A few weeks ago Jessica, Sylvia, Matthew and I met for an afterwork drink with the Ambassador of Seychelles; Ronny, as Jessica calls him. He is one of the few great storytellers I have ever met. After two hours of conversation about his life, we learned more about the islands than we probably know about the history of any other country. "I was born in Africa because many people from Seychelles migrated to Africa when the British were developing the east coast of the continent." A he spoke Sylvia and I quickly searched for the sites he mentioned on the iPhone, trying to picture the island formations, the coral reef and the beyond-luxury resorts that charge more than $5,000 per night. We also learn the challenges islands face. Their airport and runway will be submerged under water due to sea-level rise from climate change and placing windmills might prove more a problem than a solution. "Where are you going to put a windmill?"he says, "if you place it on top of the mountain, the hotels and tourists will complain about the sight of it; they are not pretty. So then, are you going to destroy your coral reef to place it offshore? Or, are you going to sacrifice the scarce flat land you have to put the damn thing?" he continued jokingly. "Have you ever heard the noise those things make?" As we walk to the subway station Matthew and I concurred that this is the reason why we love New York so much. The city's diversity makes you feel part of the greater world, even when in such diversity you can also feel isolated. It would be almost impossible to have a beer with someone from Seychelles, or even Africa, in Guadalajara. To be honest, most people in Mexico - or the US - have never heard about Seychelles. "My uncle migrated to Papua New Guinea, but he never came back to Seychelles. He must have been eaten; they use to eat people there." I could still hear the Ambassador's voice as I walk home under the rain.

During our last day in Nigeria, we sat under the shade of an old tree to wait for our flight to depart from Calabar to Lagos. Our flight has been cancelled or postponed for the last three days as a result of the elections; which ironically have been cancelled and postponed as well. Feeling stranded in a foreign country is not pretty; luckily Gills, our friend and colleague from Yankari, is still with us and really knows how to smoothly navigate the Nigerian system. Translation is not about understanding the language, but about understanding the context. By now, we have already befriended Eddie, the airline clerk who has been trying to help us get into a flight. He has joined us for a beer as we wait under the tree by the airport. “When we see a plane landing, then you can go to board,” he responded to our concern about the boarding time while pouring into his glass the last bit of Heineken. “I love Pancho Villa, he was selfless and cared for the good of his people,” he exclaimed to our surprise after a moment of silence, “that is what we are missing in Nigeria, a real leader.” The flight got delayed a couple of hours, so we kept the rounds of beer running until nightfall when Moki, our Cameroonian driver, decided we should just get into the gate to wait for our plane to arrive. I have mixed feelings. I’m not sure if I could cope with the lack of reliability in a system, but at the same time, the lack of control allows great moments like this to happen; this feeling is not at all foreign as a Mexican. “The history of Latin America and Africa have much in common in terms of colonialism, but with the great difference that Europeans came to Latin America to live, but they came to Africa to extract natural and human resources. They never got established here,” Eddie remarked before saying goodbye.