Returning to Dakar airport after an 8 hour wait in Casablanca airport, which had been stuffed full with pilgrims returning to Mali from the Hajj, I was exhausted and fractious. It was 4 am by the time we got our suitcases off the slow conveyor belt. I had rung Sow, my friendly taxi man, from Casablanca to tell him I was coming at some point during the night, but wasn't sure when. He said I could go ahead and ring him whenever I landed and he would come and get me.

As we hauled our suitcases onto a trolley and made for the parking lot, a pack of people waiting hungrily at the gates which are now stopping people from approaching the airport, but which in fact makes it a lot worse when you finally are met with the outside world, I rung Sow to ask where he was and if he could come and get me. He sounded sleepy.

"I'm in the car park at the airport," he said. He had been asleep in his car all night, preferring to spend the night there and wait for me to arrive than sleep at home and be late to pick me up.

What a nice welcome home.