I was right about the crash being an omen: an hour into the journey cars start honking and it turns out the bus’s luggage door is flapping like a djelleba on a breezy day.
The driver solves this by removing the door and stowing it inside the bus.
Far worse than the possibility of my belongings being strewn along a 300km stretch of desert, though, is the driver’s taste in music: apparently ‘Now That’s What I Call Manic Koranic 50’, a selection of ranting Islamic chants that’s far frm easy listening. I quite like the lilting singsong of much of the muezzin crowd, but this is something else, brimstone-breathing shrieking that can only appeal to your average jihadi society. And he’s playingit loud. Really loud.