on the road

We set out on Eric's birthday in a rented Toyota 4x4 ("quatre-quatre," it's fun to say in French). "What's the big black thing on the passenger side?" I had to ask Eric. It was the truck's air intake—all cars have them, but cars that are built to, say, drive through a river have their air intake above water.

The man we rented the truck from insisted that we take one of his drivers, too; a thin young Tuareg man named Achmed.

Our first stop was the grocery store, where we stocked up on crackers, Nutella, beef jerky, pringles, and jelly. In the market we bought two cases of bottled water. We fueled up one of the truck's two reservoirs, and we were off.

The road looked the same for a really long time: red dirt, dry fields. Every few miles we passed a small village.

Periodically something subtle would change in the landscape and distinguish that hour from the one past: piles of wood and charcoal for sale, man-made beehives in the trees, termichieres—termite houses—ten feet tall.

We arrived in Segou in time for a sunset walk along the river and dinner by the pool at the Hotel Auberge. In the morning I took a dip in the pool while Eric attended to some business.