Investment Biker: Around the World with Jim Rogers by Rogers Jim

Author:Rogers, Jim [Rogers, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307809285
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-11-23T05:00:00+00:00

When we stopped for water, still grinning Tabitha said, “When I was in the first grade, I went ice skating one Sunday for the first time. I remember how I felt when I was able to skate across the whole pond by myself—I kept saying to myself, ‘Proud! Proud! Proud!’ That’s how I feel today—Proud! Proud! Proud!”

Everything changed as soon as we crossed from Algeria into Niger.

We were coming out of North Africa, an Arabic-Islamic culture, into Arlit, which, while still Islamic, was the first big city of black Africa. As we crept south, the monotonous dunes turned into broken rocks, weeds, and scrub, the first growth we had seen in days.

With only a few miles left to Arlit, we saw smoke. We passed a French-run uranium mine and an airstrip.

The closer to Arlit, the better the road. The sand here was packed hard and we made great time. We hit a four-lane dirt road, doubtless here to provide access to the uranium mine.

Arlit, another travelers’ town, was a mixture of old and new, mud huts and modern houses. From time to time topless buxom women with goods on their heads and babies on their backs sauntered past the open butcher shops and vendors cooking meat and doughnuts on fires.

We sat in a café and drank big brown bottles of African beer, impossible to order on the street back in a strict Islamic culture. A wave of relaxation spread over us as the paraffin lamps flickered in the dark and black faces smiled in our direction. After our jitters about being Americans in Arabic North Africa, it felt incredibly good to be here.

Pierre had found a local girl whom he bragged was his for the price of a half-bottle of whiskey and a pack of Marlboros.

Like Tamanrasset, Arlit was a place to swap stories, get your vehicle repaired, and buy spare parts. We spent a day there, reconnoitering and pulling ourselves together. The next hundred and fifty miles south were over a well-paved road, we learned—an amenity that was created because the local uranium mine needed to ship out its ore, and that, as a by-product, developed the general prosperity of this region.

The town stayed open all night, its lamps gleaming a welcome, as its principal occupation was serving foreign travelers.

Tabitha didn’t feel well. She had a fever, and over our first day here it got worse, making her woozier and woozier. She tossed and turned much of the next night. She took some aspirin and finally got a couple of hours’ sleep.

We decided to stop here another day to give her some rest. The evening was passed in several cheerful cafés where we drank Cokes, sodas, and beer and ate shish kebab and goat cheese.

The next morning we drove to Zinder, three hundred miles south. Tabitha felt worse, by now gulping aspirin and forcing down fluids. To give her more rest, we stopped a couple of days here, too. She still had a fever, which I was afraid was a result of heatstroke, perhaps from the Sahara, perhaps from walking around in the sun in Arlit.

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