It's a beautiful morning in Conakry

I woke to the sound of ocean waves, and a dim, hazy morning light: morning in Conakry.  A cool breeze makes the thick humid air pleasant at this time of day: the air sort of sloshes around you like lukewarm water in a bathtub.  By midday, it feels more like a stewpot than a bathtub, but at 6:30 AM, with the sun rising through a cloud of city dust and smoke from burning fields on the mainland, with the sound of roosters muffled by the hum of traffic, everything feels soft and undefined.  Who knows what this day will bring?  Now, at 7, the pink light is gone, the lines of the coconut palms are sharp against the grey sky, and down on the beach, the sound of waves is defined by their actual lines, spilling over the soft sand and worn down rocks.  The traffic is louder, the roosters are joined by a chorus of voices: the kids are up; their mothers are calling out commands and instructions; school will start soon, you'll be late, and I'll be late, too: I need to catch a ride out to Dubreka with a Peace Corps car, leaving at 7:30.  En ontuma!  See you later!