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My dear friend Yovo

I am now camping the first night this time. It is exciting and cozy. I believe my tent is hidden now, it is dark and I hope and belive we want be troubled by anyone. There are thick dry craking leaves all 10 m radie around so I will here if someone comes...and then what. Ha ha...I will use the fruit knife. ”Stay 5 cm away from me...or I will cut you into a banana.”..:D))

I here crickets close by and a more base couir of another thousand criquets. A casual Motorcycle or car passing some 50 m away.

I prepared by washing my face hands lower legs and neck by a well an hour before. Then had an early dinner. And thanks for spagetti! :) I am a bit tired of rice, sauce and fish.

Actually I am not camping alone. I have had doubts telling about my friend here. But he seems to enjoy our time together and he is a part of my journey.

I picked him up one of the first days. It was a present from the couple that I spent some time with weaving a straw matt. I kept him sitting in my bag on the steeringweel. He talked to me more or less. Or maybe he was talking to the chain of ghe bicycle wich was squeeking something about wanting some oil.

First night he was very loud and sad. Missing his friends I guess. Or family? Were they brothers or from different mothers? I felt bad but he soon became my friend or my adopted. I felt joy in having him around, listening to the sound of him. I had to stop a bit more often. Everytime I stoped I let him down to pick on the ground. I also had a plastic cork with water for him. And some crums. He was usually very calm. Unless he got wet or if we were indoors and he could not see mee. It was nice yet enoying to take care of him. Fun to have someone wanting my atention. Fun and nice to care for someone. I call him Yovo, white person. So as people shout Yovo when seeing me along the road waving. They actually call his name. He is also very blond and allways popular when I lift him d

We spent time together a bit over a week. Day and night. Sharing meals together. He, constantly talking. Sometimes sitting in my front-bicycle bag on the handle-bar. And sometimes in my left side pocket in my shirt. He liked to be touched or held. Or feel my warmth if we were not eating. Then he mostly walked around picking at all stuff. He managed to get some proper size ants. Daddy was very proud.

Sometimes life was dangerous. Ones a hawk was circling the sky not far above where we were having lunch. But the most dangerous was when he jumped from the basket in the front down between the weels and on the road. Poor thing, could have broken his wings or instantly be run over.

The camping night was cold. The wind from the desert can be cold in the night. He usually slept under my hand. And he was usually sleeping with a petit rythmic piip every now and then. I had him sleeping in my fleece sweater sleeve. And gently my hand on top, still he could breethe betwwenthe fingers. But he was louder then usual inthe morning hours. We left early. As the darkness left, so did we. Sneaking in the dim light betweenthe trees. I gave him litle atention as I was aranging canping gear. We stoped early after leaving. To let him catch his breath after staying in my pocket and get something to eat. But he was not hungry, nor thirsty. He just jumped back in my hand. I became worried. Maybe he was cold. So I held him and we sat in the rays of the morning sun. He was calm.

We reached the first village for me to have breakfast and him to have another try. He could not stand up. :/ . Something was deffinatly wrong. He piiped a lite different then usual and I called my mum to ask about what to do. We agreed I should force him to drink. I did. I opened his litle beek and put a litle straw of grass in his month to give him a few drops of water. He seemed to swallow. But he became weeker and weeker. I passed the streetsign anouncing the village ”Bethlehem” not long after I stoped once more to gove him more water. We had stoped every half hour to give some drops. As I sat down on the church stair, I gently laid him down for a second on the stair. He stretched his body and his eyes widened. He was gone. My deer friend.

It was allmost midday and very hot. I digged him a grave by the church entrance, picked a flower from a tree and tied a small cross out of a thread and small wooden sticks. I said a prayer and thanked him for our time. Asked for forgiveness for taking him from his friends. I genuinly felt sad. I got on the bicycle and left Bethlehem. I called my mum and I cried. Silly to cry over a rouster chicken. I may have passed a couple of motorcycles with about ten rousters hanging in there feet, head down and alive this morning. Life of a rouster here is tough.

But he was my close friend, when beeing alone this last week. Maybe I saw him as my first pet or a symbol of mee beeing a father. Maybe it was the connection talking to my mum as I felt sad and lonely. In fact we have had very litle contact the last year. I was very sad. My mum told me how she had tried getting about two sets of a dussin chickens to survive, without success. It helped me to feel a litle better.

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