Corrections · 1
Not far away, a small plane on its way to Garborone flew low over the dam and then, losing altitude height, floated down over the area known as the Village, over the cluster of shops on the Tlokweng Road, and finally, in the last minute of its journey, over the houses that dotted the bush on the airstrip boundary.
In one of these, at a window, a girl sat watching. She had been up for an hour or so, as her sleep had been disturbed, and she had decided to get up from her bed and look out of the window.
The wheelchair was beside the bed and she was able to manoeuvre herself into it without help. Then, propelling herself over to the open window, she had sat and looked out into the night.
She had heard the plane before she saw its lights. She had wondered what a plane was doing coming in at three in the morning.
How could pilots fly at nights?
How could they tell where they were going in that limitless darkness?
What if they took a wrong turn and went out over the Kalahari, where there were no lights to guide them and where it would be like flying within a dark cave.
Noukies, I don't know French, so can't check the accuracy of your translation, but you grammar is really quite good.
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