Morning coffee in a new dusty hole, nothing like the coffee in the Horn of Africa, the tongue curls with the flavours. The road is paved and soon I find myself at the lowest point in Africa, 155 metres below sea level.
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The idea wasn't Djibouti at all, it was Eritrea, but after far too much trouble with a covid-closed country and difficulties in obtaining sensible information, I gave up, booked a trip to the Seychelles, but didn't see myself fitting in there between smirking honeymooners.
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