Fifteen minutes later we were in Douentza. Arriving here also meant that now we were back on the paved road and, for real or imaginary reasons, it kind of gave us an additional sense of safety.
It was Guele’s plan to stop by for an hour or so and whoever wanted to have a dinner, they now had an opportunity for it. We pulled over at exactly the same spot as on our way to Essakane, by the pile of car tyres, next to the car mechanic’s with “Mercedes” sign and „Tombouctou“ restaurant. The place was every bit as lively as it was four days before and the only difference now were somewhat fewer western tourists. Local kids immediately swooped down on us in hope of possibly wheedling a coin or two, or of peddling something we never really wanted.
However, the only person who really profited from us this time around was the „Tombouctou“ owner as almost everyone decided they could have a warm bite. The ride from Essakane, with all the breaks and delays, was now well into its tenth hour. And we still had a ways to go.
While we were waiting for the food to be cooked and served, we took pictures together as it was pretty much certain that even if for a while we might stay in touch by way of e-mail, in all likelihood, once we all went each our own way, that would be it.
An hour or so later, the night fell over Douentza and the dinner was over. It was time to start the final leg of our journey.
