Field Notes

Plane Ride to Dakar

I don’t feel nervous but I must be. I’ve been trying to sleep for an hour now without any success.

I like to think of myself as the experienced traveler, as adventurous, as ready to go anywhere… but right now, I have no clue what I’m going to find when I get off this plane. I suppose this is what I wanted—to go somewhere new and different, to experience something completely unlike anything I’ve experienced before, and to do it on my own.

I just hope I don’t put it all on mute, like I sometimes do with life.

Lead me in life,
tranquil and serene,
until I arrive at where I am going.

The “bonnes”

I don’t know their names, the “bonnes.” Every morning they knock gently, obediently, not even telling me as they used to that it is “huit heure du matin.” They only give me a meek smile in response to my own and hand me my breakfast.

I thank them as genuinely and sympathetically as possible, hoping they will sense some sort of appreciation, but they never reply. The unsure smile and uncomfortable eyes leave mine and snap back downstairs.