Tuesday:
Today I awoke to find myself in a hotel that offers an unmatched view of Mamelles and an eye towards home. As I climbed the swirly staircase and headed for the lobby entrance, I took in the crystal clear ocean and technicolor green hills – a sight that is a true perk of experiencing this country in the rainy season. In the half second that it took for my brain to process the morning’s rays as cast into a western horizon rendered startlingly pink, I was seized with a sentiment that could only be felt during my last days in Dakar. In short, I could feel my heart breaking.
By the time I got to the top of the stairs and into the reception area, I had tears in my eyes. Knowing that I’d need to go out and battle for a taxi in the rush hour traffic, I stuffed this feeling away and willed myself to return to Megan In Dakar mode. I might come off as a hard-ass on the exterior, but inside I’m all nostalgia and greedy sentiment collector.
As I sit here with a layer of sweat coating my body, I note that it that pairs nicely with the wet backseat that only comes with sitting in a rainy season taxi. The majority of cabs here don’t boast windows that go up or down, so most glass panes remain three-quarters of the way open all the time. As we roll along I still scan the ocean and try not to reflect too much upon what the past 33 months have meant to me. Luckily my taximan drives with reckless abandon, so I am not allowed too much peace as he continually speeds up and then jams down on the brakes as we make our way up and over the many jumbo-sized speed bumps along the corniche.
Wednesday:
Another day, another taxi entry. It is Wednesday, although if you asked my brain what the time space continuum was dictating, it’s all just one big day until I depart.
“He’s going to say goodbye to this whole goddamn country.”
That’s a movie quote for my brother to divine, and I will do my best to restrain myself from revealing its source. Still, this particular line has been running through my head all day as I run around and squish in everything that I have wanted to accomplish before I step onto a plane in a short space of time.
I feel the need to tell every Senegalese person I encounter that I am leaving their country- and also to let them all know how much they all have meant to me.
Thursday:
The adult in me knows that it is time, and the kid is envisioning the simple pleasures of home and reunion with family and friends. Given the choice, I would not opt to stay in Senegal, but at the same time I know that no other tour in my naval career will ever top this one. I’m not thinking too much about my departure now, because I think I am pretty much operating on autopilot. Besides, if I allowed myself to drift into syrupy nostalgia, I might accidentally accept a taximan’s marriage proposal during my remaining hours in this country. And that’s just too risky for me at this juncture.
Mangi tukki. All aboard because it’s time to go.
Humbled and entertained. That has been Megan’s experience in Senegal.