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                                       Day 15

                           Friday,  19 August 2016

                             Race to Pemba


We are at the Jazzfarm, residence of the Dagga Couple just outside Jozi. Donnie and I take turns on the laptop to get some work done. Old Psy is out and about doing things. We decide to have a braai where Simon drops a bomb, letting us know that there is no fuel budget to continue with the Sani. After a minor freak-out we decide to continue. I will hitch like I'm used to and Donnie and Simon will got there own way. We decide to turn it into a race; a race to Pemba.                           



It’s one of those terrible hangover mornings, the type you never get used to. The tension of traveling on a wing and a prayer combined with the excitement of reaching Jozi motivated me to gulp down more than I normally do. Sleeping in a little tent in a garden does not do much for soothing the poisoned body. Not the best start to a day, but at least we have a safe  place to lie low for a day or two so we can figure things out. Everything is hanging in a precarious balance, and the stress is taking its toll.

We expected to form part of a sort of a convoy that will make its way through Botswana, but in reality it seems that everyone is just kind of doing their own thing. It’s a long push to Pemba and there are numerous route options to choose from. At this stage our biggest worry is getting funding for fuel. So far nothing has transpired. Today I’m mostly working on the blog and sending emails to try and get accommodation sponsored for us along the route. Donnie and I are taking turns on the laptop. He is proving to be a natural editor, but with his success as a filmmaker this is to be expected. Simon is out and about, jumping through the necessary loops to make sure the Sani meets the legal requirements for traveling in other African countries. He is also selling gear in the hope of raising enough money to take the Sani further. He suggested that we braai tonight and a braai is something I rarely say no to, being a great supporter of this worthy South African tradition.

I offered to be braaier. As we stand around the fire, Simon drops the bomb we all have been fearing. There is not enough funds to continue with the Sani. This could mean the end for at least some of us, which saddens us all greatly. We have come this far and we don’t want to give up. I decide that I will continue hitching; it’s do or die for me. Donnie has the least money so he is the most vulnerable, but he also possess a tremendous fighting spirit. In the end we decide that none of us are giving up. Donnie even comes up with a plan to turn it into a race (just for fun of course). I will go my own way and they will go theirs and we will see who gets there first. And so the Race for Pemba is born out of near defeat!                                    


                                           PICTURE GALLERY

Chilling on the Jazzfarm..


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