Lamin and the Air Conditioning
If air conditioning is available when I visit West Africa, I will use it.
Without hesitation.
Without guilt.
And certainly without entertaining the idea that refusing it somehow makes for a more “authentic” West African experience.
I am not one of those travellers who insists that true cultural immersion requires a light sheen of constant perspiration and the quiet suffering of unnecessary discomfort.
If there is a button on the wall that produces cool air…
I will press it.
Immediately.
Because, while I have a deep appreciation for West Africa — its people, its culture, its warmth (both literal and otherwise) — there are limits.
And those limits tend to be reached somewhere between “pleasantly warm” and “I may actually be melting.”
So yes.
If air conditioning is available…
I will quite happily take advantage of it.
Unfortunately, on this particular occasion…
that particular luxury was cruelly snatched from me.
We arrived in Dakar at around four in the afternoon.
The priority was simple.
Find a hotel.
Once that was done, we could explore, find something to eat, and then — crucially — get an early night. Lamin had been driving since early morning, and the following day would require another early start to catch the boat across to Gorée Island.
As it turned out, the search didn’t take long.
Pretty much the first hotel we came across was the Hôtel du Plateau.
Conveniently located in the centre of Dakar, it ticked all the boxes. Close enough to the main sights for a bit of casual exploring, and within easy reach of the port for the next morning’s journey.
Perfect.
The hotel itself was… absolutely fine.
In fact, more than fine.
Looking back, I have no complaints at all and would quite happily stay there again.
And, perhaps most importantly, breakfast the following morning was excellent.
No full English, sadly — but a very respectable continental spread. Meats, pastries, fruit juices… the sort of breakfast that makes you feel quietly optimistic about the day ahead.
Both Lamin and I ate well.
Very well.
The room itself was around £90 for the night.
Which, given the location, felt entirely reasonable.
But, in a moment of foolish financial prudence, rather than book two separate rooms for Lamin and myself, I asked if they could provide a double room with two single beds.
Which, of course, they could.
No problem at all.
And this… as it turned out…
was where things began to go slightly wrong.
We were shown to our room.
And it was very nice.
Clean. Comfortable. The sort of room you might find in a perfectly respectable budget hotel somewhere in Europe. Two large single beds, warm-toned décor, bedside tables, a lamp, a telephone, and a fully tiled bathroom complete with bath, shower, sink, and — importantly — a toilet with a very satisfactory flush.
If I am paying money for accommodation, I like to know that the toilet has a good flush.
And then I saw it.
High up on the wall.
Tucked neatly into the corner.
The air conditioning unit.
Excellent.
Like most hotel rooms in that part of the world, the temperature inside was already leaning heavily towards “uncomfortably warm.”
The kind of warmth that makes you discover all the new and interesting parts of your body which can sweat.
So the presence of air conditioning was not just welcome.
It was essential.
Particularly at night.
Because, while daytime heat can be managed with movement, distraction, and the occasional cold drink…
trying to sleep in it is an entirely different challenge.
At that time of year, daytime temperatures in Dakar in Senegal tend to hover somewhere around 29 to 31 degrees Celsius, with occasional enthusiastic excursions up to 34 or 35.
At night, things cool down slightly… to a modest 25 or 26 degrees.
Which, for West Africa, is entirely normal.
Comfortable, even.
For us English types…
less so.
And then there is the humidity.
Because August sits firmly within the West African rainy season.
A time of heavy rain, dramatic thunderstorms… and air so thick with moisture that it feels like you could almost drink it.
On particularly committed days, the humidity reaches something approaching 100%.
Which is less of a “climate condition” and more akin to being permanently locked in a sauna.
There are, of course, other methods of coping.
Whilst I do like a big multi-speed electric ceiling fan, I do have concerns that, one day, some huge spinning ceiling monstrosity will bring about my untimely and oh so inconvenient decapitation.
Which is why I am, without apology, and quite understandably so, firmly pro–air conditioning.
The remote control for the air conditioning sat neatly — and rather democratically — on the small table between the two beds.
Perfect.
No hunting around in the dark later.
I knew exactly where it was.
Lamin and I headed out to explore (see Chapter 2 – Lamin and Teranga), and when yawns began to outnumber words, we made our way back to the hotel.
It was time.
Time for rest.
Time for recovery.
Time for what I fully intended to be a very good night’s sleep.
On entering our hotel room, Lamin disappeared almost immediately to catch up on his prayers.
The room, meanwhile, had not improved.
It was still uncomfortably warm.
But, of course, most wonderfully, there was air conditioning.
So I reached for the remote.
I pressed the button.
The unit hummed into life.
