Any Rail To Many Trails?

At last I made it out of the cosy lobby of the local ibis hotel into the frigid Senegalese Harmattan, but I knew nothing of the adventure that would make me new companions of reluctant jaywalkers and take me far beyond the borders of the travel guide-marked paths of the westernmost city in Francophone Africa.
Armed with a currency converter on my smartphone, I resolved not to fall prey to any con by my compatriots. My regular glances here and there slowed my pace but I kept strolling past corner shops and upscale outlets, onward to the alfresco shopping battleground that so made the capital a mecca for shoppers.
As I eased into one of the sidewalks that transform the Avenue into Dakar’s most tourist-trodden routes at dusk, my shopping instinct took over. My squinting at the nice displays earned me the attention of shopkeepers who began courting me in Arabic, English, French, and Wolof. Without notice, two street traders launched an offensive.
Any tourist-looking shopper is usually a target for unrepentant sellers in Dakar. Within seconds, the duo began dragging me northwards, towards the Independence Square and speaking gibberish about the best prices and ‘authentic’ Chinese labels. Their theatrics was almost Shakespearian.
Another turn to the right was quickly followed by a relaxed zebra crossing and then, an unprepared sprint past a broken sewage. This is Africa. We made it to the bazaar where my two accosters politely guided me to a full street-level store, their awaiting master smiling in appreciation at another well-done round.
After a prolonged haggling marathon, we settled for a fair price which of course meant the balance was slightly tilted in favour of the dark-skinned merchant. I fished for cash in my wallet to pay for the souvenirs but the empty pouch soon revealed I had mistakenly left my money in the safe.
Again, the master smiled and explained that he would allow his boys to return with me to the hotel. Together with my ‘bargains’, we headed in the direction from which we came. Desperate to prove my navigational skills, I took the lead and raced the guys toward the Avenue. I will never forget that return trip!
At first, I made a stop that betrayed my mastery of Dakar’s avenues. Then, I rounded a bend that took us into an alley. Turning back, I excused my errors with gestures till we went round in circles, never reaching our goal. Not until we flagged down a cab 45 minutes later, tired from exhaustion, did I realise how far we had strayed.