The Worst May Be Over

Today is the second day writing on my phone, and it is also my second day with the host family. I write on my phone because it has become abundantly clear that my phone is broken. It seems as though the RAM is broken, and that problem is neither caused by me nor too problematic. My computer is completala broken right now, and it's unusable. If we were in Italy or America or somewhere else in the West, this would not be a serious problem, as we could just buy a new RAM. However, Senegal is not Italy, not the US, not the West. We decided that it's too risky to fix it, as here the situation could be made worse. Therefore, I'll be using my phone to write, and there is a chance that Gannon and Isabella will lend me their Chromebook. In any case, this is a decent solution. The only thing that is certain is that I will write every day, be it with a computer, or a phone, or even a pen and paper. 

Today, after a (very) traumatic morning, one featuring a terrifying bathroom experience, one featuring my broken computer and my deep fear, my dad picked me up. We went to his hotel, where we tried in vain to fix the computer. After we gave up, we went to the Park de Hann. It's a park with a zoo and an arboretum. We were warned against going to the zoo, on the grounds that it was depressing, bit we decided to see the arboretum. We took a taxi there, and walked around for a bit 

The park is was nice, but as my dad and I agreed that, if we lived in Bethesda and this park was in Virginia, we wouldn't bother going. This trip was mostly a nice distraction from the terrifying, goat-filled nightmare that is my life right now. However, although this trip will surely be forgotten in a few months, what we saw next will never be forgotten. 

Here in Dakar, I've seen my share of poverty. I've seen things I didn't think possible less than a week ago. And yet what I saw today was indescribable. An experience like that cannot be explained with sight alone, as the smell was... indescribable. I cannot properly write how it was. We entered a narrow, un-paves road, and as we walked towards the beach, we entered a small market. I believe that the small market was the closest thing there is to hell on earth. Rotten meat, rotten fish, rotten fruit, surrounded you on all sides, the smell and flies attacking you like knife stabs. We reached the beach, some four feet from the market. A barrier of garbage prevented us from reaching the sea. Men were urinating in the sea, and the sewer was spewing its liquids in the waters. It was horrifying. Disgusting. It was a complete rejection of goodness. I don't want to sound melodramatic, but I do not think that it is possible to properly understand the sheer horror of that godless strip of hell on earth. As we exited, I slowly learned to breath again, and I occupied all my forces to fight back vomit. They were, I think, the worst five minutes of my life.

After this very... different experience, we headed home, where after saying goodbye to Adama, the eldest son in my host family, we headed to a restaurant by the sea, where we had drinks with Isabella and Gannon. Unfortunately, their son hit his head, and they had to leave. It was a depressing end to a pleasant meeting. 

And now I'm here once again, writing on bed. This evening proved to be much more relaxing than the previous one. I feel a little bit more at ease, and I very much look forward to working at ImagiNation Afrika, a very Western, welcoming place. As my dad said, the worst is behind me. 

As long as I don't get sick.