In transit


I arrived in Toronto hours earlier than necessary. The forecast called for freezing rain along our route and we didn't want to take any chances. A couple episodes of Downton Abbey and a good book filled the hours until I could check my bag, filled with various necessities that my daughter hadn't found in Dakar - electrical tape, caulking, silver polish - and treats from home. It was well over the weight limit, but was waved through with a smile and a shrug. "The bags are always heavier on the way over."


My first view of the African continent came when I stepped off my flight in Morocco to blue sky and 14 degrees Celsius. Palm trees of varying heights were visible beyond the fence line, and plants that I wished I could identify surrounded the buildings. 

Waiting in the serpentine line at passport control I tried to determine whether my flight would be considered a short or long connection. I needn't have worried - after being directed to the short connection lineup everything went very quickly and I was left with a couple hours to fill. 

I had a window on the second flight and enjoyed views of the Atlas mountains and the Sahara. I was so engrossed by the landscapes below so that I didn't notice the flight attendant trying to get my attention with my meal. And my drink.



On arrival, after being fingerprinted and providing my local address, I zipped through the last security check and was reunited with my daughter who has been living in Senegal since July. Piling into the hired car, we set off down the highway into the city. 

Entering the Plateau district, a normally quiet area was filled with life - excited people, live music and market vendors - likely a pre-game celebration as Senegal was set to play that night in the Africa Cup.

Arriving at home, I spent some time getting to know my daughter's kitten and then prepared for bed. Twenty-four hours in transit without sleep, but it was worth it.


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