Continental breakfast in a West African hotel before a short ride through the city, our first real excursion in Dakar. Riding through dry landscapes and empty buildings, slow meandering lanes of traffic and the stirrings of the day's dusty warmth. In the distance, great monuments upon a hill and enormous birds in silhouette. At every crossing and corner, stalls and collections of people, some laid out in the morning sun.
At WADR we met the team of correspondents, editors and technicians and began to plan the week ahead before unpacking the boxes and sketching documentary interviews. Short film shoots, more introductions, photograph directions and a meal with the station directors, outlining a vision for the future of the station, speaking in soundbites - several precise valuable testaments to free journalism and innovation, all off the record.
The final third of the day lay out the training sessions. As night plummeted, sounds of goatherds riding in filtered into the office. The call to prayer, over-modulated and hazy in the evening heat, drifted. Back at the hotel, planes roared overhead, headed up in straight lines before banking sharply over the ocean and disappearing.