Amsterdam Capetown Overland

It was the next day that I became a murderer; not just a killer who may feel some remorse, but a cold-blooded executioner left only with the feeling of having gotten away with something that I should not have.

The zoo opened early that day and Patrick and I wanted to leave as quickly as possible. Simon came up to me with his hand extended asking for something. I offered a Canadian pin that all Canadians travel with but he refused. Hopping in the Land Rover we waved goodbye and thanked them for keeping us up all night, almost causing our bladders to burst and putting us on display like a freak show. I was so happy to hit that pothole and continue on our way.

Mangoes. They were everywhere. People carried them on their heads, pushed them in wheelbarrows, ate them by the hundreds, sold them in baskets alongside the road. It was mango season in Nigeria and the road was littered with thousands of peels and pits from the fruit. At a roadside stall I purchased eight mangoes for 20N (?.14), 1/80th the price that I had paid in England the year before.

Munching on our mangoes we continued north towards Amsterdam, the paved roads free from any irregularities. I was driving through one town and slowed down to the required 50km/h (in the Land Rover slowing down is a simple process of removing one's foot from the accelerator, the aerodynamics do the rest).

From the corner of my eye I saw a young boy playing with his dog; the child laughing, the dog smiling. Suddenly he ran into the road directly in front of the Land Rover. Our eyes met for an instant; his filled with a look of absolute horror, mine with helplessness. He quickly realised his mistake and tried to run back to the side of the road.

I watched the event unfold in front of me as if from a great distance. He got as far as the right tyre before he met his demise, the front tyre taking his life, the back tyre reaffirming the job. Inside the Land Rover we felt the shocking bump and saw the lifeless body in the mirror. The dog's happy life had been no match for Mr. Michelin.

My first feeling after the hit-and-run was that of fear. Were the dog's owners going to kill me? Everyone on the road was yelling at me, screaming, shaking their fists in rage. Or were they just acting normally? Going about their regular day? Several kilometres up the road I realised that no one had noticed the incident and I probably would not be beaten to death. Life is cheap in Nigeria and the life of a dog is less than cheap.

"It's probably better that you didn't swerve or slam on the brakes," Patrick tried to reassure me. "At least it was the dog and not us."

I felt no remorse. No sadness. No pity. I felt happy. Happy to be alive. Happy that I had acted calmly and not done anything to endanger any other lives. Happy to be driving a murder weapon. One minute the dog was playing happily, enjoying a sunny afternoon with his master. The next thing he was chewing on a speeding tyre attached to a 2500kg piece of metal. For the rest of the afternoon I contemplated the subtle differences between life and death, the possibility of any one of us meeting our Michelin tyre at any instant.