Travelling at own risk


Last day meant travelling with public transport. WOOHOO… The five hour bus ride was as chaotic and cozy as it looked like. Two places to my left sat a girl holding a small white chicken. The chicken obviously did not enjoy the tedious drive; it was louder than the playing children.  Right next to me was a man who occasionally fell asleep and thought he could take up my place. Overall, the bus was so crammed that three people sat on top of one another and 30 people actually stood the entire 5h. Small stops were made to squeeze in more people from different villages. From outside the bus and through the window market workers sold tomatoes, chips, fried pastries, drinks and cookies. In Dedza we were dropped off. This was five km from our final destination, the pottery. The bus driver had already planned further transportation. Waiting at the street were three bicycles. One for the luggage and the other two for my mom and I. Without any demur I hopped on, realizing only later the excellently bad shape of the bike. No pedals, the seat held together and attached with tape, the breaks held by ropes, and the back tire flat. Not to forget we were driving on a highway. A sudden maneuver down the side of the street prevented my bike from colliding with a silver jeep that was heading our direction at 100 km/h. I had to let go of the bike to cover my face before the driver and I were wrapped and smothered in a thick cloud of black sandy dust.

To end the day with a bit of luck, the pottery lodge gave us their last free room to stay the night.


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