Vehicle breakdown

by GAOUDA LYOUM IRENE (Senegal)

A leap into the unknown Chad

A dust-laden Harmattan wind was blowing over the region. The sun was at its peak. We were more than 500 kilometers away from N'Djamena, the capital of Chad, in uncharted territory located in the heart of Africa. The scorching heat rose from the water-thirsty floor making circulation more difficult. The driver was making his way as we were progressing in the Tibesti desert. There were no tarred roads. We had to do with what nature offered. When a driver had taken a road in the morning, he was never sure to use the same path in the evening. The north winds blowing over the region from the Sahara were bringing a lot of dust which, over the hours, were forming sand dunes which were an obstacle to traffic. Mahamat, our military guide, began to recount his daily life on this road. - In those days when Muammar Gaddafi was alive, very few adventurers leaving for Europe were using this path. Most migrants from central or eastern Africa would prefer the Abéché route which leads directly to Niger. From there, they had the choice between using the Libya Road in the hypothetical hope of one day reaching the shores of the Mediterranean Sea or travelling across the Sahara. They could then have a stop in an unknown city, grab a little job to ensure their survival. Sometimes, they would sleep outdoors, while meditating on the rest of the journey. They could even stay longer than expected in an unknown village for weeks, a year or more. Then, one day, after having challenged the whole Sahel, they could reach the Moroccan coast in front of which stood the walls of Europe! But that was before. It was before the Libyan fortress collapsed. We were still far, very far from Faya-Largeau, the great city of the north, situated towards the Libyan border when all of a sudden, our car broke down. Exasperated by these numerous stops, the driver abandoned his steering wheel and jumped down. Immediately a first bearded man, seated in the rear of the new-looking Hilux, jumped down too. He was then followed by a second, then a third ... man. Therefore, the turbaned men began to bustle around the vehicle. In the nervousness, the driver opened the hood and made a quick diagnosis. He needed to take a close look at the condition of the vehicle to see the problem that was preventing us from moving forward. He addressed a few words to one of the passengers, probably asking him to bring something back into the vehicle. A few minutes later, the latter returned to the others, a five-liter container of "Radiotor Water" in hand. The driver grabbed the container and unscrewed the cap, grumbling. Immediately, he poured the liquid into the thirsty radiator's mouth and opened a suture nearby. One of the passengers supported the hood to allow the driver to troubleshoot faster. In the meantime, the driver had some difficulties detaching a rebel candle from the scrap metal. - But where is that damn screwdriver, he complained. Does someone have a knife? Suddenly, one of the turbaned men slowly caressed the white cloth wrapped around his head. Without even taking his turban off, he pulled out a knife, which he removed from its leather pouch and handed it to the driver. - Oh my God! Do they have knives? I asked, worried. - Of course, they always have knives, the guide said. Just take a close look at the movements of the wind on the tunics... Is he going to stab us? - Ha ha ha, he laughed. Here? No! No one would take his knife out to kill you, anyway, until you get your knife out before theirs... To be continued… On my way to Faya-Largeau