Niger

Niger
Millet Fields in Rainy Season

Friday, February 4, 2011

The Flight

My particular airport experience was tainted by a familiar foe, a parting gift of food poisoning which left me in the fetal position on the airport floor in those few moments when I wasn’t doing abdominal crunches over the toilet. I remember flashes of security guards, asking me “Kana da lahiya?” “Bani da lahiya.” I said. Another flash and I was lying on some chairs. When I came to my senses I was landing in Burkina Faso and the sun was rising. Next to me sat a bizarre character with a scraggly beard and hemp bracelets…but no, he was not a Peace Corps Volunteer. Our breakfast trays arrived at that moment and I declined, but it got put down anyway, so I offered it to the strange young man. He declined then I said something in Hausa I faded back into unconsciousness. The plane shook gently as we hit the runway and as I awoke, feeling no nausea, I breathed a sigh of relief divining the source of my illness to be measly food poisoning and not giardia, amoebic cysts, or Allah knows what else. Feeling the immense calm and love of life, health, and breath that almost always follows recovery, I took in my surroundings with a Buddha’s smile. I conversed with the man who didn’t eat my breakfast and he unnecessarily apologized for not doing so. I asked him what he was doing in Burkina Faso without searching for a segway; I was unfiltered and very receptive at that particular moment. His story involved his band “Kermesz a l’est,” some sort of banjo rock band. He plays the banjo and his group was in Burkina for two weeks doing a sort of musical and cultural exchange. Being from Belgium, he spoke an awfully pure French. I, on the other hand, was speaking a highly African French characterized by the use of “vraiment” and excessive amounts of “quoi.” I promised to go see him and his band in Belgium if I were ever in the area.

Going through security without much delay we gathered our luggage and boarded tow massive and remarkably clean buses. We cruised along the coast and through the Moroccan countryside, finally arriving in the hotel in Rabat (not Robot) after navigating traffic, something that none of us was ready to experience. Almost all of the elements characteristic of this and of any city seemed foreign and slightly sour to us.

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