A gentle, reassuring hum — the kind that suggests everything is about to be alright.
Cool air began to flow.
Hope returned.
I adjusted the temperature.
Down.
Further down.
A crisp but entirely reasonable 18 degrees was reached.
The remote beeped cheerily as I pressed its buttons.
BEEP!
Perfect.
I prepared for bed.
Climbed under the covers.
And allowed myself to relax — sinking gently into fresh hotel linen, comfortable pillows, and the quiet promise of a peaceful night.
I was tired.
Very tired.
Despite my frequent and highly committed dozing in Lamin’s taxi during the journey from Banjul to Dakar, I was still very much in need of proper sleep.
Eventually, Lamin returned.
And almost immediately…
I sensed that something was wrong.
He was cold.
Of course he was.
Why hadn’t I realised?
What felt like a pleasantly refreshing temperature to me was, for Lamin, somewhere between “unnecessary” and “Arctic expedition.”
Now, I consider myself to be a reasonable man.
A creature of compromise.
(Although others may disagree.)
So, in what I believed to be a generous and magnanimous gesture, I picked up the remote control and offered it to Lamin.
“If you want,” I said, “you can turn it up a bit.”
“Thank you, bro,” Lamin replied gratefully, accepting ownership of the remote.
He climbed into bed.
We turned out the lights.
In the fading light — just before the room surrendered completely to darkness — I noticed something.
Lamin slept under a blanket.
Not just loosely.
Not casually.
But fully.
From the very tips of his toes to entirely over his head.
Completely enclosed.
He lay there, perfectly still, wrapped in the blanket like some kind of carefully prepared parcel.
Or, if I’m being entirely honest…
like a deceased man resting peacefully under a very neat and tidy shroud.
I’m still not entirely sure whether this is a Lamin-specific habit or a more widely adopted Gambian approach to sleep.
There may well be a practical explanation.
Mosquitoes, perhaps.
Or temperature control.
Or something else entirely sensible that I have yet to understand.
I will investigate further.
At some point.
Probably.
But on this particular evening, I simply assumed…
Lamin was cold.
And so, gradually, the last traces of light disappeared.
The room slipped into that deep, solid, all-consuming darkness that only night-time in unfamiliar places seems to produce.
My surroundings vanished.
My thoughts slowed.
And all that remained…
was the soft, steady purr of the air conditioning unit glowing faintly in the corner of the room.
And then…
I heard it.
BEEP!
And then again.
BEEP!
Ah.
Of course.
Lamin was adjusting the temperature.
18…
Now 20…
That’s fine.
I can cope.
I lay there, quietly pleased with myself.
I’d handed over the remote.
I was a generous man.
A thoughtful man.
A good man.
BEEP!
Oh! Another degree higher. 21?
BEEP!
And again. What’s that? We must be up to 22 degrees now.
I lay there in the darkness. A slight tension began to build.
I waited.
It was inevitable.
BEEP!
Up to 23 degrees now.
Another pause.
Achingly long.
Uncomfortably painful. My previously relaxed state now completely dissipated.
My body tensed.
My eyes open.
Staring into nothing.
Waiting.
Fearing what was about to come next.
BEEP!
It cut through the darkness like a knife.
I couldn’t bear this. It wasn’t the steady increase in temperature.
Not really.
It was the anticipation.
The wait.
The not knowing…
BEEP!
Again.
It was relentless.
Like Chinese water torture…
reimagined…
with modern technology.
…
…..
…….
BEEP!
At some point…
I must have drifted off.
Finally.
I woke later.
Still dark.
Still night.
But something had changed.
The purr like hum was gone.
The comforting glow…
vanished.
The air conditioning…
off.
Extinguished.
By Lamin Barrow.
Who lay in his bed beside me…
sleeping peacefully.
Snoring.
Meanwhile…
my sheets…
my pillows…
my entire existence…
Soaked.
With sweat.
My sweat.
Lesson learned.
Never share a hotel room…
with Lamin Barrow.
…
…..
…….
BEEP!
Read the next chapter here:
👉 Lamin and the Palm Wine | Building Futures in the Gambia
Read the previous chapter of ‘Travels With Lamin’ here:
👉Lamin and Teranga | Building Futures in the Gambia
Read the Introduction to ‘Travels With Lamin’ here:
👉Travels With Lamin – An Introduction | Building Futures in the Gambia
Read Chapter One of ‘Travels With Lamin’ here:
👉Lamin and the Road to Dakar | Building Futures in the Gambia
Book Lamin and his taxi here:
👉Lamin Barrow Taxis – The Gambia’s Number One Taxi Driver
