arriving

The sky was dark and the sea was dark and we landed in darkness. We arrived in Dakar at 4am, and I awoke from a dreamless sleep into what seemed more surreal and dreamlike than what I had just left behind. I looked out my window to see a man standing, legs spread and arms crossed, staring in the direction of our plane, and a hoard of Senegalese dressed in dirty white t-shirts, neon yellow jackets, and flourescent blue pants swarmed the plane and began to clean the plane, check our passports, and remove us from our seats to check for hidden weapons or explosives. They were jovial, kind, but I was suddenly aware of my whiteness and the pristine leather seat upon which I had been sleeping minutes before, the orange paisley purse with leather trim, the designer jeans. I felt intrusive and welcomed at the same time, a curiousity.

They left as quickly as they came, and the flight attendants closed the doors and began walking through the aisles, spraying insecticide to kill off any rogue malaria-infested mosquitoes that may have penetrated the fortress of the plane. We lifted off, headed towards Cape Town, where we would arrive in another 8 hours. We had not been permitted to leave the plane during our 1.5 hour layover. It was still dark when we left.

Entering Cape Town was like skirting paradise. The oceans are turquoise and the violet clouds veil Tabletop Mountain like a shy blushing girl. Looking down upon the Cape Flats felt like looking into a box of crayons; homes are brilliant shades of red, orange, teal, and yellows. Even the shacks in the townships are painted in vibrant pallettes. More on them later.

I became instantly aware of the vastness of this place in a timespan of 10 hours or so. This fear and strangeness is present, as well as this color. Of course, I do not want to impose judgment upon Senegal for a brief half-awake assessement of the place at 4 in the morning. But this place is massive, and it is not just one place. It is a million places at least. And I've just landed in one of them.