Last week I hopped in the car for a quick afternoon excursion with two people from the language center (one teacher, one student), to a beach town less than an hour outside Dakar. The visit started with omelettes and ice cream at a cool hotel / artist complex built by a now 90 year-old Haitian man who came fleeing political persecution in the 60’s and decided to stay.The mosaics reminded me of Gaudí, who I love. ( I took my first Spanish class after visiting Barcelona and deciding that I had to live among his masterpieces.)

Then we wandered around town. I saw fishermen on the beach.Inventive kids giving each other rides in a plastic jerry-can.

And women and girls selling unripe, boiled mangoes on the street.Curious, I bought one.You make a hole in the bag, peel back the mango’s skin, and suck the pulp out. It was as slimy as okra and 100 times tarter than a lemon. I took an accidental selfie mid-first-taste. In it, my lips are so puckered and my brow so furrowed that they look Mister Potato-Headed onto my face. (The photo no longer exists.)

And that was that, basically. A short but fun trip.