Dakar International Airport. We de-planed on the tarmack, entered the airport and just like that we realized that we should become obligate nose breathers for the duration of our stay. These are words of wisdom for anyone spending time in Senegal, be it 3 weeks or 3 years, there should be no breathing through the nose as it is bound to end only in watery eyes and dry heaving. Places have smells, Senegal's happens to be of one variety: offensive. That didn't spare us the cruel irony of smelling like Africa ourselves. It took a few days of eating Senegalese food, breathing Senegalese air, sleeping on Senegalese mats on the Senegalese floor and sweating buckets but in the end it had dominated and we smelled like Africa. As the French who left their language in Senegal would say...c'est la vie.
It took a couple of hours to get out of the airport as Delta had lost one of my boxes of supplies and, of course, the Senegalese men at the baggage claim curb needed adequate time declare their love and ask for our hands in marriage but we finally made it out and onto the road to Mboro. The drive took another couple of hours. We were pulled over by the police who constantly need to be paid off. It sounds as if it would be a quick process, giving them money, but it took a surprisingly long time. Vendors are privy to this bit of information and take advantage of the long police stops, hanging out with cashews and oranges to sell. The girl pictured was selling oranges.
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