Its a quick romp back to the transport hub that to me is Brikama town, to catch a sept-place down to the true border town of Seleni, then a minibus to the village of Kafountine, back on the Atlantic. All by lunchtime. There is a complete absence of tar from another transport hub at Diouloulou to Kafountine, it having been ground to earth by successive rainy seasons and an absence of maintenance.
The fish market is rife with activity. Men dripping with seawater run crates of freshly caught fish on their heads to the smokers, through the smog of charcoal. Small palettes of dried fish stand ready for transport. Scales, guts, and bones are femented down to rich brown fertiliser. The smell is strong, but not unpleasant, a little like Worchestershire sauce.
Breakfast on the road to Ziguinchor is a potato salad sandwich. I should say that up to this point at least I’ve had a very sound stomach, thanks I like to think, to good hand hygiene and purified water. Reach Ziguinchor by 1pm via Bigoma. Pass my first monkeys on the way, as well as a chameleon bang in the centre of the road walking slowly across on the tips of its claws. Its probably bang in the centre of my sept-places’ radiator grill now.
I’ve had to go inland again given the lack of road, let alone public transport south of Kafountine, to Diembereng, just north of Cap Skiring. Tiny and beautiful, Cap Skiring is my home for the night, before heading inland a little for the border with Guinea-Bissau. Where did I put that Portuguese phrasebook?