Bushwacking

Day two of the explo, and I'm running in front of a huge, mud-spattered land cruiser with its engine roaring. I'm about 10 meters in front of it and it's gaining fast. It plows through a mud puddle, launching water all over the hood and halfway up the windshield, but that hardly slows it down.

It's not a nightmare, and I'm not scared. That's our team's car, and I'm scouting for the passable route through stagnant puddles along our "route pourri" to get to Sandoa. Yesterday, we traveled 102 kilometers in 6 hours before getting stuck in the mud. Today, we have 119 to go, and apparently we are just reaching the bad part.

After spending seven hours yesterday wading through the same mud puddle, swarming over our poor, stuck car, I am no longer hesitant to plunge into the muck. I need to remember to take an anti-parasite tonight. Already this morning I've waded into stagnant water with a thin green film on the top countless times. I've zipped off my pants into shorts to expose my bruised, pale legs. At least they'll get the chance to tan a bit to match my arms. The water sometimes reaches above my knees. That's about the limit, but it's not a hard limit. We'll go through water up to my thighs, but it depends on the bottom. Mud is a problem, but there's a lot of firm sand. That's OK. Hence the reving engine and charging land cruiser. It takes a lot if force to get through a puddle a meter deep.

The shockwave of recently-stagnant water hits me seconds after the car roars by, after I've jumped into the jungle growing right up to the thin two-track we call a road. Turbid, smelly water washes over my feet to the ankles, and I jog forward to congratulate the driver and scout the next puddle.

We've done 20 kilometers in 3 hours. Only a hundred more to go. We have 5 hours. I hope to sleep in a bed tonight...