Nor did
I find it that strange to enter the building and find a well-stocked bar and
about one hundred dancing patrons, eighty of whom were young women. I am sure
the most bizarre event to occur that day was the entrance of a lone white man,
with a bag strapped to his back.
In any
case, I settled down to enjoy a few beers, answer curious questions and gather
more information. Amidst many offers of overnight accommodation, I was able to
ascertain that a vehicle would be making its weekly journey to Acalayong, the
southernmost town, the very next day
The next
morning, a decrepit pickup truck did, indeed, turn up. I thankfully scrambled
into the back with sacks of grain, baskets of live chickens and about fifteen
other passengers. Apart from one small village, there was very little to see
during the eight hour journey. The road was in deplorable condition,
practically swallowed up by the dense jungle which closed in tightly on both
sides. By the time the truck wheezed into Acalayong, I was alone, my fellow
passengers having disappeared into the bush along the way.
David W.
Bennett
(to be
continued)
