks small… There are always more houses if you leave the main road. So many houses today after lukulu, for 15 kms full of houses by the road. I must have said more than 300
How are you
.Now, tired. I hope tomorrow I reach tarmac.
Το αυτιστικό παιδί με το Καλημέρα.
Οτρελός του χωριού το μεσημέρι με τα σκισμένα ρούχα στο λουκουλου να κάνει κάτι σπαστικά και να ξεκαρδίζονται όλοι τριγύρω. και ο άλλος παρα πέρα που κοιμόταν σε φάση κωματώδη στο πλάι του δρόμου.οι περιθωριοποιημένοι των περιθωριοποιημένων. Κι όμως με μια ελευθερία που τη ζηλεύω.
Τυχερός σήμερα συνάντησα τον Λάκη στο Λουκουλου. Κέρασε φαγάκι και του δώσα νουμερακι. Αποθηκεύει τη νέα επαφή και μου κάνει
Αν γκε λος του κάνω
Στην Αφρική, όπως νομίζω και στην Κίνα, το Ρ και το Λ τα ανταλλάσσουν στις λέξεις, όπως τους κάθεται καλύτερα.
4 Ιουλίου – 67 χλμ
Ate with mboa. 18 years old with a child 6 years old. His hands were so dry. Like elephant”s skin. Very tired. Gravel finished.. finally!
5 Ιουλίου – 107 χλμ
What a beautiful ride. Tarmac after 5 days of dusty dirty sandy gravel road. Feels so good. Took an hour break too to enjoy a proper meal. The most common African food and one I eat almost every single day. Nsima with vegetables and soup. Now at the tent, listening funkadelic – maggot brain and doing what is the most appropriate to do with the stars; stare at them. The sky is super clean and the moon is super small.it is just in the corner of my panorama; an aesthetic addition without any significant brightness. It is kind of chilly but I have a cup of hot tea on my chest, and my palms around it. Thinking of the Moments of the day
Περνάω γεφυράκι μικρό. Ποταμάκι ονόματι Μακόντο. Αφήνω τον Γκιλμπα που με συνόδευε με το ΆΤΛΑΣ ποδήλατό του και ξαναγυρναω να δω καλύτερα την υδάτινη ροή με τα κρυμμένα μυστικά της. Τα άκουσα μόνο και υποπτευθηκα την ομορφιά. Περνάω το κεφάλι από τα κάγκελα της μίνι γέφυρας και βλέπω δέκα δώδεκα άτομα από κάτω: γυναίκες, παιδιά και 2-3 έφηβοι. Είναι μέσα στο ποταμάκι οι περισσότεροι και τα μικρότερα παιδιά είναι παραδίπλα. Οι γυναίκες και τα παιδιά κρατούν ένα μοσκιτο νετ. Από αυτά που στέλνουν οι διεθνείς οργανώσεις για να καταπολεμήσουν την ελονοσία. Εδώ και τώρα, είναι δίχτυ ψαρέματος. Τα παληκάρια με κάτι παλούκια μακριά χτυπάνε τα νερά στα πλάγια αλλά και τις πέτρες για να φοβίσουν και να ξεκολλήσουν τα ψάρια. Πίσω από τα γυναικόπαιδα με το δίχτυ δύο κορμοί συγκλίνουν βαλμενοι επί τούτου σε σχήμα V . Ακόμα πιο πέρα ένα δέντρο χωρίς φύλλα κομμένο στη βάση και ριγμένο μέσα στο ποταμάκι με τρόπο που τα κλαδιά να είναι μέσα στην ροή. Μιλήσαμε για λίγο και γελάσαμε. Εδώ μιλάνε κυρίως Λούντα. Αλλά καταλαβαίνουν και Λουβαλε που έμαθα από χτες να χαιρετάω. Μέσα και πάνω στον ενθουσιασμό του συναπαντηματος οι γυναίκες κάνανε και αυτό το κλασικό αφρικανικό Όταν κορυφώνεται η ένταση που βγάζουνε μια ιαχή τσιριχτη και κουνάνε τη γλώσσα τους πέρα δώθε. Πολύ γέλιο.
