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turned out to be 24 kilometres. This time I was overjoyed. I imagined I had 40 kilometres
remaining and when I asked a passer-by how far it was to Masamuna (not on my map), he
said 12 kilometres. It was the last 500 metres that proved to be extremely difficult due to
the amount of sand. I had to dismount and push the bike through the small dunes focussing
only on a few meters ahead of me.
When I entered Masamuna, I was surprised to find a Polish priest, Father Marek
waiting for me on the side of the road. He told me that the priests from Mayamba radioed
ahead to the German mission in the village to be on the lookout for a cyclist. Father Marek
alsolistenedtotheradiobroadcastandwenttotheroadtoseeifIarrived.HetoldmethatI
still had another 5 kilometres to get there but was more than welcomed to stay at his Polish
mission. I gladly accepted for I felt doing 110 kilometres for the day was enough. I took
a shower and changed into trousers and noticed that my right ankle didn't feel right. On
closer examination, I had developed a bump similar to the one on the side of my knee in
Morocco. Perhaps I was pushing too hard? I wasn't sure but I kept an eye on it in the com-
ing days. I sat down with Father Marek for dinner which ended with an incredible cup of
tea.Tea:oneoflife'ssimplepleasures.Iwasfloodedwithmemoriesofhavingteawithmy
mom and dad in their kitchen.
Thatevening,myhealthtookaturnfortheworse.Mybackfeltchilly,myheadwas
throbbing and my body was very sore. I woke up every 15 minutes tossing and turning. I
was so thirsty and felt I was burning up. I thought I was going to die…my system went
nuts. (After returning to Canada, unbeknownst to me, this was my first attack of malaria
which I contracted in West Africa.) At the time I had no idea I was so ill. I thought it was
becauseIwaspushingmyselftoohard,thatIcycledinthecoolwindwithoutashirtonand
caught a chill or that I caught a fever from someone.
My plan the next morning was to begin cycling right after breakfast and mass.
However,withthethreatoftorrentialrainlooming,Ikeptdelayingmydeparture.Mysplit-
ting headache didn't make the decision to leave any easier. I took some aspirin and sat
down at the kitchen table to chat with Father Marek. He asked me if I wanted to join him
and go to the German mission in Ngoudi. I agreed thinking that a break from the bike was
what the doctor ordered. So we hopped into his Land Rover and drove to a huge complex
which included a wood shop, a garage, a retreat house, a farm, a garden and servants quar-
ters. This was the place I was expected at the day before. When I met the German priests
I explained that I stayed at the Polish parish instead. They told me not worry for it was
exactly what they thought I did. After a 20-minute visit, I helped Father Marek load some
cement bags in the truck to take to the sisters' convent. In retrospect, I was happy that I
didn't cycle to this mission for it was 3 kilometres off the main road in a valley on a sand-
covered road.
Upon our return, I visited the chapel just as a storm hit. The pelting rain on the cor-
rugated roof was so loud that it discouraged me from being able to think. I left the chapel
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