A version of myself

I was looking through my photos today, clearing up space on my phone; deleting things like screenshots of maps and silly texts, accidental finger shots, you know, the garbage that needs to be purged every once in a while. As I was scrolling through, my photographs from Ouagadougou struck a chord of nostalgia. I slowed down, and looked more carefully. While I’ve loved almost every place I’ve travelled, and certainly wished more than once that I could return to any given place, this was different. I realized, as I was looking through the photographs of the dirt roads through the cracked windshield of my taximan Madi’s car, that while yes, I missed the place, I also missed the version of myself that I was during that short time. One thing about travelling such a long distance for an extended period of time utterly and completely alone is that very likely, something will shift. Without all of the usual expectations, routines

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