Here goes trip #4...

Back in Africa, already on survey trip #4.

I called my taxi friend Mounir to see if he could pick me up and take me to the airport (from Boston), but it wasn’t during his shift. So instead, he rearranged for his friend to come get me in the morning. To my surprise (and delight), this disheveled girl in sweatpants took a black towncar with tinted windows to the airport in style. When I asked about the cost, Mounir’s friend Anise said “whatever you usually pay Mounir, maybe twenty-something? So I happily gave him thirty which was a good deal!

Walking through the security line, a guard mentioned to me: “We are hiring”. I said what? I didn’t think I understood what he was saying. Then he said, “you are so organized going through the security line, you clearly have done this before. I wish everyone could do it this well!” A good start to the survey, and yes – I sure have done this before!

By NY, I was tired already. Joe and I got a snack and a beer and walked around to find a post office so I could so generously mail back my T-pass I had taken with me on accident so my roommates can use it for the month. We both got mesmerized by a fish tank before deciding that maybe we ought to close our eyes for a few. Then right before boarding I decided maybe it would be a good idea to get some greens before heading somewhere where it would be a bad idea to eat any due to bacteria. This 5 hour layover was way too long, and I didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night.

The flight over wasn’t too bad. Minimal turbulence but even though I was exhausted, I only got about an hour and a half of sleep, and same with Joe. We watched a movie and then I used the opportunity to catch up a little on writing. The flight was only 7.5 hours, I thought it was going to be much longer.

Dakar was a trip and a half. We found it intriguing that this tiny run –down airport was considered a major hub in Africa. We waited for someone to attend to those in transit but there was no one, so we just went on through customs, picked up our luggage even though it was checked through to Bissau (just in case) and our carryon that they made us check in the plane before boarding (which we were freaking out about because there was no indication it would be taken off at Dakar since our flight was continuing on to Nigeria). From there, we were let out into the world of Dakar since we had no idea where to go for departures. The guards told us where to go but not surprisingly, hagglers saw us and grabbed our bags (for us) during a tight squeeze through two polls. Ahhh here we go already I thought. We told them we had no money on us in attempt for them to let our bags go. It’s ok it’s ok they say. We checked on our flight and were ushered into a restaurant waiting area which I assume all the foreigners go to so the locals know where to go and harass them. We order a beer and then our “friends” took me to exchange money in a super sketchy black-market way in a small little shop that sold god knows what, and before they took off, guess what they wanted. Not knowing the exchange rate, we gave them too much and then once we figured it out, felt pretty disappointed in ourselves.

Already we were feeling discouraged and tired and cranky. Every now and again a guard would come in and look around and kick out anyone who wasn’t clearly a foreigner. Though we had one guy come in and sit at the table next to us, he was nice, but all he wanted is some money and he just sat there for hours and hours. At one point he said he was going to sit there and “protect” us and he wanted money for it. Though we ran into him when we were going to check in and he helped us to get a better exchange rate than we got a few hours before so we gave him a little money for “his family that needs to eat”. At least you know here that this excuse Is probably very true. We even had an airport worker in uniform who helped us get into the right line for check-in for Bissau ask for some money for his guidance. Ummm sorry, I think we learned our lesson the first couple times. Our flight was delayed but we didn’t care because we were passed out on our luggage up until it was time to board. This transit just seemed to take forever.

Joe slept the entire hour and a half flight over, from the second we sat down till the second we had to get up. I just sat and prayed for my life since I HATE flying in Africa, though the plane itself wasn’t bad at all. It was a Cape Verdian airline but the airplane itself appeared to be fairly modern.

We landed at an even tinier, completely run-down airport in Bissau. So far, I immediately notice that what I think really saves this country is their lively green vegetation everywhere – (I bet with the proper infrastructure they could do a lot with their agriculture!). But immediately exiting the aircraft I could smell Africa. It was the same smell as in Angola and I have no idea how to put my finger on describing it. It is probably a very dirty smell, though it is distinct but I wouldn’t exactly describe it as dirty. On the way in I broke off the handle of my carryon, and then once I pick up my checked bag I noticed that my bag is ripped and the handle is dented and now keeps getting stuck. Bad luggage luck I guess. We are greeted from someone from the hotel who puts my two bags in a small, rust-filled trunk with liquid dripping in it from the top (which he cannot close) and walla! We are ready to go.

We arrive at the hotel and this is when I notice that I have a very large brown marking from dirt on the whole right side of my breast and down to my stomach. I ask Joe “did you notice this before” and he replies “no, sorry I wasn’t looking at your breasts”. Hahaha. But I’m still not sure how I got this. The people at the hotel speak very minimal English. I am actually impressed with the hotel, after everything I have heard about this city. It has A/C (absolutely needed!) I haven’t seen a mosquito in my room yet, there is hot water, and even a decent looking tv (which probably doesn’t work anyways). I did find a dead beetle on my grossly stained floor, and my room smells, and who knows how clean the bedsheets are. Also, I may or may not be currently listening very clearly to people directly above me having sex. There is absolutely no means of communication, well not today anyways. (The internet doesn’t work today, but we were told it might work tomorrow). You can’t call the US from the hotel, and I doubt we’ll find anywhere else where an international call is possible. It sure is a humbling feeling, and I just hope my Mom isn’t worrying about me right now. My goal here is just don’t get really sick like the last 2 surveyors to come here! I think if I can handle this, we’ll be golden.