Because I wanted to make it home so badly, for the last few weeks before I left I was really paranoid about potentially not making it home in one piece or not making it home at all. Dakar taxi drivers’ typical disregard for traffic rules had me particularly on edge. I rode on the back of my friend’s motorbike for about five minutes and freaked out and took one of the aforementioned dangerous taxicabs home.
I checked my flight time and then I checked it again and then I checked it again. I barely closed my eyes the night before I left because I was so panicked about not waking up. To ensure that didn’t happen I set two alarms and also enlisted two friends as back up alarms.
And then, when I got to the airport three hours early, the check-in people didn’t have my reservation. Then they found it, but told me my flight was delayed by two hours. Then it was delayed by three. But finally, at 10:52 am on May 15, 2011, I took this picture of my last glimpse of Dakar.
May I never see it again. Okay, maybe, but only for a lot of money.