To Bamako

The trip went smoothly, save for the 4-hour delay on the last flight due to a strike in the Bamako airport. I remember sitting at the gate and gradually starting to realize that I'm going to Africa: as soon as the Asian and Caucasian people left the seats to board the other flights, I began to be pretty much alone in a sea of black people. People were wearing clothes I had only seen in photos, and they were speaking Bambara, which I could not recognize anything of. On the plane people behaved very differently. Sitting down took a lot. Leaving the plane took only an instant. There silence in the cabin that usually lasts throughout the flight turned to a kind of rumour. There was also a drunk musician conversing with people. And, of course, people clapped when the plane landed. I realized the trip to Africa was not going to be predictable in any way.