Κατασκηνωνω. Πρώτη κίνηση πάντα είναι να βγάλω όλα μου τα ρούχα. Έχει μια ομορφιά παιδική και ίσως πρωτόγονη να είσαι τελείως γυμνός. Ίσως και μια ελευθερία. Στήνω σκηνή και κάνω 40 μέτρα παραπέρα γιατί με καλεί η φύση. Πρέπει να απαντήσω. Στον γυρισμό πάνω ακούω βήματα, κλαδιά να σπάνε, βλέπω στα 30 μέτρα νεαρό πάνω από 15 χρόνων με κίτρινη μπλούζα – του κάνω Χαλόου. Ο καημένος, παίζει και να έβλεπε Πρώτη φορά γουαητ μαν, και δη με μουσια, και δη γυμνό. Το βάλε στα πόδια φωνάζοντας ααααααα τουλάχιστον για 30 δευτερόλεπτα. Μετά είχε απομακρυνθεί τόσο, που δεν τον άκουγα.. αμφιβάλλω αν σταμάτησε. Πέθανα στα γέλια.
Tomorrow most probably I am entering Angola. I will be at the borders before 12 but I doubt I can cross because I am waiting for some money I have lent to be sent back to me.. mailo mailo mailo. Everyday they say the same: tomorrow. It is surprising and most wonderful that I feel so eager to learn about and see Angola, after I think 28 countries, I have been so far in this trip.
6 Ιουλίου – 63 χλμ
Detained in jail. Visa expired
7 Ιουλίου – 33 χλμ
Starting from yesterday. I reach Chingi, the border village. I expected some money I had lent but they haven’t yet returned them. I have something like the equivalent of 2 euros. I checked chavuma, the border town. No atms. I have 10 emergency USD in a pocket. I think I also have 60 USD that I have saved for Angolas black market, cause the currency here is being devalued regularly but the central bank doesn’t accept it quickly. The result is the rate at the Atms being two times worse than the black market. I had saved 60 USD but I cannot find them. I don’t remember where I had put them but I remember that it is in a safe location. I remember thinking it will cause me trouble to find them. However I looked everywhere and I cannot find them. Either someone stole them from my bag in lusaka (almost impossible) or the Zambian immigration stuff took them while I was in prison last night. This is relatively possible as I registered only 10 USD when they were asking how much cash I have, because I didn’t want them to ask for bribe in order to let me pass. But how did they find them? I don’t have enough money till the nearest atm. I don’t have enough food. Yesterday I reached the border pass. My visa expired a month ago, but I was told that it is valid for 3 months and it was only for one. I wasn’t told (or I forgot) that I have to go to the immigration after one month in order to extend my visa. I hadn’t extended it. The responsible there, Mr Moses told me they have to arrest me. I burst into laughter. For what? I asked. The guy told me that I am a suspected prohibited immigrant. I let him know again and again I had an accident at lusaka, a car hit me, I showed him documents on the phone. The doctor saying I cannot ride etc etc. The man was ridiculous. One of the insecure black guys that want to See white people suffer. Even worse if they wear a uniform. The infamous experiment, Milligram ( something like this) testifies on how atrocious a man can be given power (that comes in uniform). He put me to jail. Smelly, dirty with rats around, with a tiny blanket of mine. Barefoot, sleeping on the floor, with 5 degrees outside. Impossible to sleep. It was awful. I did some meditation to focus on the sensation of cold. No kidding, the very same morning I was cycling listening podcast Peter atia discussing with Sam Harris on meditation in isolation in a prison. I was thinking I would like this, but I had in mind a humane prison. It is interesting how pain, or cold in my case, can be intellectually separated in two aspects. The physical, actual, biological if you want, cold. The sensation. And the psychological aspect of it, how it affects you. Well, interestingly enough, I reached a level were I was clearly cold (my bare feet were really really cold) but it wasn’t annoying. I was observing cold without actually suffering from it. I slept like this, around 19:00. I woke up in the middle of the night super cold, shaking, and no mind trick was helpful. Eish, being cold is not a joke. I remembered Solzhenitsyn in gulag archipelago saying how they were freezing in the Soviet union’s concentration camps. I was in a better position. Morning came as slow as possible. They took me out. The poor guy responsible for the immigration called his boss and the boss said that they should just deport me to Angola. Something I suggested yesterday and the guy lied to me that deportation is only possible at the point of entry. In my case that was in Botswana – being deported at that side sounded like a nightmare. So after a very senseless afternoon, yesterday, writing down one by one, all my belongings, for more than an hour in order to go to jail. And after an even more senseless awful cold night, I just crossed the borders and entered in Angola. What I found there was happy faces, portuguese (which I understand 75% because I speak spanish) AND the worst roads I have ever ridden. From the border to the tarmac I have to do 330 kms in the most sandy road you can imagine and as a plus the possibility of lions and leopards. Every villager I meet says “how are you moving around without a gun” But the official angolan immigration said no, that there is not. Believe the uneducated locals who buy every story they hear our the educated official who is not from here?
