PK and the Summer of 2017 travel blog

Class, this is what I look like teaching, I guess

Food was great

Class Photo

Talking to Soro, my translator and new friend

Breakfast at Paul...with Paul

Class Praying for me

Serious prayer


Tired, but decided to post a quick update. Internet was spotty the last couple of nights.

Monday--Finished up class, gave the final, lots of hugs and handshakes. I am going to miss these wonderful people. Went out to dinner with a van load of Koreans. Praise God for my friend Michael Ahn. He actually spoke to me in English. OK, a few of the others did as well. It was actually a nice evening.

Tuesday--Got up and packed. Michael told me that breakfast was at 7 a.m. He told me at 7 a.m. So, I went in my gym shorts, T-shirt, and sandals. I guess that's ok. Rehearsal for graduation. Ha. Too funny watching us try to coordinate a ceremony in English, Korean, and French. I just sat down and waited for someone to tell me what to do in a language I can actually speak.

My job was to hood the grads. It is a little strange that we gave them hoods, but I guess it is cool. I mean, this is Africa. Why should things work like in the US? It doesn't seem like a hard job, but I'm pretty sure I got several of the hoods on backwards. Oh well. It was a great ceremony, full house, everyone wearing the coolest African dress. You should have been there. I was so proud of the students.

As soon as the graduation was over, I walked straight to the room, got my bags, and the driver and I left for the airport. Sounds familiar somehow. Read Day 1.

I was afraid the passport thing would not be worked out. However, after 10 seconds of scowling at the screen, the agent waved me on. Woo hoo! The flight was about an hour late. Got some coffee. Chatted with this American woman I met. She was on her way to Dakar, too, but on a different airline. Got stuck in Abidjan.

Arrived in Senegal. The passport didn't give me problems, but the lack of an address here did. I have often gone through customs with them telling me that I had to give an address, but when I didn't have one, they always let me through. Here the agent scowled at me, told me to go find my friend, get my address, and come back. He set my passport aside and was not giving it to me. So, I went out, met the missionary, got his address, and went back in. No one even tried to stop me. Huh? He typed my address into the system and gave me my passport. Crisis averted.

Gathered my luggage and was set free in Senegal. I like the missionary here. He is talkative. We got some dinner and he dropped me at the guest quarters at his church. Dead tired. Class starts tomorrow. Good night.

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