Dakar is culture shock. Horse drawn carts share the road
with taxis and wildly painted buses.
The markets are colorful and dizzying because of the vendors that grab onto you like leaches and follow for blocks determined to get you to buy.
A Senegalese breakfast under a thatched canopy in the courtyard.
I wish there was a way to attach the sounds and smells. Goats, urine, incense, salted fish, goat bleats, the voices of the men chanting when the call to prayer is blasted from the minarets, Senegalese music in the taxis, wind, dust, charcoal fires and smoking fish, the roar of buses and cars that need mufflers, the honks at intersections since there are few traffic light, the clip clop of horses hooves in carts maneuvering deftly through busy traffic.