Poor Morla was also thirsty
With the tongue out and on the verge of dehydration, we arrived at a small village. We went straight to the area where two female nurses were in charge of a small clinic located in a couple of stone barracks. They greeted us and Jargew and Fanta told them that we planned to eat there and refuel some water in a creek that ran somewhat below.
Morla, the donkey, thanked the rest almost more than us. At this point I already carried the two backpacks, food and kitchen utensils, without having found hardly any water throughout the day.
We moved away from the hospital house and sat in the shade of another house. There we ate a half-melted mango and a banana while we watched the landscape that surrounded us. The valley, immense, was of different browns, dotted, here and there, by several green specks of shrubs and low trees. It gave the impression of a place where it must be really difficult to survive. When the rainy season arrives, they say that everything explodes in colors and life returns to the valley. I would have liked to see it.
In the village of the dispensary
The people who inhabited the village looked at us with a funny air. They saw, reflected in our faces, the annoyance caused by fatigue, heat and thirst and I imagine that they were surprised by our weakness. They are used to withstand the harsh weather that plagues them during the dry season.
Finally we noticed a good pasta dish with a rather spicy tomato and vegetable sauce. We finished with the scarce water reserves while we waited for the two hours needed for purifying tablets They did their job with the jugs Jargew had brought from the creek. Morla ate some straw with reluctance. He looked weak.
With more grief than glory, we resumed the march under the sun, heading to the village where we would sleep that night. I don't remember his name, if he had it.
Our elderly guide for a moment