Woke up at 4:30 to go to Bouyouye. Halfway down the Bolong, the sun barely peeking through an overcast sky the colour of mud (or chocolate depending on your mood) ,my mobile rings. It’s Charlemagne. There’s been a death in the village.
Might as well head back. We wouldn’t be appreciated in the village let alone allowed to film.
This is the third time we’ve tried to film in this village, third time we’ve had to turn back because of a death. Doesn’t help that Charlemagne assures me it’s because everybody’s related and so when there’s a death, everybody mourns. I just hope it wasn’t a youth.

We turn around and head back to Cachouane. All the villagers see us unloading our suitcases and wonder where we are coming back from, and didn’t they just see us the night before?