Those who know nothing of foreign languages know nothing of their own. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

21 October 2019, Tinga to New Longoro, 60.92km
GCCHRA Guest House 50GHC (R143)

Today we took a decision that could have had dire consequences, but did not. We chose, probably foolishly, to ford a flooded road, rather than wait for the waters to subside.
Following heavy rains in the night, we awoke to a cool, cloudy morning with a light drizzle, considerably more pleasant to cycle in than hot sun. We breakfasted on omelette and bread and coffee at a popular place managed by a young man from Côte d’Ivoire, then cycled past the Gold Buying Office, reminiscent perhaps of Johannesburg in the 1890s when you could buy a beer with gold dust, and onto the N12.
Not far south of Tinga, we encountered the first of two sections of flooded road. Some of the road surface had been washed away or damaged by the overflowing river and a car hovered uncertainly on our side of the water. Charl simply forged ahead, followed by a just-arrived tro-tro. When both had demonstrated that the water was neither too deep nor too strong to cross, I followed Charl, managing to cycle as he had done.
Some kms later we could see a row of trucks parked on the roadside and sheep walking toward us; it was clear we faced something untoward. This time a longer section of road, perhaps 150m, was flooded, and at the far reach of the flooded section, we could see a truck stuck at an angle across the road, water surging around its tyres. On our side were people gathered, discussing options. A group of women were removing their shoes in preparation for crossing on foot. A couple of the men, truck and autocyle drivers, were of the opinion we could easily push the bikes across, though others proposed we wait. The water looked initially to be not too deep again and we both began to cycle it. Almost immediately, however, I found it was too strong to cycle through, in addition to which I began to feel oddly “sea-sick”. Charl later told me he had also felt disoriented, but he managed to cycle much further than I did, only dismounting when his gears protested.
At the point at which Charl got off the bike, there was a sudden surge, the water flow getting deeper and stronger and turning the back of his bike into the current near where the water flowed off the barrierless bridge and into the river below. It was then that Charl began to feel understandably anxious and to wonder if we should turn back. He was struggling to get himself and the bike back to shallower water where others were wading. By then, a young man, seeing me struggle with the bike in the deepening water, insisted I hand it over to him. The panniers, resisting the water flow, became a real hindrance, twisting the back of the bike into the current and making it nearly impossible to push. A second young man grabbed the back of the bike, the two of them in the end lifting its weight from the water and essentially carrying it much of the remaining distance. I grabbed onto a man near me, and another came and took my hand from the other side. And thus, Charl eventually assisted by someone, and me by four someones, we met to confer, deciding to do the remainder of the distance rather than turning back. When the waters reached my groin, when the push of the waters was strong enough that each time I lifted my left leg to inch it forward my knee clicked a protest, I began to think this was not particularly sensible…
Several vehicles got stuck trying to cross; others surged into the waters, threatening the lives of pedestrians in their path and swelling the waters in their wake. But we made it across, the adrenaline boost sustaining us for the remainder of the day. Those who had helped us, simply faded away, going about their ordinary day, only the man returning my bike to me sticking around long enough for a hand shake and thanks. Such generous spirits…
At a small, well-stocked shop, where we bought something to drink, I caused quite a lot of tolerant laughter when I engaged with a baby goat, umbilical cord still attached and drying. The kid was damp from the rain and seemed aimless and I could not resist picking it up and giving it a hug. “Where’s your mommy?” I asked it. “Where’s your mommy?” mimicked several standing near the shop, their laughter swelling. Africans in general do not romanticise relationships with animals. I suspect westerners are viewed as somewhat odd in this regard. I mean, there I was hugging dinner and asking it questions it could not possibly answer…
Just north of New Langoro, we crossed the Black Volta. We had crossed the White Volta some days earlier. Both flow into the Volta Reservoir / Lake, the largest manmade reservoir in the world.

For today's route see below photos
For overview route, click on ROUTE tab above…