After a simple breakfast of bread and butter I sleep again. It’s like my body is trying to purge out the stress from the theft from yesterday. The entire day spent on trying to keep my spirits up, trying not to feel the disappointment, anger and frustration at my own stupidity of not being so careful. And now all those feelings grow heavier and start to sink on me. So I sleep.

I sleep till lunch, and even then I feel weary. I have no appetite for venturing out, meeting with people and trying out new food. Instead I sorely miss Dubai, where I have the familiarity of a friend and being able to speak English. Here, it’s either French or Moori, and I speak neither. I did try to come to grips with basic French a month before getting here, but I was bombarded with so much workload that I had time for nothing else.

The entire day is spent within the comforts of home, where I have the luxury of wifi and Korean speaking people. The entire day I try to come up with something, anything, to make this trip exciting without feeling I’ve lost out because I no longer have my euros. When family and friends have heard the news of the theft, some have suggested I come home early, to which I replied, “Hell, no way”. Why should my time in Africa be less fun just because I don’t have any money to spend? There’s only one person who tells me exactly what I am determined to do – that I can still have a great time regardless – and it makes me smile. He’s always been the one who just understood me, and here he is again, being the only one saying out loud what’s on my mind.

It’s already evening and I am still in my room. I open the window to see the sunset, glowing in bright orange. As the children outside play a game of chasing a goat,  the air is suddenly filled with laughter and the animal bleating. Then as a base note there’s a chant of ezan, the daily call to prayer from a mosque nearby. On a higher note, crickets chirp – as buisily as ever, as loud as they can. A seranade brought together by unlikely of performers.

It is over as soon as it started. The mosque goes back to its silence, and the children disperse one by one to their mothers. Only the crickets remain, chirping and chirping. The sun has set. Time for tomorrow.

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