Ahh, an interesting point here. The immigration guy from zambia came to speak yo the immigration guy of angola. The first with official language English, the second Portuguese. They were both speaking luvale however, because they are from the same tribe. Borders in Africa are fictional, designed in Europe by people who had never been here. This was a parenthesis.
I decided I will cycle during the day and I will not camp in the bush.Well, this road was uncycleable. 4x4s were struggling. The bike had no luck. I did 33 kms on 5 kms/h. At least half of them walking/pushing the bike. I ate only avocados, which I found in a bargain at the borders. The beautiful was that I requested to put my tent at a family s yard I found. Well into the bush, the most prehistoric settlement. Nothing that reminds in what year we are in. The house is made with grass and mud. They have chickens, 2-3 porks, and 4-5 goats. They cultivate potato, cassava, maize. 1 guy Laurendo. Age around 32. 2 wives, age around 22-25, 7 children, all below 5 years old, two of them babies. The one woman prepared the food, cassava nsima, very tasty. They also ate meat. I saw the woman banging the stick to pulverize the cassava and later passing it from the krhsara / net to collect only the very fine of it. Of course no electricity. They brought a battery they had close to the typical 3 log fire (cooking in the center), and they told me that it is getting charged.
When I first arrived, Laurendo was with 3 other men. I guess after having finished the work of the day, they enjoyed a splif.
While the food was being cooked, we were all by the fire. I brought the guitar and we had some very beautiful moments, despite the fact that I don’t play any proper song. Just the view and the sounds of it, partly harmonious, was enough.
Κοριτσάκι 3 ετών μαζί με αλλά παιδιά, μεγαλύτερα. Στεκόταν στο πλάι του δρόμου Όταν πέρασα. Τα αλλά με χαιρέτησαν αλλά αυτή τίποτα. Με κοίταζε με ένα βλέμμα αδιευκρίνιστο στο φάσμα του αρνητικού. Έφερε ένα μικρό κούτσουρο στο κεφάλι, πάνω από ένα ύφασμα που λειτουργούσε σα μαξιλαράκι. Πολύ μικρή.
Λαουρέντο με τα παιδια γύρω άπο τη φωτιά γίνεται παιδί κανονικό μωρέ με την κιθάρα στην αγκαλιά. Κάνει 2-3 γκρουμ, γκρουν και τάχα μου δήθεν ότι παίζει νότες Πολύ επαγγελματικά και με ύφος. Τελειώνει το σόλο του, διάρκειας 5 δευτερολέπτων και ξεσπάει σε γέλια σα μικρό παιδί ενώ μου δίνει το χέρι του, φάση κόλλα το. Το κόλλησα με ασύλληπτη χαρά για να ματσάρουμε και συναισθηματικά.
