2004-09-17 - 5:05 p.m.

2nd entry today:

Sweat pours off of me like rain as I pedal my way out of Atar. I immediately regret not bringing my water bottle. We’ve been sitting around the house all day and I can’t take it anymore. Audrey has been sleeping since noon. I don’t understand how she can do it. Maybe she has malaria. During the time in which the girls slept I organized my luggage, painted Allison’s room, wrote a journal entry, and now it is 4:00 and I’m on a bike ride.

There is a great movie called Mountains of the Moon I saw before leaving. It recounts the story of Burton and Speke, two of the early European explorers in Tanzania searching for the source of the Nile. In one of the scenes they have to cross a boulder field that stretches for miles and miles. Burton’s legs become so swollen from falling they have to slice them down the sides to relieve some of the pressure. Luckily I have a paved road to ride my bike upon, but the surrounding area looks quite similar. I know that there is another town at the end of this road not more than 10 km away, however, squinting my eyes hard as I am able I can’t see it on the horizon. All I see is an odd rock out-cropping. This is the road I run along in the morning. Two former Adrar volunteers showed it to me before they left (Caroline, my EE facilitator who was formerly posted in Chingetti where Jeff is now, and Adriane, a health water and sanitation volunteer that used to live with Audrey). They said they had run to this unseen town and back before, and I plan on trying next week if it truly exists. I trust Caroline to not have sent me on a wild goose chase, and it is not a question of missing the correct road as this is the only one running out of town in the right direction. I continue on my course having faith in my former trainer and I am rewarded.

Just before I am at my wits end I reach the rock formations only to realize they mark the edge of a shear cliff face. I climb up to the highest point to look at the valley below. The face drops straight down to the valley floor and less then a km away sits the small town of which I was told. It is surrounded by 1000s of trees clustered along a dried river bed that probably flows 3 times a year. On either side of this oasis of life there is a distinct change to orange and brown. Without water the desert takes over again. The wind picks up as I sit down on the jetty. A few drops of rain spit in my face. I stick out my tongue to wet my dried mouth.

After being cooled by the splattering rain I realize I should take advantage of the change in wind direction. I climb back down from the precipice, and remount my bike. Now, wind at my back I coast all the way to Atar. I think to myself “Atar may be the big city, but living here may not be so bad.”

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