Welcome to Senegal. That's the gist of it. I can't tell if people are saying this as a blessing or a curse yet. Like most travel, unless you opt for the one week beach holiday, your experiences oscillate to both extremes, sometimes changing minute to minute. 

Case in point: yesterday I get off a 22 hour flight in Dakar at 4 in the morning, and am immediately set upon by a horde of roguish men all pretending to have my best interests in mind for a taxi. I'm simultaneously clutching my worldly possessions, negotiating a fare in basic French, non-existent Wolof and exhausted English, and firmly telling the driver that I won't accept his friends coming along for the cab ride. Admittedly, I am somewhat at this guy's mercy, as I soon realize I have absolutely no idea where I am in this sprawling dark capital before sunrise. Sure, I trust my travel instincts, but I make sure the car door is unlocked, take spiritual stock of my past and future sins, and silently pray that he takes me to my hotel. 

After months of preparation for a new guidebook, I've arrived, and despite the fact that the desk clerk at the hotel tells me I cannot have a room until noon, he takes pity on my sorry state. I sleep for six hours and wake to the sound of birdsong and the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. These are haunting, foreign utterances, both human and foreign, and I love it. No longer on US soil, and back to Africa. 

Right now it feels like a blessing.