(ντράπηκα να βγάλω κινητό για φωτογραφία)
8 Ιουλίου – 52 χλμ
Αυτό που λέει ο Καζαντζάκης
Έχεις τα πινέλα έχεις και τα χρώματα
Ζωγράφισε τον παράδεισο
Και μπες μέσα
Είμαι ξαπλωμένος καταγής ώρα βραδυνή
Σταύρος του νότου και όλος ο Κένταυρος από πάνω μου σε στυλ δραματικό
Φωτιά εξελίσσεται δίπλα μου, ελεγχόμενη
Τσαγακι σε κούπα μεταλλική πάνω σε πέτρα που εξήλθε από τη φωτιά
Σε παγωμένη νύχτα, ζεσταίνομαι
Ο κήπος της Εδέμ μου είναι στην Αγκόλα
Δεύτερη μέρα σήμερα, τα δα όλα
το βράδυ κατασκηνωσα πλάι στην καλύβα του Λαουρέντο. Φάγαμε πουρε κασαβας. Παίξαμε κιθαριτσα. Είδαμε μαζί τα αστέρια. Γνώρισα τα παιδιά του. Γελάσαμε όλοι μαζί. Με κοίταζαν με θαυμασμό να στήνω τη σκηνή. Τους κοίταζα με θαυμασμό απλά να υπάρχουν και να συζητάν αναμεταξύ τους με όλα τα δυνατά επιφωνήματα και τις χειρονομίες. Ένα προαιώνιο Θέατρο, σκεφτόμουν. Μπήκανε στην καλύβα αργότερα κι άκουγα γέλια οικογενειακά, πολύ ωραία.
Μπον ντια το πρωί και χαμόγελα. Η γυναίκα του Λαουρέντο έφυγε γρήγορα γρήγορα με τα παιδιά. Μούφα, σκέφτηκα, δεν παίζει πρωινό. Θέλω να βγάλω τα ρούχα μου γιατί τα έβαλα όλα χτες… έκανε κρύο.. μουουουουουητο φριο μου λέγε ξανα και ξανα. Θέλω να βγάλω όλα τα μακρυμανικα τώρα, να βάλω τα κοντά. Λέω του νέου μου φίλου, δονδ εστά λ μπάνιο; Η τουαλέτα, δηλαδή. Μου λέει, νο τεν. Δεν έχω.. Ένα χρόνο έχουν που ζούνε σε αυτό το σημείο, τουαλέτα… η φύση. Βασικά
εδώ κυλάει τελείως διαφορετικά. Ρώτησα χτες ποσο χρονών είναι τα παιδιά. Μου κάνει: αυτός 2016, αυτή..Χμμμ χμμμ.. Δε θυμόταν.. Για τα αλλά παιδιά, δε συνέχισε καν, όλα κάτω από 5 χρονών. Του κάνω το πρωί, πόση ώρα για Λουμπάλα; μου κάνει: καμιναντο, περπατώντας, δος ώρας. Κοιτάω τον χάρτη, 20 χιλιόμετρα μακριά. Ούτε 4 ώρες δε φτάνουν με τόση άμμο στον δρόμο. Προσπαθώ να καταλάβω και σκέφτομαι.. μα δεν έχει ρολόι και δεν είχε ποτέ ρολόι..
Βασικά όλα εδω κυλάνε αλλιώς. Ο Λαουρέντο μου το πε: τραβάλιο νο, έου κουλτιβαρ. Δεν έχει δουλειά, μόνο καλλιεργεί.. ζούνε τελείως ανεξάρτητα.
Δε βαριέσαι λέω, θα ποδηλατήσω με τα ρούχα όλα. Όταν ζεσταθω θα τα βγάλω. Όλα καλά όλα ωραία, χαιρετώ, παίρνω των ομματιών μου και την κάνω, ώρα περίπου 7μιση πρωινή.
Κάνω δύο χιλιόμετρα και κάνω στάση σε δέντρο που βολεύει να στερέωσω το ποδήλατο και τον κορμό μου στον κορμό του. Δεν ήθελα να μαι κοντά στο σπίτι για να μην παρεξηγηθουν. Πάνω που τελειώνω το φαγητό σκάει Η γυναίκα του Λαουρέν