Woke up this morning, sweating in my bed. My dreams are still repeating all the stupid things I've said. My mattress is too lumpy and my mind was full of dread. Knew the streets are full of people shouting "toubab" at my head.
Made myself some breakfast, no fresh milk for my tea. A tablet, fruit and bread again the only food I see. The power's off again, there's a dead phone on my knee. Now my coffee's getting cool while my cold shower's freezing me.
Sitting in my office, unknown woman steps right in. She asks me to buy her breakfast 'cos of the colour of my skin. Try to get some work done, but don't know how to fit in. And everybody's asking why my finger doesn't wear a ring.
Later in the evening, heading for my home. Can't face going to the market, such a long, hot way to roam. There are volunteers out drinking, cheap, yeasty lager topped with foam. But I have to go to choir to add more Wollof to my tome.
I try to make new friends, don't know who to trust. Everyday I clean my shoes but I'm always full of dust. It takes ages to get ready, stinging repellant is a must. The atmosphere's so humid my hair's almost begun to rust.
This is my story, it's one we all can feel. It's just that point of the process when it starts to get so real. There's no need for any worry, it's all part of the deal. With some pals, some sleep and dinner I'll be back on an even keel.
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