Lying on the floor, head on my bag, legs up and crossed. My stove has just been lit up, it purrs, no, snores, and runs raggedly, due to the bad oil quality. I urgently need a nice warm tea. Only one sugar cube left, the only piece of sweet I own. I sometimes search through my blue holdall bag, in a compulsive way, to take out the tiny hardback red box, with the Mongolian word for « sugar » written on it… to always admit that there is only one single sugar cube living in there… Looks like that small thing is telling me « you’re kidding, you can’t have me today, you can only taste me tomorrow! »

 Oh yes I am hungry! The fact is, my body got over my stock during those five days I have spent in the dunes, pulling on my handcart in the sand.

At this time, I should be stuffing some food in my hearth every two hours, to keep the fire alive. The reality is quite different: this morning I ate the half of a cup of flakes, with water and tea. Six hours of walking later, I am starving (I hate the feeling of being hungry!) For about a week now, the only food left is the sugar cube. An uncertain journey, water points playing on me and making me zigzag from a well of drinkable water to another. It lengths the 15 days between the food deliveries. Stomach hating this feeling and legs burning like hell without regenerating themselves… Just 2 days to go and I will get my supplies