Dry season

In this country apparently, when it does not rain water it rains dust. Yes, it rains dust litteraly, you can realize it when you see your clothes, your hair becoming dry and entwisted, when you feel your eyes and your throath itching, when you can't stop caughin.
From Kolahun road, Voinjama looks like a old ghost village, like the one of the Far West movies, where the cow boy finally arrives to a town, thursty and, of course, dusty, searching for a tavern where he normally gets involved in some strange story.
When you get to Voinjama, you understand that dust or mud, people are carrying on the same small daily activities, they are still moving at the rhythm of some music in the background and they don't look really shocked about these kind of conditions. The white horse, a bit thinner, because probably in dry season there is less grass to eat, is anyway walking around and it looks at you with his peaceful and wise nice face.
And finally you understand that also us, now complaining for the mud, now complainig for the dust, we are carrying on our activities and finally we have accepted to live with the mud and the dust. And so you understand that you may be in a Far West movie, but in a different West, Voinjama town, Far West Africa.