So it goes.

Anya: As we passed through town, we got a bunch of different greetings: excited waves from ridiculously adorable kids, reproachful stares from grouchy teenagers (much like the teenagers in the states, eh?), and blank looks from people who really seemed like they couldn't care less. Sitting in the tour bus, I felt simultaneously at and on an exhibit, like I was both judging and being judged. (I also just couldn't get over the clothes the women were wearing, but maybe that's just me.) I was also judging my surroundings, unable to take my eyes off the construction of roads -- or lack thereof. I'm used to the compact, tight nature of San Francisco, which starkly contrasts how much open or just plain unused space there was en route from Dakar to Thies. Piles of rubble sat around contentedly, enjoying an afternoon with what seemed to me -- the brainwashed eco-freak from radical SF -- a gargantuan mountain of trash. I was also totally surprised by how many people were out, some working on the roads or planting flowers in the roundabouts, and others sitting in the shade, sometimes talking or sometimes staring. Buses -- both tour and commuter -- dominated the roads, as most people seemed to be walking around. It seemed like every time we stopped someone -- usually young, from maybe ten to 20 years old -- would approach the bus in hopes of selling us various commodities, from potatoes to hats to cards that said "Orange" (I have yet to find out what these mysterious cards mean, but this "Orange" company has been appearing everywhere). Anywho, I can't believe I already feel like I've seen so much that feels different and unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable and maybe a bit awkward and we haven't even arrived in the village yet. Well, I'll write again later! And folks, enjoy your cool weather back in the states; we are all sweating and chugging water like pigs running marathons. On that note, I bid you all adieu.