patience is a virtue

After 14 months of taking bush taxis and busses that make Greyhound look like a luxury liner, I was stoked about taking an aeroplane. I didn't even mind that the ticket was Coach - I could still sleep a lot more comfortably in my seat than I ever could on transport between Ouagadougou and Djibo. No bumpy, unpaved roads, crying children, people talking loudly into my left ear in rapid Moore, chickens stowed under the seat squawking, and delays in getting to one's destination. Well, I take that last one back. One would think that leaving for a flight means that one will relatively be, oh, I don't know, on time. Observe the following interaction, translated into English for your convenience:

Ami

(overly optimistic for Dakar):

Good morning, I'd like to check in for the flight to Dakar that leaves in 2 hours.

Ticket Agent Lady

(peers over her glasses):

In a minute.

Ami
(notices that 10 minutes have passed, & that the queue behind has begun to snake into the waiting area; politely coughs)

Ticket Agent Lady
(continues doing work on the computer)

Ami
So, um, here is my ticket...and passport.

Ticket Agent Lady
(gives withering look):
Ok. Please be patient.

Ami
(waits another 10 minutes)
And, uh, I have only one bag to check in.

Ticket Agent Lady
Ah, bon.

Ami
(notices that plane is about to leave in less than an hour; peers over the counter to see what Ticket Agent Lady is doing on her computer)

(to self)
What the hell?! She's playing Solitaire?!

Nevertheless, I made it to Dakar, albeit a few delays on the plane. The Peace Corps vehicle escorted me to my hotel and there, I watched French game shows once I gave up on finding the English channel. I met up with the Regional Medical Officer this morning to have a consultation with the oral surgeon. I couldn't help but notice how impeccably dressed this doctor was & how much he resembled CNN's Anderson Cooper. This made me all the more self-conscious over my French, not to mention the fact that I wished I had gargled after breakfast when he & the oral surgeon both peered into my mouth to discuss what work needed to be done. When the oral surgeon (a Frenchman) asked if I was pregnant before taking the x-rays, I said "non, non" a little too hurriedly and laughed awkwardly as he inserted the camera into my mouth, causing me to slightly drool. (sigh) I would give my left arm for grace & charm.