It's been the third day today and I'm still sad. The third day that I'm travelling on my own again... Yes, hitchhiking on the dusty roads of Africa in over fourty degrees heat with a little puppy dog who's scared of of strangers (and everyone except me is a stranger) and vehicles, and has to be carried half of the time, turned out not to be easy. It was a beautiful experience, though. From the moment that he started travelling with me, Kani's status changed dramatically - from a homeless, unwanted village dog to the favourite puppy of a white woman. Suddenly eveybody liked him, people shared food, kids were kind and gentle. So Kani, vacacinated, with a proper dog's health booklet (kind of a doggy passport) crossed with me from Mali into Senegal and then into the Gambia. In Basse, a small tow in the remote, eastern part of the Gambia I stayed with a nice local family. Kani seemed to like it there. He wasn't hiding in the darkest corner like always before but started happily exploring the large courtyard, and even making friends with the family's kids... It was a hard, heartbreaking decission. They promissed they would look after him and treat him just like a family member. Still, I couldn't stop crying for a long time. I had never loved any animal as much as this clumsy, half blind puppy dog who loved me too with pure, unconditional love.

I guess it's Africa that triggers the strongest emotios. Everything seems more intense here. The heat is hotter, the dust dustier, the colours brighter, the mangos juicier, music enters right into the heart, poverty hits the bottom, the joy of life reaches the sky and hospitality - is just uncomparable.

I get off the truck in the middle of some dusty Gambian town. A guy grabs my backpack.
"Hey, where are you going with my backpack?"
"I'll help you carry it to the bush taxi station."
"I'm not going to the station. I'll spend the night here."
"You have a place to stay?"
"Not yet."
"Come to my house."
He doesn't want any money. He's not hitting on me, either. He's a 23 year old road construction worker who works twelve hour day shifts for the equivallent of one Euro a day. He doesn't understand when I ask him why he invited me. Isn't it self explanatory - I'm s stramger in his town, I have no place to stay. Isn't it the most obvious and natural thing that he should invite me...

 Now - once you're a guest, you're sacred - they'll do anything for you. I still had some crayons left and wanted to see how kids' world in Mali compares to to here in Gambia, so at the family where I left Kani I asked if I could invite some kids for some crayon fun. And again, it turned out to be a slightly humbling experience. While we want to believe we're doing something for them (bringing joy to their poor children), they really do it to satisfy us: "You want a salad? We'll get you some salad. You wish to buy a white camel? We'll help you look for a white camel. You desire to see children dawing? We'll get you some children right away. How many do you need? Are these ones good, or you want older or younger ones?" This is not to say the kids didn't have fun drawing. They totally did, and it seems kids' world in Gambia is at least as colourful as the one in Mali - see for yourself in one of the newest albums.

Anyway - if you're ever passing through Gambia, let me know - I'll give you the directions and you can visit Kani.