Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
front of my front tire with periodic glances of the road ahead. I arrived in Bakua Mbuji at
the 25 kilometre mark and met a Zaïrian priest at the church. We sat down to drink a glass
ofpalmwineandchat.SinceIwasalreadydehydrated,thealcoholimmediatelyhitmeand
I felt dizzy (it was still 11:00 am!)
Fivekilometreslater,mybodyfeverreturned.Iprayedsohardtoallowmetoarrive
safely in Bena Leka. I was overheating rapidly and my head felt like it was about to ex-
plode. Eight kilometres later, I had to rest and pulled over in complete exhaustion. I sipped
some water slowly to avoid vomiting and after a short rest, I started again.
After2kilometres, acrowdofchildrenformedbehindmeasIcycled.Theywalked
at a brisk pace and soon were beside me which gives you an indication on how slow I was
going. I was in no condition to have these children yelling at me, “Mister, mister how are
you mister?” Under any other circumstances, I would have enjoyed the company, but not
at that moment. In utter exhaustion, with a massive migraine and in a feverish state, I lost
my cool and screamed at them.
Unfortunately, this encouraged them even more. So I stopped cycling and straddled
the bike. I noticed that it became completely silent behind me as the children froze in their
tracks. I paused looking straight ahead deciding what to do next. As the seconds passed, I
noticed that the children started to slowly back up. Keep in mind I wasn't in a proper state
of mind for the next thing I did was embarrassing. I removed my silver coloured bicycle
air pump from beneath the cross bar and quickly turned around, holding it like a gun. I
haveneverseenchildrenrunasfastastheydidandwithinaflashtheydisappearedintothe
foliage. I smiled to myself and resumed cycling. I looked over my shoulder to see if they
returned and noticed them cautiously trickling back onto the road.
I met a passing cyclist who asked me if I was OK for I must have had a deranged
lookonmyface.Isaidnoandpointedtothosechildrenontheroadandexplainedthatthey
were harassing me. He said not to worry and he quickly cycled up to them. The children
never bothered me again. I must admit that I felt so ashamed on what I did with those chil-
dren (come to think of it, I think I even made machine-gun noises with my voice.)
I pushed on even though my body was telling me to stop. I passed by a military
check point. With a massive headache, I weakly said bonjour and thank God he just waved
and on I continued.
A technique I learned from the locals to avoid the sandy patches was to cycle
between the huts in the small hamlets. In my first attempt I didn't see the low roof of one
of the huts and cracked by forehead on the cross beam and fell off the bike. Two dads
were sitting with their children nearby and saw me do this. I cursed like crazy and when
I noticed that they were staring at me, I stupidly asked them in French, “Do you have a
problem?” They looked at me dumbfounded. No…you have the problem. That was all I
needed…exterior pain on my head as if the interior pain wasn't enough.
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