dakar to 2291113: survival mode and iced coffee bruh

i woke up this morning to the sound of my laptop overheating and the vending machine spitting out a lukewarm chai latte. perfect. welcome to 33.78°c in Dakar, where the Wi-Fi is slower than a French colonizer’s weekend drive and the humidity sticks to your skin like your ex’s Instagram captions. I just checked the apps and it’s there right now, thermometer in slow motion, plotting world domination.

my laptop’s been through three lifetimes since I arrived. first, it was the dust. then the power surges. now? it’s like my keyboard’s trying to whisper in French to teach me patience. I’m sitting right on a concrete bench at Place de l’Indépendance, where my neighbor Fadouma’s cat-the size of a small dog-just trotted past sipping from a tiny plastic cup like it owns the place. *local wisdom*: if you get bored, there’s Jobange just down the road for some tram vibes. someone told me once that the trams here were haunted by 19th-century revolutionaries. I laughed. Fadouma nodded sagely and handed me a plastic bag of mint tea. I didn’t sleep.

I told you, I’m a Digital Nomad. I need caffeine, not conflicts. This morning, I trekked to Café de France, the epicenter of all things hopeful. I heard they’re reupholstering all the booths this week-because rats ate the previous ones last monsoon season. (Don’t drink the mango smoothie. Heard a guy threw his laptop at it after it exploded like a real soda can. Stay classy, Dakar.) They’ve got a barista who calls themselves ‘Chef Ndio,’ probably thinks he’s Julia Child with one hand and a apron. He whipped me a JP-Jo, this Amaretto-Juice hybrid, and I forgot what poverty was.

pro-tips for the chaos: don’t trust Google Maps. I followed a fictitious road named ‘Route du Cyberfantôme’ for 45 minutes before realizing it was a dirt path in someone’s backyard. instead, vibe with the locals. Old Man Karim near the-election-mural- on Rue du Paix will hook you up with a sim card if you let him braid your hair for free.

if you’re into photography (or just need a screensaver guilt-free), wander to Sandaga Market. think: pyramids of okra, a woman haggling over onions like they’re luxury apartments, kids selling water in glittery hallucinogenic cups. my friend Alain-yeah, the guy who survives on fried cassava and drama-snapped one of the street vendors mid-rant about the 2018 fire. you’ll recognize him-he’s the bald guy in the red shirt with the stapler necklace.

neighbors here are a riot. Monday night, I overheard a dispute in French/Swahili/quantum physics adjacent. one guy was yelling about his goat eating his charger, another kept quoting Camus. maybe I’m hallucinating. maybe not.

dakar, you type-a thorn in my laptop sleeve. I heard there’s a rooftop bar with neon signs and a DJ playing Amapiano vs. 404 error pages. maybe tomorrow. maybe never.

last ditch effort: tried to recalibrate my circadian rhythm. failed. woke up at 4am to the smell of grilled sardines and a parrot stealing my phone charger. priorities intact.

- end of rerant. send help.

p.s. decaf. woke me up after 6 hours of staring at that flickering streetlamp. still uploaded this. win-win.

You might also be interested in:

• https://votoris.com/post/cinderella-mornings-in-jennin-and-why-my-boots-cooked-on-pavement
• https://votoris.com/post/the-real-cost-of-utilities-and-bills-in-salvador-and-why-my-bank-account-cries
• https://votoris.com/post/the-tax-system-in-erbil-what-a-freelance-photographer-actually-pays
• https://votoris.com/post/len-de-los-aldamas-vs-mexico-city-which-one-offers-a-better-life-for-a-freelance-photographer-like-me
• https://votoris.com/post/memphis-musbling-a-tired-wanderers-notes