Details like what it even looks like here. When I talk about the dock I know exactly what I mean. I can picture the wall of containers marking out our little territory. I can smell the garbage and almost hear the tiny feet of the cockroaches as they skitter away from our feet in the night. But you have no idea of these things. For all I know, you're imagining a much more classic scene, picturesque wooden planks reaching out into crystal blue waters.
This is our dock. It's smelly and oily and noisy and we love it. There's space to run and play, space to draw on the concrete with chalk and space to set up chairs when the galley decides that Friday is a good enough excuse for an outside barbecue. Click to see it bigger, and you can see, really blurry to the far left, the gate. That's the second level of security, the first being a fairly well-guarded main gate at the entrance to the port. Our gate security leaves a little to be desired; it's the classic West-African rope-across-the-road type, manned by a man who is more often than not fast asleep on a mat on the ground. Continue on towards the right in the photo and you see the start of our container wall, the division graciously provided by the port to give us our own space, free from random dock workers and erratic forklifts. Our fleet of vehicles is parked all along the wall, and on the other side, taking up the whole top of the photo, you can see why it's nice that we have a place marked out for us. That's where there are conveyor belts and cranes and all sorts of people working. On the far right of the photo, lined up against the ship, are our dockside tents. We'll be doing admissions there, along with outpatient physiotherapy.
It's not your typical backyard by any means, but we feel pretty lucky to have it.
