Day 1, Raleigh to Dakar to Johannesburg

South African Airlines has a wonderful feature on its intercontinental planes. The monitor set into the back of each headrest has two unusual options. One is a view from a camera positioned atop the plane’s tailfin, so that if you’re cursed with being in the center seat you can still appreciate the view outside the plane. The other, better option is the plane’s realtime position on a world map.

As we approached Africa, the names read out like a fantasy novel. Dakar. Nouakchott. Banjul. There is a sense of foreignness that immediately struck me as I scanned the map. As the tiny plane icon moved across the topography of the floor of the Atlantic, these locales began approaching from the right side of the screen. There was a surprisingly affecting anticipation as the icon skipped over the Cape Verde islands, or once North America dropped off the left side of the map completely.

We stopped for refueling in Dakar, Senegal. After eight or so hours on the plane, I was eager to stretch my legs, but as it was a quick stopover, we weren’t allowed to leave the plane. We took off again before the sun was fully up, and clouds and rain prevented me from gaining any sense of the surrounding landscape. We settled in for another eight hours from Dakar to Johannesburg.

We landed and hustled off through more administrative hurdles. Immigration was a breeze, and I delighted in the inky tattoo their stamp left in my passport. We collected our absurd amount of baggage, secured a minibus, and headed to the hotel.

Entering an unknown city at night is a strange experience. As the minibus moved through its iterations of missed turns and re-tracing our steps, I stared out at the silhouettes of the elements of the skyline. I think the city is abstracted by the lack of light. You catch the city getting ready for bed, as it puts on its pajamas and settles down. All the businesses close early here, and so even by 7:00 most things were shut down for the night. It left a lonely feeling, like we were moving through a ghost town.

Eventually, we ended up at the hotel, which charges 1 Rand per minute of internet use. Hence, this note won’t be posted until tomorrow, when we’ll arrive at UNC’s Malawi House.