Disorder me

Dakar Airport. Chaos slaps me in the face. I see people everywhere looking for their things, walking in no direction and speaking out loud. And I think: where do all these people come from? Bright colours and animal prints on their clothes, lots of hats too. Perhaps seven tourists and three European businessmen in the crowd. I hear complaints. Some suitcases are disposed there and there without arrangement. Ladies stand still with conceit and stare at me; the contrast between the white of their eyes and the dark of their skin strikes me. The room is impersonal. The walls are grey and some fans are spinning above my head. It is too hot still, I am sweating and I hate it. Nevertheless, the disorder ruling over the place sort of pleases me; in fact, the room is everything but impersonal. I know I'll figure it out because that room is human and authentic. But first : where are my luggage?