What time is it?
For that matter, what day is it?
The flickering flat screen at the far end of the dining area suggests it could be Sunday. Images of gesticulating men and women, arms raised in praise, swaying to the rhythm of electric guitars, unheard voices singing in unison, a lighted cross in the backdrop.
If today is Sunday, then is this Accra?
No, otherwise I would not be sitting here groggy, waiting for the server to offer another cup of Americano coffee. I am in Nairobi, country number six, although this one did not stamp my passport.
I have not arrived.
I am in transit, half way through a five hour layover at the Jomo Kenyatta Airport, landing for a very early breakfast on a flight which left Johannesburg at 1:15 am. I can scarcely believe my own words. The plane was near full of fellow travelers, eyes shuttered, head lilting, mouth agape, hands clutching blankets in desperation. Please let me sleep.
The suitcase has been my closet the past 15 days, only my suit escaping to avoid the irreversible wrinkles. Never more than three nights in any spot, busy every day, up early for another tour, a ride to the airport, not sleeping well in anticipation, not in my regular bed. I hope the suitcase accompanies me on the next leg.
It managed to traverse from Toronto to Amsterdam to Johannesburg to Victoria Falls (waiting there while we visited Botswana) to Cape Town to Johannesburg and presumably it is languishing on a trolley here in Nairobi, ready to be loaded for a flight to Accra shortly. Not lost yet.
I might as well head to the gate, need a change of scenery, need to move these legs, need to get off my butt.
What time is it again?
Wonderings 
You were here again! It doesn’t sound like the best of trips – business trips are awful and this is difficult to explain to people who think it is ‘fabulous’ (or whatever) that your get to see so many countries! I hope you find your own bed soon and can sleep and sleep until you feel yourself again.
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