The walls are painted pineapple yellow and are encompassed by an elaborate molding. A chandelier hangs from the twenty-some foot ceilings and creates a glare off the porcelain-tiled floors that adds to the surrealism of the moment. The refrigerator has a key. A fly keeps landing on my knee. The toilet is broken…found that one out the hard way. I’m finishing my day in an air-conditioned, contemporary, yet distinctly African hotel room.

After a short flight to Washington D.C. I met up with some members of my group. Everyone seems extremely nice and after a game of Uno we were all quite comfortable with each other. We boarded the plane and, as I expected, after a couple of hours into the flight everyone was asleep. With nothing to do my mind started to wander and I made one of the more startling realizations I had ever made: I had forgotten my yellow card. This card is official documentation of my vaccinations, many of which are obligatory when entering Senegal. I frantically informed a stewardess of my situation seeking some maternal words of comfort. She laughed and told me that they’d send me home. I would not be allowed into the country without my yellow card. Aggravated and equally panicked I asked another attendant what my options were. She told me that she would inform the captain and he would talk to me after the plane landed. However, the anxiety that the situation created did not negate the feelings of excitement once we broke the cloud cover upon decent.

From the window the plane I saw and endless coast dotted with tall buildings, warmed my the soft glow of the rising sun. For a moment I was able to forget about the imminent disappointed I was expecting when I would find out I would have to return to America. However, that never ended up happening. The pilot told me that they never checked yellow cards and that I was ok. Six hours of panicking wasted. Oh well. As I descended the stairs of the plane I became instantly aware of how thick the air was. It felt like I was swimming. We got through customs fairly easily but then were met by a circus of beggars all who wanted to carry our bags for us. Having two fifty pound bags and two backpacks I was to say the least struggling. I guess it was a pretty funny sight because more than a few people got a chuckle out of it. A man asked me if I needed help and right after assuring him that I was find and not struggling at all one of my bags slipped off the other one and took me down with them. Faster than white on rice (or as Anthony Bourdian would say “faster than Angelina Joliee on an Oreo”) I had five grown men carrying my bags. Still holding one strap of each bag I told them that I didn’t have any money but they didn’t care. With every man veering off in a different direction I was forced to make a decision and foolishly chose to keep hold of the heavy bag. By the time we got to the van I was drenched in sweat. We all loaded the bags ontop of a seven passenger van and took a short ride to the hotel from where I write you guys right now. I’ve seen very little of Senegal. It was dark and a lack of street lighting made it difficult to make anything out. I go to breakfast in an hour and have a full day planned after than. I think I’m going to try to catch some sleep