WRETCHED DUST
WRETCHED DUST
It was Sunday morning when finally i left Luanda , after all this time in this city that look towards the future, full of corruption, full of those criminals with white neck, the same ones that pull out the sadness of being poor to other town ships full of dust, and with out any basic condition.
It was Sunday morning when my lovely friends said good bye to me on the big gate of the Spanish cooperation house, all went really fast , in one opening and closing that door, many things happened , so quick that become memories before I could write them.
And with this feeling of happiness, sadness and doubt I left behind this mad city, although I didn’t go so far because near the harbour one spoke broken, it tucked me long time to repair it , and like this already tired I left again with out knowing how difficult would be my following days.
About 50km further, the tarmac disappear like all those people that struggle to live on the streets or suffer that exclusion that they have because they didn’t born in another place, or maybe having another colour of skin.
Pretty baobabs, bloody tse tse flies and dust so much dust where now my company, even the wind that so often is my enemy, but that sometimes I let myself feeling this wonderful sensation of freedom when hits my face.
And with this run run of HalimaŽs wheels in my mind, a big noise knocked the rear tyre, another spoke die, and the rim suffered too, all this in my hands was so much for my poor mechanical skills , well, basically impossible mission , I went to Caxito little town with the hope to find somebody who could help me, there I found Mr, Vicente, lovely man and better mechanic, he tucked care of the rim with a Swiss precision, he worked really hard during more than three hours, and after all this time I had almost a new tyre , and for sure a new friend.
It was late but I was happy and excited to leave, but my happiness disappear suddenly ,wile I was cycling not far ahead me a huge dust ball hided a for by for car, one of those with big red cross painted in the doors, and then my eyes couldn’t believe what they saw, behind the car one man was running, waving his arms, shouting , crying and with one of those angry faces that we can’t hide , the car had just run over one child that was laying dead covered with dust, and he was escaping like a thief ,when I stoped I didn’t know what to do , and when he’s brother came back realising that running shouting or other thing wouldn’t change anything , he hugged me crying and asked me why? again, I didn’t know what to do , and when some body else came I just left, I didn’t know him but I was really angry, and suddenly my world become thick grey, all last just some minutes , but to me looked like one eternity. Bloody dust.
Yes dears, this is how things happen in some countries, although lots of people wish to talk about injustices , and shout to the world to be aware that sometimes the human being is able to do the very good things, but at the same time they are also able to do the worst of the atrocities, even though their voices are always censured by the power side, remember? Those criminals with white necks .
And among anger, deception and suffer, myself I just tried to be concentrated every day, and trying not to swallow much dust and being sure that behind a big ball of dust, can appear a murderer with a car with red crosses painted in the doors, and unfortunately learning again that in life , everything leaves and almost never comes back .
And this is why among my anger I could also enjoy of lovely companies of people that spend their time with me, and helped me that my nights where less sad, just the nights because the days and those difficult roads made me realise that they where the most difficult ones since I have started this project.
Hope trouhg the spokes.
When I arrived to Soyo, some meters of tarmac welcomed me, I was so frustrated , so happy that when I saw the huge Congo river I almost cry, then I had a nice memory of Jess, Joan Marc, Pedro , Borja ,Manu and all of those , so many I could say make that Gambada keep being in life, and that I can only say thank you very much with all my heart.
I just want to close my eyes and believe, and wait for those cycles that life has, that moment that could be magic, because sometimes one yes or no, one smile or one tear, or a bloody ball of dust can change our existence forever.
So, now I just have to find the way to get till Cabinda on a boat, seams that the only way is illegally crossing the Congo river like those that come from this country wishing to find a better life.
Wile I am thinking, I remember that somebody said ones that living is only adding absences.
But me I only want to shout till breaking the air and killing my voice to say , that you mister driver of a car with red cross painted in the doors, that you are a COWARD MUREDER.
Wretched dust…
HEALTH AND GOOD JOURNEY, NANDO.
LIFE, A WORD WITH NO SENSE AT ALL IN THE BOOKS OF THE MURDERERS.