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drinking homemade palm wine with abandon. They called out as we passed, clearly uncer-
tain if what they were seeing was real, or some apparition brought on by their inebriation.
'Why is everybody so . . . drunk?' ventured Matt, incredulously.
Boston gave a simple shrug. 'It is Saturday,' he declared.
By midday we had covered ten kilometres, but the effects of the heat were plain to see.
Jason, who had been based in the Gambia for some time, was still unaccustomed to heats
Boston and I could just about tolerate, and lagged some way behind. Matt followed at even
more of a remove, and every time we came to a village or likely resting spot, where the
track was dominated by bush and we could take advantage of the shade, we stopped to re-
group and rehydrate. According to Boston's watch, by midday the temperature had reached
an intolerable forty nine degrees and, after that, we lurched on in fits and starts. It began to
feel as if we were constantly running a relay, beginning together before fragmenting along
the paths, and by the late afternoon I knew we couldn't complete the miles we had planned.
We came to a village where the chief permitted us the use of a schoolroom as a camp for
the night, and there we squatted under the rotting desks amid piles of notepads and stacks
of chairs. Boston set out to replenish our supplies of water, while Matt, Jason and I built a
fire in the yard. The kindling we collected was so dry it took no effort to cultivate flames
and, soon, we had one of the village chickens butchered and roasting on spits. As children
gathered outside the schoolhouse, Boston returned with water and - like tiny cylinders of
heaven - cans of Coke with which we could top up our electrolytes. For a moment, it felt
like we were in Rwanda again, constantly keeping the children at bay, listening to them
dare each other to get our attention.
In the morning, we made sure we were up well before dawn and, having fuelled
ourselves with coffee brewed on a device Matt had brought along - a tiny stove powered
by twigs, leaves and whatever other detritus we could find - we were on our way. At first
the going was easier than the day before but, when the first rays of sun broke in the east,
setting the waters of the river aflame, I knew we were in for another scorching day. With-
in an hour the temperature had reached its zenith of the day before, and from then on it
only climbed. In silence, each contending with it in our own way, we trudged on - and
soon we began to space out again, first Jason lagging behind, and then Matt even further
behind. After a little way they both committed all of their packs to Innocent's bicycle, but
lightening the load didn't diminish the heat. After we had completed eleven kilometres, we
stopped to rest in the village of Nyakumba to fill up on water. As we stood in the shade of
one of the tall adobe huts, the unmistakeable roar of engines could be heard on the other
side of the village: motorbikes, scrambling up and down between the houses.
It was Jason who said it. Matt was off, handing out some of the rice we'd brought along
to the village children, and a horde of them were scrambling eagerly for his attention. He
seemed to be loving it. 'We're going to take one of the bikes,' he said.
