The plan was to catch a 10am flight from Lagos to Dakar. By the time I ripped myself out of bed at 8:30 (the astute reader will note the dates on this and the previous post), it was already over; even a highly motivated Taxify driver could not change the inevitable. I showed up disheveled and sucking wind at the Air Cote d’Ivoire counter to find a Nigerian crew cleaning the check-in desk, and not a single Ivorian. The next hour was a classic scramble of the truest type that I have come to love. Begging and pleading with Air Cote d’Ivoire office staff, pulling out every bargaining trick in the book to buy an ASKY flight leaving in an hour (but failing), sprinting to other airline offices, trying to convince the Arik Air staff that I was not a missionary (again, failing), taking out monstrous wads of cash to buy the flight while the ATM line grew rapidly behind me, and finally handing over my wad and receiving a hand-written crumpled blue piece of paper in return. My magic ticket. Home. MH