Le blog de biomac-user

he road south from Senegal's capital, Dakar, turns after several hours to red dust and more potholes than road, the traffic disappears and the plains on either side of the road stretch to the horizon, populated by the stumpy, stolid figures of giant baobab trees. Onwards, the 4x4 stumbles, through tiny villages where people sit in the shade behind little heaps of yellow mangoes, next to open stretches of dirt covered in shreds of plastic bags and tyres. Finally, arriving at the Gite de Bandiala, near to the fishing village of Missira, the screams and squawks of African starlings and occasional rustle of bushes as a lizard hides itself are the only sounds. At least, until the sun sinks and the generator starts like a tractor convention, the lights come on and we dash to plug in our fifth limbs, our laptops.